The Christmas Pic

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

AVA

358 Days Later.

“It’s almost time,” I say, hurrying Jo along.

“Ava, if we’re not on at exactly eight p.m., the world isn’t gonna end.” Jo stares at her phone screen as it dials. As I’m about to snatch it out of her hand, Emma answers her FaceTime.

“See?” Jo says, rubbing the phone in my face.

“You were right,” I admit. Admitting I’m wrong has been coming easier these days, even if my patience isn’t. “Now make it quick.”

“I didn’t pick up fast enough for Ava, did I?” Emma asks.

“Nope,” Jo laughs. “How’s my lead LA photographer doing?”

“The West Coast manager and I are doing well, thank you very much,” she says, panning the phone to Max who stands beside her.

I flew back from Los Angeles this morning to officially promote Emma and Max as heads of our West Coast Photo Truck division, and Jo couldn’t resist one of her chosen family calls, just in time for us to go on stage at the Chosen Family Festival .

She’s sentimental as hell, and I love it.

“How is it over there? I can’t believe we had to miss this year!” Max says.

“Oh, same ol’, same ol’.” Jo pans from backstage to George and Jeffrey dancing in the crowd, despite the lack of music.

“Ugh. That love will never get old,” Emma coos.

“Actually, hold on,” Jo says, handing the phone off to me.

“Jo!” I shout, but let her go once I see her pull out the Olympus. Instead of using up all her free time on truck maintenance, Jo has spent her idle hours shooting on film. Her favorite spot, besides in my arms, is in the darkroom of our new Harmony Springs home together.

She grabs her shot and runs back to me. I plant a big kiss on her cheek.

“Spare me,” Emma grimaces. “But also never stop. Talk to you two tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Jo waves and hangs up. I drag her toward the stage.

“Do you ever chill?” she asks.

“You know the answer to that,” I tell her. Her lip twists up in that classic Jo grin.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” she says, always there to keep me calm.

“Please welcome to the stage… Jo Fisher!” the emcee announces.

Before I can even give her my look, I push her out behind the podium. I watch from the wings as she takes the mic in front of the applauding crowd. Matt and Lena watch on as Carol soothes baby Rog.

“Hello and welcome to Harmony Springs’ annual Chosen Family Festival! We are so honored for The Photo Truck to be sponsoring this year’s event.”

The crowd whoops and hollers, rowdier than any Pride parade we’ve attended .

“As many of you know,” she continues, “this time last year was the beginning of our expansion and we haven’t stopped. The Photo Truck is now spreading love and belonging all across the country.”

The crowd cheers again. She glances offstage at me. My heart still flutters from that gaze of hers.

“And it wouldn’t have been possible without our brand-new CEO and my super-hot genius of a partner, Ava Garcia-Greene.”

Before, I would put on my fake smile and wave to the crowd, a consummate professional. Now, I can’t help but run out to Jo and give her a kiss in front of everyone.

The crowd ‘awws’ and whistles as I hold her face and say those three words I can’t get enough of. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she says back, before patting my butt forward to take the mic.

“Thank you! Thank you all,” I say as the applause dies down. “I have to admit I haven’t always been the biggest fan of Christmas.” Understatement of the year. “But with the help of the Harmony Springs community, especially Jo, my life was forever changed. With people like you, I wish everyday was a holiday.”

Jo’s corniness has rubbed off on me. So what?

“Without further ado, follow us up the hill for some fireworks… and our grand reveal!”

Jo looks at me, confused.

“Go!” I urge her.

“What could you possibly have up your sleeve now, Ms. Garcia-Greene?”

I take her hand, leading the crowd up the famously steep hill.

“I told you it’d be hard to walk up this thing in heels,” she scolds me.

“One of us has got to wear something other than flannel,” I tease. “I’ll still race you.”

“Oh, you’re on,” she says, already sprinting ahead .

I purposely hang back as I watch her crest the top of the hill. She stops, speechless.

Before her is the completely restored original Chrissy, albeit… a little different. While insurance wanted to scrap her completely, I made sure we had her saved and restored to become a permanent fixture in the community, trading her wheels for a cement foundation. After a year and some help with the permits (thanks, Wynnie), Harmony Springs now boasts its first public photography studio–Roger’s Light–where residents can book time to hone and develop their film and digital skills for free.

This is all detailed on the plaque in front of Jo, who turns to me, misty-eyed.

“This is…?”

“This is ,” I say.

The crowd's murmurs of amazement echo behind us, yet their opinions hold no weight for me. I just want Jo to be happy.

She embraces me tighter than she ever has before, and I hug her back.

“You and your damn surprises,” she says through tears.

“Maybe you could teach the studio’s first cyanotypes class?” I suggest.

She sniffles. “I would love that.”

“Come on, there’s someone you need to meet.” I usher her toward the open back of the truck where Mikey Stutz stands, beaming.

“Mikey!” Jo eyes me like I’m on my CEO bullshit again. “We know Mikey.”

“I’d like to introduce you to the inaugural studio manager of Roger’s Light,” I announce proudly.

“Are you serious?” Jo asks. I laugh giddily as she wraps Mikey in a hug.

She pulls back from their embrace and eyes me. “You think of everything. ”

“I know,” I say, pleased.

“All right, time for the first official photo taken at Roger’s!” Mikey says.

“Wait, of us?!” Jo asks.

“Of course of us, silly,” I smile at her.

We stand in front of the backdrop and pose, arms wrapped around each other.

“All right, say cheese!” Mikey says.

But Jo nuzzles up to my face and gives me dainty butterfly kisses with her lashes. It tickles, and I can’t help throwing my head back in laughter.

Mikey snaps the photo and turns to the monitor. “Oop, we’ve got a blinker!” He goes to delete it.

“Wait!” I say. Mikey halts.

“Rule number one of The Photo Truck. Never delete a memory that precious.”