Epilogue
Grant
“Come here, let me fix your tie.”
Valerie crooked her finger and rounded the front of the car, her heels sliding through the winter slush. I caught her before she could slip, my hands circling her waist.
Today, she smelled like warm vanilla and sugar. I knew the exact name of her shampoo now. I typed it into my phone this morning while she was brushing her teeth, in case she ever ran out and I was standing in the aisle, surrounded by a sea of bottles.
She lifted onto her toes, straightening the knot at my neck. Then her hand smoothed down the length of polyester flamingos in Santa hats.
Her mouth twitched. “Best twenty dollars I ever spent.”
“Next year, I hope you find one with pineapples wearing sunglasses in a blizzard.”
I drew her against my chest, looking over her shoulder as the house loomed behind her.
She snorted into my coat and wrapped her arms around my back.
She waited, knowing I needed to steel myself for the coming storm.
The Delaney estate never changed. Every year, it gleamed like a mansion under glass, cold and untouchable.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one dragging your feet? They’re your in-laws.”
“I can face anything with you.”
Her confidence made my chest ease. But the warmth in her tone had me sliding my hand around her wrist to tug her back to the car.
“That’s it. We’re leaving and spending Christmas under the covers.”
She laughed, the sound way too musical in the shadow of the stony estate. “Grant, stop. We’re doing this. But I’ll make you a deal.”
“Is this another one of those fake-it games?”
She shook her head, a tendril of hair slipping free to frame her cheek. “We need a code word. Something that if either one of us says, we leave immediately. No questions asked.”
“Okay… how about Santa needs his elf?”
Her eyes flared, and she smacked my shoulder with a shocked laugh. “Grant Delaney. I am not saying that in front of your parents.”
“Then say it quietly,” I said, deadpan.
She snarled, looping her arm through mine and tugging me toward the walkway.
“The word is mistletoe, and that’s final.”
We reached the front steps, the heavy oak doors gleaming beneath a perfect evergreen wreath. The faint hum of sound met us before we even crossed the threshold.
Valerie froze. “Is that… organ music?”
“It is,” I said, pushing open the door to a gust of warm air. “Guess my grandfather didn’t get the choir this year.”
Her eyes widened as the first dramatic chord of Joy to the World rolled through the foyer. “Oh, no. This is way more intense than I imagined.”
“Just say the word, Spells.”
“Mistle—no.” She notched her chin higher, a brave toy soldier in a red dress and matching heels marching into the line of fire.
The entryway impressed like a museum exhibit—marble floors, towering staircase, a crystal chandelier big enough to power the North Pole.
Before I could warn her, my mother appeared in a cloud of perfume and pearls, a smile frozen on her face.
“Grant,” she said, kissing the air somewhere near my cheek. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
Then she turned to Valerie. “And you must be… Grant’s wife.”
“Valerie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Valerie reached into her purse. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Delaney.”
My mother blinked as Valerie handed her a silver envelope. She opened it, eyes skimming the contents.
“Oh.” Her sculpted eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh. This is lovely. Thank you.“ A pause, then the slightest hint of a smile. “You can call me Helen. Come inside—you both must be freezing.”
I stared at Valerie, completely thrown. “What did you just give her?”
She dusted imaginary snow from her shoulder, eyes sparkling. “A season’s pass to a ski resort out in Coldspell. I know a guy. And I also know your mother led her ski team to the state championship title back in college.”
I pressed my hand against the small of her back, leading her down the hallway. “And how exactly do you know that?”
She tilted her head, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “An elf never reveals her secrets. But if she did, it would involve a late-night internet search. You don’t go into festive battle without a little internet sleuthing first.”
When we entered the main parlor, my mother immediately led Valerie away, asking about the terrain at Coldspell Mountain. Most people would have frozen into an ice sculpture from the chill of my mother’s smile, but not Valerie.
That didn’t surprise me. She hadn’t backed down from a single one of our agency fights, going toe-to-toe with me for years.
I lingered in the doorway, watching as my mother introduced her to every relative within a hundred-mile radius. Valerie smiled through it all, patient and radiant, stealing the attention of the entire room without even trying.
Our eyes met across the crowd, and my chest tightened. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. If sparring was her love language, praise and acts of service were going to be mine.
Just as soon as she whispered that one little word: mistletoe.
I wandered toward the hearth, stopping in front of a perfect line of stockings.
Mine. Matt’s. I stared at his, a familiar ache settling beneath my ribs.
I still grieved him—probably always would—but that sorrow had turned into something sturdier.
A resolve to shift the Delaney name into something I could be proud of.
And somehow, I knew, he’d be proud of that too.
My gaze drifted to the end of the line, where a new stocking hung in bright red yarn, Valerie’s name stitched across the cuff in slightly crooked letters.
I turned, scanning the room until I spotted my grandmother in her favorite chair by the window, knitting needles clacking. When she looked up, she winked.
I mouthed, Thank you.
Her lips curved, just slightly, before smoothing back into their proper matriarchal composure. The needles clicked on, steady as ever.
