Page 102 of Never Sleigh Never
Epilogue
Eleven Months Later
Logan
Brie sits at the dining room table with Josie, the two of them bent over construction paper, glue sticks, and an ever-growing list of new Christmas activities for the Holly Jolly Festival. They look like co-conspirators planning world domination—if world domination involved glitter and gingerbread houses. Many have asked if I’m doing the carnival again this year, and every time, I tell them absolutely not. That was a one-and-done, thank you very much. I’ll leave the festival chaos to Brie, the woman who actually thrives on it. The only thing I kept is the ice rink, which is my excuse to sneak in way too many hockey tournaments under the guise of “community engagement.” Over the past year, it’s even expanded into more of a sports complex. This year’s big addition? A curling bonspiel.
Eight months ago, I asked Brie to move in with us. She was basically here every night anyway, but she hesitated, so I didn’t push. Instead, I cleared out drawers, made closet space, and sure enough—every month she adds her things to the empty space. Pretty soon, she’ll be moved in anyway.
Six months ago, I did something I never thought I’d do again. I bought a ring with the perfect plan already in place for when to give it to her. I never thought I’d want marriage again after Brooke. But Brie… Brie made me believe in forever again. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in the past four years. I owe moving on to her. Do we still bicker? Absolutely. Half the time I think Brie does it on purpose just so we can make up afterward. The making up is my favorite part.
Of course, I ran every life-altering decision past Josie first. She was more than thrilled to have Brie move in. She said she now has someone to bake and do crafts with. I was excited, I no longer had to have my nails painted. The big question came when I asked Josie what she thought about me and Brie getting married and Brie being her stepmom. I’ve never seen her smile as big as she did that day, which really solidifies the idea that Josie likes Brie more than me. I’m okay with that. Josie even insisted on helping me pick out the ring, because, and I quote, “I’m a girl. I know what girls like.” I couldn’t argue with the logic, plus I liked having her as part of the process. We left the jeweler with a three-and-a-half-carat, three-stone, princess-cut diamond ring representing our past and our present flanking the largest diamond in the middle, our future. Thankfully, Josie was able to keep the secret even though she almost spilled twice. Once when we took a trip to the city, we passed the jewelry store, and Josie made a comment about going there. Luckily, I saved us by telling Brie we went there for a Mother’s Day gift for my mom. The second time, she mentioned a big surprise for the Holly Jolly Festival. Again, I had another save, saying the big surprise was another hockey tournament, but going even bigger and longer.
Brie and Josie are practically inseparable. I feel like I have to pencil in time just to see them. But I love that Josie has a mother figure in her life and that Brie was so willing to take on that role. It’s a difficult one. But she loves Josie as if she’s her own.
Now, sitting at the table, I palm the ring box, nerves buzzing under my skin. I flip it open just enough for the overhead light to catch the diamonds. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
Josie groans, flopping back in her chair. “Dad. Yes. I’ve told you, like, a hundred times.”
“More like ten,” I mutter.
“Exactly. Ten too many.” She crosses her arms, but there’s a grin tugging at her mouth.
I snap the box shut and tuck it into my pocket. “Alright, Peanut. Tonight’s the night. You ready for your big moment?”
She nods, bouncing in her chair. “Just like we practiced. I’ll be on the side of the stage.”
I ruffle her hair, pulling her in to kiss the top of her head. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad. But seriously—don’t mess this up.”
Later, Josie and I stand off to the side of the stage as Brie steps behind the podium. She’s glowing, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes sparkling brighter than the string lights overhead. My chest tightens just watching her.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming!” Brie’s voice rings out, full of that contagious holiday cheer that makes the whole town eat out of her mittened hand. “This is my favorite event of the Holly Jolly Festival—the lighting of the Christmas tree to kick off this year’s festivities!”
The crowd erupts into applause. Brie grins and lifts her hand toward the towering evergreen, which is much taller this year since I stopped hording them.
I step onto the stage, boots crunching on the wooden planks, and sneak up behind her. She jumps, spinning around, eyes wide.
“If I could,” I say, reaching for the mic, “I’d like to say something.”
Her brows knit together. “Um, yeah, sure.” She passes me the microphone, suspicion written all over her features.
I turn toward the crowd, their expectant faces glowing in the twinkle lights. “Now, growing up, the Holly Jolly Festival meant family. It meant being together, year after year. It was always special.” The cheers rise again, warm enough to rival the bonfire. “But tonight, I want to make it even more special.”
When I face Brie, she mouths, What are you doing?
The small velvet box is smooth under my fingertips as I pull it from my pocket. The crowd gasps when I flip it open and drop to one knee. “Brie,” I say, my throat tight, “will you join our family and spend every Holly Jolly Festival with us? Marry me.”
Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes shimmering.
I wave Josie over, and she dashes across the stage, breathless and grinning. “Please,” she says, tugging on Brie’s sleeve. “We want you to spend every Christmas with us.”
My pulse pounds so loud I swear the mic picks it up. Seconds stretch into eternities. She hasn’t said yes. Panic claws up my throat. Did I misjudge this? Did I?—
Willa
My best friend’s getting married! I squeal so loud I nearly pop an eardrum and do a little jig in the snow. She’s going to say yes. She has to say yes. If she doesn’t, I’ll march up there and say yes for her. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen, skimming the message. “Son of a bitch!”
