Epilogue
Sophie
Six Months Later
Sophie Lane was not running.
This felt important.
Historic, even.
Possibly worth commemorating with a plaque.
Here stood Sophie Elaine Lane, twice-runaway bride, former aisle escape artist, one-time viral wedding disaster, currently wearing a wedding dress for the third time in her life.
And she was not running.
She was, however, pacing.
That was different.
Pacing was not running.
Pacing was dignified anxiety with a smaller radius.
“Sophie.”
Becca Monroe stood near the cabin window holding a mug of coffee in one hand and the infamous purple duck boot in the other.
Sophie stopped mid-step.
“Why are you holding that?”
Becca looked down at the boot.
“Emotional support footwear.”
“For you or me?”
“Yes.”
Sophie stared at her best friend.
Becca smiled sweetly.
Six months ago, Sophie had fled her second wedding wearing one of Becca’s ridiculous purple duck boots and one bridal heel.
Since then, the boot had become a sacred object in their friendship.
It had been cleaned, returned, photographed, and once briefly displayed on Jace’s mantel before he announced that his cabin had “limits.”
Now, apparently, it had been invited to her wedding.
Her real wedding.
The wedding she had chosen.
The wedding taking place in a snowy clearing behind Jace’s cabin with twelve guests, one simple bouquet, zero seating charts, and absolutely no fondant.
Sophie looked down at herself.
Her dress was not the dramatic satin catastrophe from Wedding Number Two. This one was soft ivory, long-sleeved, warm enough for a mountain winter, and simple enough that she could breathe.
Most importantly, she had picked it herself.
No motherly negotiations.
No groomly suggestions.
No bridal consultant saying, “This is very timeless,” when she meant, “This costs more than your first car.”
Just Sophie, Becca, and one quiet moment in a little dress shop where Sophie had looked in the mirror and seen herself.
Her boots were hidden beneath the hem.
White leather.
Lined with fleece.
Practical and beautiful.
Jace had approved of the traction.
Sophie had approved of how they made her feel like she could walk toward her future without slipping.
Very symbolic.
Also warm.
A knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Sophie froze.
Becca pointed the duck boot like a weapon.
“Who goes there?”
Jace’s deep voice came through the wood.
“Me.”
Sophie’s heart did its usual ridiculous thing.
Six months together, and the man still made her feel like she had stepped too close to a fire.
Becca narrowed her eyes at the door.
“You cannot see the bride.”
“Wasn’t planning to."
“Then why are you here?”
A pause.
Then Jace said, “To ask if she needs me to block the exits.”
Sophie laughed so suddenly she had to press a hand to her stomach.
Becca opened the door a crack and glared through it.
“That joke was either very brave or very dangerous.”
“Both,” Jace said.
Sophie moved toward the door.
Becca stepped aside but kept it mostly closed, because apparently wedding traditions mattered even in a cabin where the bride had once accused a dress of being haunted.
Sophie could only see Jace’s shoulder through the gap.
Dark suit jacket.
White shirt.
No tie.
Because, according to him, ties were “a formal noose with social approval.”
Her mountain man.
Her impossible, steady, stubborn, perfect mountain man.
“I’m not running,” Sophie said.
“I know.”
His voice was low.
Certain.
No teasing now.
Just Jace.
Her throat tightened.
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“Because you left your car keys on the kitchen counter.”
She closed her eyes.
Becca snorted.
Sophie leaned her forehead against the door.
“I was having an emotional moment.”
“I know.”
“And you ruined it.”
“Little bit.”
She smiled.
Through the narrow opening, Jace’s hand appeared.
He did not push the door open.
He did not try to peek.
He just held his hand there, palm up.
Sophie placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers.
Instantly, everything settled.
Six months ago, she had arrived at this cabin in a torn wedding dress, one borrowed duck boot, and enough panic to power a small city. Jace had given her dry clothes, chili, silence, and rules.
No wet boots by the fire.
No lying about being fine.
No answering calls she did not want to answer.
Later, he had given her more.
A place to breathe.
A place to laugh.
A place to be messy and loved at the same time.
Her mother had come around eventually. Becca had declared Jace “suspiciously competent but emotionally approved.” Aunt Diane had indeed prayed for Sophie’s decision-making skills and then asked if Jace had any single brothers.
He did not.
Jace had told Sophie this with visible relief.
Maple Peak had accepted her faster than she expected. Mabel at the diner still gave her pie “for emotional maintenance.” Eli the tow-truck driver waved every time she passed. Someone had embroidered a tiny purple duck boot onto a Christmas ornament and left it anonymously on Jace’s porch.
Sophie suspected Mabel.
Jace suspected everyone.
And Sophie?
Sophie had stayed.
Not because she had nowhere else to go.
Because she had finally found somewhere she wanted to be.
Jace’s thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“You okay?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“No lying,” he reminded her.
She laughed softly.
“I’m nervous.”
“Good nervous?”
“The kind where I know exactly what I want and still might cry because I’m allowed to have it.”
His fingers tightened around hers.
“Then I’ll be waiting.”
“I know.”
“You want me to walk you out?”
Sophie looked at Becca.
Becca’s eyes had gone suspiciously shiny.
