He kisses me then, slow and thorough, tasting like champagne and promises. Outside, snow is falling past his windows, and somewhere in the city, my goats are probably plotting their next escape. But here, wrapped around Reed in his warm bed, everything feels exactly as it should be.
“So,” I say when we break apart. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“Sexual intercourse. Make you breakfast. Call Eva about our new project…”
“Sounds perfect.”
“You realize this means you’re stuck with me now, right? Business partner, personal partner, everything.”
I grin. “Promise?”
“You’re not getting rid of me, Storm.”
“Good,” I say, pulling him in for another kiss.
Epilogue: Eliza
One Year Later
The scent of wood smoke and peppermint fill my farmhouse as I pad through rooms that look absolutely different from a year ago, but feel ten times more comfortable. Where once I had mismatched everything and tools scattered haphazardly, Reed’s organizational systems now complement my chaotic energy in ways that somehow make perfect sense.
His dark jeans hang next to my overalls in the mudroom. His polished dress shoes—though, he rarely needs them anymore—sit beside my work boots on a proper shoe rack by the door. In the kitchen, his French press shares counter space with my ancient coffee maker, because apparently, we both need caffeine in different formats to function.
The real magic happened outside, though. Reed converted the old shed into his hydroponic headquarters, complete with climate control that makes my animals jealous during Pittsburgh’s bitter winters. The smaller outbuilding became his specialty operation—hydroponic mistletoe that’s already pre-sold with a wait list. Turns out, rich people will pay ridiculous money for locally grown toxic parasites with a romantic backstory.
“You’re supposed to be getting dressed,” Reed murmurs against my neck, his arms sliding around my waist as I stand daydreaming at the kitchen window in my striped pajamas, watching snow dust the goat pen.
“So are you,” I point out, leaning against his chest. He’s wearing matching pajamas—red and white candy cane stripes that Eva insisted we needed for hosting duties. “But you’re the one who started this by making those peppermint mochas that smell wintery and magical.”
A laugh rumbles through his chest. “I distinctly remember you being the one who suggested we ‘warm up’ by the fire before people arrived.” After our very acrobatic session in the living room, where we narrowly avoided burning his butt cheeks on the stove, I’m a bit sore and a lot relaxed.
I turn in his arms, studying his face in the golden light. A year of living together has softened some of his sharper edges. He’s more likely to laugh now, less likely to overthink every decision into paralysis. The daily physical work of farm life has broadened his shoulders and roughened his hands in ways that make my stomach flutter. And we help each other with paperwork, so neither of us gets as stressed about it.
Personally, I think the hottest change was when we worked together to set up boundaries with our shitty parents. Once Emma realized nobody in our family was buying into her predatory pyramid scheme, she split town. We have a Storm pact not to let her cross our thresholds unless she calls ahead and we all feel ready to see her. Reed, meanwhile, has been cut off financially, and that’s seemed more like a favor than a punishment. He sees his mom when he feels up to it, on his terms, and hasn’t pulled out his formal attire since the Yule gala last year.
“No regrets about this?” I ask, gesturing around our kitchen, where his calibrated measuring cups coexist with my “pinch of this, splash of that” cooking style.
“About living with a woman whose donkey broke my ankle and whose goats ate my life’s work?” Reed grins and pulls me closer. “Not a single one.”
“Even when therapy is kicking both our asses?”
“Especially then.” His expression grows more serious. “Marsha says the exhaustion means it’s working.”
He’s right. The joint sessions with our therapist have been brutal some weeks—pulling apart old patterns, learning to fight fair, figuring out how to be a team instead of two people trying to manage everything alone. But Reed beside me in those uncomfortable chairs makes even the worst sessions bearable.
“Speaking of hard work paying off,” I say, tracing the edge of his pajama collar, “Harrison called yesterday. He wants to book you for three more condo complexes.”
Reed’s face lights up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Apparently, photos of your trees in those tech worker apartments went viral on LinkedIn, and now everyone wants Urban Forest Solutions to stage their corporate housing.” I grin at his shocked expression. “Plus, Eva’s booked solid through spring doing the styling work. My baby sister is making more money than any of us.”
“Speaking of Eva,” Reed says, glancing toward the front window where headlights are starting to appear in our driveway, “she seemed weird when she stopped by yesterday. Distracted.”
“She got some official-looking mail she’s pretending doesn’t exist. Certified delivery and everything.” I shrug. “She says she doesn’t want to deal with new business until after the holidays, but you know Eva. She’s probably just nervous about meeting your engineering friends.”
Reed snorts. “Paolo, Vick, and Kash should be the ones who are nervous. Eva’s going to destroy them in the gingerbread competition.”
Car doors slam outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of my sisters arguing about something. Through the window, I can see them all climbing out of Esther’s car, every single one of them wearing matching striped pajamas. Even Koa has somehow been convinced to participate, his massive frame covered in candy cane stripes and topped with an elf hat that makes him look like a very large, very serious ornament.
