I woke once in the night. Snowflakes drifted past the window in arcs, like a shower of falling stars. Candi was warm against my side, her breathing slow and even. The key glinted on the nightstand beside the framed photo of us.
She stirred, murmuring something in her sleep, and burrowed closer.
I pressed a kiss to her hair and closed my eyes, already looking forward to morning.
Epilogue
Candi
One Year Later
I adjusted the deep red velvet dress one more time, checking my reflection in our bedroom mirror.Ourbedroom. A year later, those two words never failed to make my heart race. Funny how a possessive pronoun could feel like magic.
Through the window, snow fell softly over the Hope Peak mountains, dusting the pine trees in fresh white. The view never got old. Neither did waking up next to Bart every single morning.
"You look beautiful," Bart said from the doorway, and I caught his reflection in the mirror—silver hair slightly damp from his shower, charcoal suit that made his steel-blue eyes even more striking. Heat flashed through me whenever I looked at him.
"You clean up pretty well yourself, Silver Fox." I turned to face him. "Though I still prefer you in flannel."
"Liar. You love me in a suit."
"Fine. I love you in a suit. I also love you in flannel. And jeans. And—"
"If you finish that sentence, we're never making it to dinner." But he was grinning as he crossed the room and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Ready?"
"Almost." I grabbed my phone from the dresser out of habit, then paused. The notification badge showed 39 unread messages—probably holiday greetings, partnership inquiries, comments on yesterday's post about this year's Christmas Wishes success. Maybe even Drew, though I honestly wouldn't know. I'd unfollowed him months ago and never looked back.
A year ago, I would have checked immediately. Now? They could wait.
I set the phone face-down and smiled at Bart. "Okay. Now I'm ready."
His expression softened in that way that made my knees weak. "I love watching you do that."
"Do what?"
"Choose to be present. Choose us over the noise."
"Always." And I meant it.
THE DRIVE INTO HOPEPeak took twenty minutes through the fresh snowfall. Bart's truck was familiar now—I'd long since stopped bringing my beat-up Honda everywhere, and we'd donated it to a single mom through one of our programs. She needed reliable transportation more than I needed a backup vehicle.
Main Street was magical, just like last year. The forty-foot Christmas tree sparkled in the town square, lights reflecting off the snow. But this year was different. This year, I wasn't performing for the camera. I was just living here. Home.
"Remember last Christmas Eve?" I asked as we passed the church. "Drew showing up drunk, trying to pitch me like a business deal in front of the entire congregation?"