“Oh, don’t look at me,” Becca said. “I’m holding a duck boot and trying not to ruin my mascara. I am not emotionally stable enough to advise anyone.”
Sophie smiled through sudden tears.
Then she looked back at the small gap in the door.
“No,” she said softly. “I want to walk to you.”
Jace went very still.
Then he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers.
“I’ll be there.”
“I know.”
He released her hand and stepped away.
Becca shut the door, turned around, and immediately burst into tears.
Sophie stared.
“Becca.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are crying into the boot.”
“It’s symbolic.”
“You’re getting mascara on my emotional support footwear.”
“That’s what makes it couture.”
Sophie laughed, and then she cried too, because apparently happiness was just as messy as panic.
Ten minutes later, she stood at the edge of the snowy clearing behind Jace’s cabin.
The pines rose tall around them, branches heavy with fresh snow. Lanterns hung from hooks Jace had built himself, glowing warm gold against the winter afternoon. A small arch of pine boughs and white flowers stood at the center of the clearing.
And beneath it stood Jace.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark-haired.
Still.
Waiting.
Not impatient.
Not managing.
Not correcting.
Just waiting for her to choose him.
Sophie’s breath caught.
He looked at her as if the world had narrowed to the space between them.
As if every step she took mattered.
As if he knew exactly what it meant that she was walking forward.
Becca squeezed her hand once, then let go.
Sophie stepped onto the snowy path.
No music played except the wind in the trees.
No one whispered.
No one gasped.
No one shouted her full name in horror.
Progress.
Her boots crunched softly through the snow.
Step by step, she walked toward Jace.
The first time Sophie had worn a wedding dress, she had realized the name waiting for her did not feel like hers.
The second time, she had seen a future where every bright part of her would be carefully corrected into silence.
This time, she saw Jace Wilder.
The man who had found her in a storm.
The man who had saved her bouquet.
The man who had never made her feel trapped.
The man who had made forever feel less like a cage and more like a cabin with smoke in the chimney, chili on the stove, and laughter in every room.
When she reached him, Jace held out his hand.
Sophie took it.
His eyes searched hers.
“Still choosing?”
Her smile trembled.
“Still choosing.”
His mouth curved.
A real smile.
Full.
Rare.
Hers.
The ceremony was short.
Exactly as they wanted.
When it came time for vows, Jace turned toward her, his hand warm around hers.
“I’m not good with speeches,” he said.
A few guests laughed softly.
Sophie smiled.
“I noticed.”
His thumb brushed over her ring finger.
“But I’m good at building things that last. Cabins. Porches. Fires that don’t go out in a storm.”
His voice roughened.
“I want to build a life like that with you. Strong enough to hold through bad weather. Warm enough to come home to. Big enough for your laughter, your chaos, your haunted dresses, and whatever else you bring through my door.”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
Jace held her gaze.
“I won’t manage you. I won’t make you smaller. I won’t stand in your way when you need to move.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it.
“But if you run, Sophie Lane, I’ll be right there beside you. And if you stay, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you’re glad you did.”
Sophie was crying before he finished.
So was Becca.
So, alarmingly, was Eli from Maple Peak Towing.
When it was Sophie’s turn, she laughed through tears.
“I had something prepared.”
Jace’s smile deepened.
“Course you did.”
“But I’m throwing it out.”
“Sounds like you.”
She squeezed his hands.
“I spent a long time thinking I was bad at forever. Turns out I was just very, very good at escaping the wrong version of it.”
A soft laugh moved through the clearing.
Sophie looked up at Jace.
“You never made me feel like I had to become easier to love. You just loved me. The panicked parts. The funny parts. The dramatic parts. The parts wearing one duck boot and one bridal heel.”
Becca sobbed audibly.
Sophie kept going, voice trembling but clear.
“So if I ever run again, Jace Wilder, I promise it will be toward you.”
His eyes darkened with emotion.
The officiant barely got the final words out before Jace kissed her.
Everyone cheered.
Sophie laughed against his mouth.
Snow drifted gently around them, soft as blessing.
Later, back inside the cabin, the small wedding party ate chili, cornbread, pie from Mabel’s diner, and a simple vanilla cake Sophie had chosen because she liked it and no one had dared mention fondant.
Her bouquet sat in the same mason jar by the window.
Alive.
Again.
Jace found her standing beside it after the guests had gone, wrapped in a blanket and watching snow fall beyond the glass.
He came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.
“My wife.”
Sophie leaned back against him.
“My husband.”
His lips brushed her temple.
“You happy?”
She looked around the cabin.
The fire.
The flowers.
The boots by the door.
The wedding dress draped carefully over a chair, no longer haunted.
Just a dress.
Just fabric.
Just one more piece of the strange, beautiful story that had brought her here.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Completely.”
Jace turned her in his arms.
“You sure?”
She smiled.
“For a woman with two failed weddings, one viral aisle escape, and a documented history of questionable footwear?”
“Yeah.”
She slid her hands up his chest.
“I am absolutely sure.”
He kissed her slowly.
Softly.
Like they had all the time in the world.
Because now they did.
And Sophie Lane Wilder, who had once thought forever meant losing herself, finally understood the truth.
The right forever did not ask her to disappear.
It gave her a place to stay.
***