10. Epilogue
A year passes differently on the mountain. It’s measured in seasons rather than months, in changes rather than time. But this year brought more changes than I could have imagined the day a wrong number lit up my phone.
The cabin has transformed. My wife’s touches are everywhere.
Cookbooks stacked in the kitchen, yellow curtains brightening windows, her boots beside mine by the door.
The guest room we never used now houses a food prep station where she tests recipes before taking them to “Sunshine Comfort,” her food truck that’s become the talk of three mountain towns.
Rex, once my only companion, has become her devoted shadow.
He sits beside her now as she closes the truck after another successful day, her special “Mountain Mac” selling out by noon again.
The dog, who once distrusted strangers, now guards her like she’s the source of all good things. Smart boy. She is.
“Did you see Mrs. Henderson’s face when I surprised her with the unicorn-dinosaur cupcakes?” Sunny laughs, climbing into our truck. “Apparently, her granddaughter still talks about that cake from last year.”
“You’ve got a way of turning disasters into favorites,” I say, thinking how a drowned phone led to the best year of my life.
We drive the winding road home, Sunny’s hand resting on my thigh, a habit that still distracts me dangerously. Marriage hasn’t dulled that edge. The gold band on her finger makes everything more intense, a reminder that this incredible woman chose me, stays with me, loves me.
At home, Rex races to his water bowl while Sunny heads straight for the bathroom. Third time today. When she returns, I’ve got tea waiting. The ginger kind she’s been drinking lately.
“Feeling okay?” I ask, though I suspect I know the answer.
“About that.” She bites her lip, fighting a smile. “Remember how I said I had a surprise bigger than breaking our sales record?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Yeah?”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out something small, placing it in my palm. A tiny knit bootie, barely bigger than my thumb.
“I’ve been working on my knitting,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Figured I had about seven months to get better before these are needed.”
My vision blurs. “Sunny.”
“We’re having a baby, mountain man.” Her smile outshines every sunrise. “Hope you’re ready for Sunshine 2.0.”
Rex whines, nudging between us as I pull her close, my hand instinctively covering her still-flat stomach.
“Best wrong number ever,” I whisper against her hair.
“Best wrong number ever,” she agrees, standing on tiptoes to kiss me as Rex circles us, tail wagging like he understands how our family is growing.
One accidental text. One year later. One perfect life I never knew I wanted until she sent me her boobs by mistake.
Sometimes getting lost is how you find your way home.
Thank you for reading if you would like a bonus scene of Beck and Sunny !