Christmas at Fox Ridge

Epilogue - Eira

One year later - December 22

T aking a step back, I tip my head from side to side, staring at this year’s slightly misshapen tree. “Well, there’s a bit of a bend in the trunk, so I don’t think it’s ever going to be perfectly straight.”

“Okay, but”—lying on the floor, Lucas spins the tree base clockwise—“if we can get it to lean toward the window, it’ll be less noticeable.”

“It’s perfect,” I say, reaching out to brush a tiny icicle from a branch. “I can’t believe I lived to see this moment.”

Getting to his feet, Lucas combs a hand through his hair and chuckles. “Ah, yes. You were so close to death on the back of the calmest horse we have around here.”

Unlike last year, Lucas and I went across the ranch on horseback to get a Christmas tree and dragged it like a sleigh behind his horse all the way back to the house.

I spent the summer taking riding lessons at the Therapeutic Riding Stables— yes, I was in a class with six-year-olds —and surprisingly, I feel pretty confident around horses now. No horse bites or other traumatic incidents. But that doesn’t mean I can’t remind Lucas how lucky he is that I survived each riding attempt.

“You never know. Maybe he’s just playing the long game, waiting for me to fully let my guard down.” I wrap my arms around Lucas’s waist, settling into the crook under his arm and breathing in the scent of fresh pine. Half-Pint weaves between our legs, aggressively rubbing her forehead over our shins.

“Kind of like your devil cat is doing to me. She’s patiently waiting to murder me.”

“Oh, shush.” I reach down and scoop her up, and she swats at Lucas’s chest. No claw, though. Progress. “She loves her daddy, and you love her.”

“Tolerate,” he corrects me, giving Half-Pint a tentative head scratch.

Bullshit . This man insists on buying her the best wet cat food Fox Ridge has to offer and built her a catio so she can safely go outside after I mentioned being worried a wild animal might kill her.

“We should get decorating,” Lucas says, slowly unraveling our intertwined bodies. “Mom and Dad are supposed to be here in the next couple hours.”

I nod, setting Half-Pint on her plush bed and popping the lid off one of the decoration totes. “And your sisters are still coming tomorrow?”

“That’s when the craziness really starts.” He smiles, tugging a long strand of tinsel from the box. “Is it too late to cancel? I’d rather spend Christmas the way we did last year.”

“Trust me, I’m already dreading having to wear pants on Christmas Day.” I sink to the floor, a knotted ball of lights in my hands, and start meticulously working to untangle them. “It’s a travesty.”

Lucas takes a sip of bourbon before tipping the short glass to my lips. The liquid heat flows down into my stomach, instantly calming my nerves. Hosting his entire family for Christmas was entirely my idea, but why anybody actually let me go through with it is beyond me.

Lucas kisses the top of my head before clunking his glass on the coffee table. “We’ll be pantsless from the minute they all go home on the twenty-sixth until January second.”

“Perfect,” I say. Both in response to his idea of spending an entire week without pants and because I’ve finally sorted out the mess of tree lights.

Just as last year, I focus on making sure the lights look perfect—and the tinsel garland is easily removable—while Lucas sorts through his childhood ornaments.

“I don’t think I’m going to hang all these,” he says, pursing his lips and staring at an adorable, tiny handprint moulded in clay. “I think we should just fill it with our own ornaments.”

“Our one tree round from last year?” I laugh.

“Lucky for you, I got you a proper ornament this year.” He smiles, holding up a small purple box. “If we keep adding to it, eventually we’ll have a fully decorated tree.”

I smile softly to myself imagining Christmas a decade from now, when we have a tote bin full of ornaments to reminisce and laugh and cry about together. A collection from every year, every vacation, every major milestone.

My fingers wrap around the dainty gold ribbon, and I pull out a small, ceramic cat figurine. With gold eyes and a mischievous look on its face, it’s as if he had this custom made to be an exact replica of the kitty curled up by the fire right now.

“It looks exactly like Half-Pint. It’s so perfect, Lucas. I love it.” I throw myself into his warm chest, inhaling his comforting cologne. “Nobody is ever going to believe you hate her, you know?”

“This has everything to do with loving you, not her.” Keeping an arm loose around my waist, he hangs last year’s ornament at the same time I hang the ceramic cat, ensuring it’s secure on a thick branch. Then we take a step back and admire our handiwork. Sure, the tree’s a little crooked, and the tinsel could use some replacing after last year, and the branches are a bit barren…but it’s perfect. Everything about this place is.

My life in the past year has become better than my best daydream. Commissions are booked out months in advance, and I’m volunteering at Fur-Ever Home multiple days per week. While the nonstop cabin bookings all summer had Lucas a teensy bit on-edge, the stress about potentially losing everything he’s worked for is gone.

“Almost forgot… I had to get us another tree round.” His hands are clasped together with what I assume is the handmade ornament concealed between them. And there’s a sheen to his deep-blue eyes when they meet mine.

“It’s tradition now,” I state, attention cutting from his hands to his face and back again.

“Um… Doodlebug.” There’s a slight wavering in his voice, and he steps in to me. “Before I give you this, I just want you to know how much I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I wet my lips, squinting at his shaky hands, held fast around the piece of wood. “What’s going on? You look worried. If you messed up the ornament or something, it’s okay.”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s… This time last year, you turned my entire life upside down in the best possible way, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully show you how much you mean to me. But I’m hoping this is a start.”

With a deep inhale and a rattling exhale, his hands slowly separate to reveal the perfect circle of wood cut from the trunk of our Christmas tree.

And a ring.

The twine used to hang the ornament is looped through the gold band. Neatly printed in sharpie on the wood are the words, Will You Marry Me?

“Lucas.” My hand flies up to cover my mouth, and already there are tears blurring my vision. Frantically wiping to clear them, I find him waiting hesitantly on one knee. And suddenly I’m on my knees, too—grabbing his face in my hands and kissing him deeply. I mutter the word yes against his lips, into his mouth, so many times it doesn’t feel like a real word anymore.

“I love you.” The thumb of his free hand swipes at the rivulets running down my cheeks when we finally break for air. His forehead presses to mine, and I lose myself in his steady gaze.

“You somehow found a way to top last year’s present,” I say just before a sob racks my body. “God, how can you be so perfect? This is just… the ornament? I love you so much.”

His bottom lip swipes over mine with the gentle brush of a kiss. “Baby, I think if your answer is yes, you’re supposed to put the ring on.”

Oh my God. Yes, yes I am supposed to do exactly that.

I give him my trembling left hand and watch the breathtaking pear-cut stone slide up the length of my finger. Then I kiss the man who’s given me so much more than a cute ornament and a beautiful ring. What started as inspiration sketched across a bar napkin became a fate-guided masterpiece. He gave me courage, confidence, and a dream worth chasing. He gave me the one thing I never knew I needed: a perfect Christmas at Fox Ridge.

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