Epilogue – Gloria
Three Years Later
"...and that is why, even in the face of dragons and darkness, friendship remains the truest magic of all."
I close the storybook with a flourish as the circle of children seated on colorful cushions erupts in delighted applause. Some are still wide-eyed from the tale, while others bounce with leftover energy. Behind them, parents smile indulgently.
"Miss Gloria, are there really dragons in the mountains?" asks five-year-old Mia, her glasses slightly askew on her earnest face.
"Well," I say, leaning forward conspiratorially, one hand resting on my very pregnant belly, "I've never seen one myself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there."
"Emma says they only come out at night," pipes up another child, looking toward the teenage girl arranging bookmarks at the edge of our reading circle.
Emma glances up, fourteen now, the mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes is all Nathan. "Only the shy ones," she corrects with perfect seriousness. "The brave ones sometimes fly right over Whitetail Falls during snowstorms."
A collective "ooooh" rises from the children, and I catch Emma's eye with a grateful smile. She winks back, so confident and at ease in this role she's grown into—junior storytime assistant at Moonlight & Manuscripts, beloved by the town children and indispensable to me.
"Speaking of snow," I say, glancing toward the large bay window where fat white flakes have begun drifting past the glass, "I think the first real snowfall of the season has started."
The announcement causes immediate excitement. Small faces press against the window, breath fogging the glass as they watch winter's opening act transform Foxglove Lane into something from a snow globe.
I feel a warm hand settle on my shoulder and look up to find my husband standing beside my reading chair, his expression soft with pride and that particular tenderness he reserves for moments like this.
"Need help up?" Nathan asks quietly, his thumb tracing small circles at the nape of my neck.
"In a minute," I murmur, enjoying the view of Emma herding excited children, the snow falling beyond the window, and the comforting weight of our second child stretching beneath my heart. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
He follows my gaze, understanding I mean more than just the scene before us. "Perfect," he agrees, his hand sliding to rest protectively over mine on my belly.
The morning crowd today includes not just parents and children, but a row of familiar faces in the back: Paul and his wife Natalie, Logan and Austin grinning and occasionally making faces at the kids when they think I don't notice.
"Another reading from the world-famous Gloria Cross," Austin teases as the children disperse to find books with their parents, some lingering at the window to watch the snowfall.
"Hardly famous," I laugh, finally accepting Nathan's hand to help me stand, eight months pregnant makes graceful movement a distant memory.
"Tell that to your fan club," Logan counters, nodding toward a group of mothers who regularly attend with their children, one of whom is now approaching with a copy of Anne of Green Gables in her hands.
"Would you mind signing this?" she asks shyly. "It's for my daughter's birthday. You read it at the summer festival, and she hasn't stopped talking about it since."
I take the book, touched as always by these moments. "Of course. What's her name?"
"Avery," the woman says. "These storytimes mean everything to her."
As I sign the book with a personal note, I feel Nathan's steady presence beside me, his hand at the small of my back—always supporting, always there. The simple certainty of him still takes my breath away sometimes.
Emma approaches, arms full of cushions she's collecting. "Dad, can we get hot chocolate on the way home? First snow tradition?"
"Absolutely," Nathan agrees, taking some of the cushions from her. "Though Gloria might need something more nutritious."
I roll my eyes fondly. "The baby and I will survive regular hot chocolate, Mr. Overprotective."
"Paramedic," he corrects with that slight smile that still makes my heart flutter. "Professional worrier."
"You two are still gross," Emma declares with teenage authority, though her smile belies the words.
As she moves away, Nathan's arm slides around my waist, drawing me against his side. "She's happy," he observes quietly.
"We all are," I say, leaning into his warmth, watching the snow fall more heavily now outside the window.
The past three years haven't been without challenges. Blending our lives, navigating small-town curiosity about our relationship, helping Emma through the complex emotions of gaining a stepmother, then learning she would have a sibling.
But through it all, the certainty we felt in those first days has never wavered.
We moved into a renovated farmhouse just outside town limits last year, close enough for Emma to bike to school and friends, far enough for privacy and space for our growing family.
I still run the bookstore, now with Emma's enthusiastic help, while Nathan continues saving lives with the Whitetail Falls Fire Department. Our routines have merged and evolved, creating something neither of us could have imagined when we first met.
"What are you thinking about?" Nathan asks, his voice low near my ear as we watch the bookstore bustle around us.
"Everything," I admit. "That first morning when you walked in looking for Emma's backpack. The café fire. That first snowfall." I turn slightly to look up at him. "Did you know then? That this was where we'd end up?"
His eyes, still the same deep blue that first caught my attention, crinkle slightly at the corners, the lines there deeper now, silver more pronounced at his temples, every change only making him more handsome to me.
"No," he says honestly. "But I hoped. First time I'd hoped for anything like this in years."
I reach up to touch his face, the familiar stubble rough against my palm. "Worth the wait?" I ask softly.
His hand covers mine, turning to press a kiss to my wrist where the small burn scar from the café fire has long since faded to a pale mark. "Worth every storm," he answers, the words a quiet promise between us.
The baby kicks then, as if in agreement, making us both smile. Nathan's hand returns to my belly, his wonder still evident even after experiencing this once before.
"Cross family!" calls Bradley from near the door. "We're heading to the Enchanted Bean for coffee. Joining us?"
Nathan looks at me in question, and I nod. "Wouldn't miss it."
As we gather our things I pause at the window, watching the snow transform Whitetail Falls into a winter wonderland. The town lanterns are already lit against the early darkness, golden pools of light illuminating the white-dusted streets.
"Ready?" Nathan asks, holding my coat.
Emma appears beside us, her own coat already on, excitement brightening her face. "Can I walk ahead with Austin and Logan?"
"Of course," I tell her.
She grins and darts ahead, calling out to the crew already filing through the door into the snowy afternoon.
Nathan helps me into my coat, his movements still holding that careful tenderness that appeared the moment we learned about the baby. As he zips it closed his hands linger at my collar, adjusting it against the cold.
"I love you," he says simply, quietly, in that direct way he has of cutting through everything to what matters.
"I love you too," I respond, rising slightly on tiptoes to kiss him softly.
Together, we step out into the gently falling snow, joining our found family on the white-dusted sidewalk.
Nathan's arm around me is warm and secure as we follow them down the street toward the welcoming lights of the Enchanted Bean, our footsteps leaving parallel tracks in the snow. No longer first marks in untouched powder, but something better: evidence of paths walked together, side by side.
As I glance back at the bookstore, snow gathering on its sign and fairy lights twinkling in the window, I think about how everything good in my life began with the first snowfall of winter.
Thank you for reading!