I was still watching my grandmother when a low voice spoke behind me.
“Your report,” my grandfather said.
He stood near the mantel, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn’t look at me, just studied the fire.
“I started reading it this morning,” he said finally. “It’s… good work, Grant.”
For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. The compliment was so quiet I figured it was a log shifting in the hearth. But it was real.
“Thank you,” I said, careful not to overplay it.
He nodded once and sipped from his glass. “I’ve made some notes. We can discuss them after the holidays.”
“Sounds good, sir.”
I followed his gaze to where Valerie was laughing with my aunts, showing them how to fold a napkin into a swan, then spinning her finger with a spell to make its fabric head turn.
“She’s not the granddaughter-in-law I would have chosen. And I would have preferred a traditional wedding.”
“I know that.”
He frowned when the napkin swan’s back wing flapped. “She’s got spirit, though.” The ice clinked in his glass. “And she’s good for you.”
“She is,” I said. “She’s… everything.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw as if he wanted to say something more, but he just tossed back his drink. “It’s almost time to eat. Then it’s the family photo.”
Dinner passed in a blur of crystal glasses and silver carving knives. Muted conversation accompanied the dessert and my grandfather’s annual speech. I could have repeated it in my sleep. Another year. Another proud tradition.
Valerie’s hand slipped into mine beneath the table, and I tuned it all out.
Then came the inevitable: the Delaney family photo.
We lined up in front of the tree, a wall of coordinated blazers and holiday finery, while a professional photographer fussed with the tripod.
“Closer,” he said, motioning with his hand.
Valerie bumped my shoulder. “You know, for people who specialize in miracles, your family’s allergic to joy.”
“Careful,” I murmured, moving her in front of me. “They’ll hear you and mount you on the wall like a pair of antlers. That’s what happened to Uncle Tony.”
A laugh burst from her, and she slapped a hand over her lips when my aunt’s head turned with a glare ominous enough to silence carolers.
“You’re in trouble now,” I said as Valerie adjusted her pose.
“They love me—I think.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “Or they will… after they’re browbeaten by my charm.”
“Worked on me,” I said, slipping my arm around her waist and drawing her closer.
“All right, everyone,” the photographer said, peering into the lens. “On the count of three. One…”
My fingers brushed her hand—just long enough to slide a ring onto her finger.
Her breath caught.
I bent to whisper, “You’re not the only one who did a little extra credit yesterday.”
The camera flashed. The photographer frowned. “We’ll need to take another—the lady looked up.”
All eyes turned toward Valerie, but she was still staring at me, wide-eyed, her lips parted.
“You’re ruining the family photo,” I said, a grin pulling at my mouth. “Smile for the camera, wife.”
She did—still stunned—before turning back to me, tears glimmering in her eyes.
“Mistletoe,” she whispered.
I tilted my head, teasing. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”
Her hands slid up my chest, tugging at my collar. “Mistletoe. Mistletoe. Mistletoe.”
Then she kissed me—in front of my family, uncaring as the flash went off again. The only Delaney family photo I’d ever put on my mantel.
“Take me home, Grant.”
“Finally. I thought you’d never ask.”
Outside, snow fell in slow, steady flakes, catching the glow of the wrought-iron lanterns as we stepped into the night. Valerie held up her hand, admiring her ring as she twirled in the snow.
Then she paused in front of the car, reaching for an envelope tucked under the wiper blade. The words Mr. and Mrs. Delaney were printed across the cream-colored parchment.
“What’s inside?” I asked.
Valerie pulled out a Christmas card.
Happy Holidays from your friends at Sacred Spell Resort.
Come back soon!
A single photo slipped out—us on our wedding day, standing under the beach pavilion.
Valerie’s hair was wild, her tank top streaked with mud as she clutched a bouquet in her fist. I looked worse—shirt partially torn, my finger red and angry.
But we were looking at each other, the sunlight gold over the horizon.
“They had cameras in the ceiling,” Valerie said, her nose wrinkling. “I should have known.”
“I think we should frame it.”
She whimpered. “But my hair.”
“Was a mess. So was I.” I tapped the photo. “I still couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah, me either. But don’t think that just because I have a ring now and there was some photography that we’re finished.” She pointed a finger in my face. “You still owe me a honeymoon.”
I plucked the card from her fingers. “Lucky for you, I know the perfect place. Already paid for. It was included in our bill.”
She gasped. “You’re just telling me now that there’s an all-expenses-paid beach vacation in my future?”
“I thought you loved winter. Ice. Shoveling. Numb fingers.” I caught her hands against my chest, warmth pooling from me into her.
Her eyelids fell to half-mast as she leaned into me. “Don’t distract me with your magic hands, Delaney. Take me to the beach!”
“The flights are already booked. This time, we only need one hut—and I have to warn you…” I grinned. “There will be team-building exercises.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck, her laughter puffing against my throat like warm air in the snow. “Best. Honeymoon. Ever.”
***
Thank you so much for reading Valerie and Grant's holiday story! I hope they brought you plenty of laughs, warmth, and holiday magic.