Epilogue
A year later, Harvest Days belongs to me again.
I didn’t know places could be reclaimed until I return on a cold October afternoon with Mark beside me and realize I’m not thinking about the photographs from last year’s event. Not much, anyway.
The square is crowded, pumpkins are stacked around lampposts, children are running around with painted faces, and the cider tent stands in exactly the same place where Owen once rested his hand on Bree’s waist.
For months, that image lived rent-free in my mind. Now, it’s simply one old picture.
Mark and I have been together almost a year. We’re talking about moving in together after New Year’s, although I informed him that his bedroom closet is unacceptable, and he responded by drawing renovation plans before I had even finished complaining.
We wander through booths, and I buy cinnamon soap from the same vendor I visited the year before. Mark pretends to despise a wooden sign that says COZY SEASON, then insists on carrying it the rest of the day without a single complaint.
At the cider tent, he points toward an empty bench. “Sit.”
“Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“Occasionally. When I’m in the right mood.”
He disappears into the crowd.
I’m watching a golden retriever who’s wearing a pumpkin bandana when I see Owen.
He stands near the kettle corn booth talking to a man I vaguely recognize from his old route.
Owen looks older and a little tired, as though the past year has required him to live without the layer of ease I used to build around him.
He sees me, and our eyes meet, then he looks past me as Mark emerges from the crowd carrying two cups. Owen sees him too, and understanding settles over his face.
He knew eventually that Mark and I were together. Small professional circles and mutual acquaintances make secrecy pointless. But knowing isn’t the same as seeing.
Mark hands me a cup, and I sniff it suspiciously. “That’s not pumpkin spice, is it?”
He looks genuinely offended. “Hot cider with extra cinnamon,” he says.
I smile and take a sip, and he sits beside me. Owen is still looking. A year ago, I might have imagined this moment as revenge. I might have thought I’d want him to see me with someone else and ache because he understood exactly what he lost.
Instead, what I feel is quieter and peaceful.
Owen wanted everything. His wife, his marriage, his comfortable house, his routines … and Bree. He wanted secret lunches, hotel rooms, and the thrill of being wanted by someone younger.
He thought those pieces of his life existed independently, as though the choices he made with one woman would never touch what he had with another.
He was wrong.
Our eyes meet again, and there’s regret in his expression. Maybe there always will be, but that belongs to him now. I smile politely, then I look away.
Mark reaches for my hand. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
We stand and walk toward the next row of booths. Leaves crunch beneath my boots, the cider warms my fingers, and somewhere ahead someone is making doughnuts, and I can smell cinnamon in the cold air.
I smile.
This is what I like best about fall, and this time, the man beside me knows it.
Thank you for reading this holiday novella! Do you like pumpkin spice lattes? I love the fall season, but I share Melanie’s opinion of pumpkin flavor in coffee.
Although she doesn’t care for the seasonal lattes, I’m sure she’s grateful to the drink for being the thing that led to her finding a better life and a better man. I hope you enjoyed sharing the journey.