Epilogue
Gia
Snow drifts past the window in slow, lazy flakes—the kind that twirl instead of fall, dancing on air currents only they can feel.
The Christmas tree in the corner glows soft gold, every branch dotted with ornaments Thatcher and I made by hand.
There's the little brass star he forged, each point hammered smooth and perfect.
A bird I welded under his careful supervision, wings spread mid-flight.
Gears and washers strung like garland, catching the firelight and spinning slowly.
And right in the center, the brass button that started it all—polished, looped with copper wire, and gleaming like the world’s best ornament.
"It’s the perfect tree,” I say, curling on the couch with a mug of cocoa. Steam rises from it, carrying the scent of chocolate and cinnamon and home.
Thatcher leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like I'm his favorite view. And maybe I am. “Worthy of a magazine cover,” he teases.
I laugh, setting the mug down on the side table he built me for Christmas—smooth pine with copper inlay that swirls like water.
The cabin smells like freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate.
Outside, the woods are quiet, the world blanketed in white.
Inside, everything feels bright and warm and right.
It’s the best Christmas ever.
He crosses the room and sits beside me, the couch dipping under his weight. I tug at the sleeve of his flannel—the same one I claimed that first morning—until he wraps an arm around me and pulls me close.
"You realize," I say, settling against his chest and listening to the steady thump of his heart, "we've officially been snowed in together for nearly a month?”
"Seems to be working out."
"It does," I agree. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together, and I study the calluses I know as well as my own now. "Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ready for the snow to melt so I can get back out there with my metal detector and find the rest of the treasure.”
He smiles against my hair. "Wouldn't dream of stopping you."
"Good. Because I've got a whole new theory about where the train actually went off the rails."
"Of course you do."
"And I'll need your help."
"Course you will."
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat beneath it. The fire crackles, popping softly. I glance toward the tree again. I sigh, content and happy.
Thatcher tightens his hold on me, voice low and warm in my ear. "I have another present for you.”
I gaze up at his loving face. “You do?”
He holds out a closed fist, unfurling his fingers to show a simple golden ring resting in his palm. “I know how much you like shiny things,” he says.
Tears well in my eyes, and I reach out to brush the metal with my fingertips. “It’s beautiful.”
“Will you marry me, Gia? I promise to spend the rest of my life searching for treasure with you.”
“Yes,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “But I already have my greatest treasure right here.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, and I admire how it glints in the firelight. “Wait…” I say slowly, a sudden thought taking hold. “Did you melt my gold coin down for this?”
He barks a laugh. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of touching your gold, my little treasure hunter. I melted down metal from my own stash.”
“It’s perfect.” I turn my head, press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Merry Christmas, mountain man."
"Merry Christmas, trouble."
And in the glow of the tree, surrounded by handmade ornaments and the smell of pine and the man who taught me that the best treasures aren't buried—they're built, piece by piece, day by day, kiss by kiss—I've never been happier.