Page 32 of Mashed Hearts
We’ve got a week. Then New York, then my internship, then whatever comes next. Long distance is a beast, but with her inmy arms, I’m ready to slay it—one taco, one kiss, oneI love youat a time.
epilogue - josh
. . .
I’m standingin the same Vermont cabin where it all restarted a year ago, but everything’s different now. The air smells like pine, woodsmoke, and Ainsley’s attempt at “elevated” green bean casserole — spoiler: it’s still just canned beans with crunchy onions. The fire’s roaring, string lights twinkle like they’re in on the secret, and our Friendsgiving crew, plus Kait’s brother Ryan, is sprawled across mismatched couches and beanbags, stuffed to the gills with turkey, mashed potatoes, and Beth’s “artistic” cranberry sauce that looks like a crime scene. Kait is curled against my side, her head on my shoulder, legs tucked under a blanket that smells faintly of dog and last year’s Airbnb. She’s dressed in a sweatshirt with my firms name on the breast—faded, stretched out, perfect—and her fingers are tracing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s done a thousand times since I moved to New York to be together.
Yeah, you heard that right.Moved to New York.After last year’s Christmas chaos—canceled flights, retaken tests, me nearly begging the New York office of my engineering firm to take me—I made it happen. Internship turned into a full-time gig, Kait landed a job teaching first grade at a Brooklynelementary school where she’s the cool teacher who lets kids read graphic novels, and we’ve got a tiny apartment with a fire escape that doubles as our “balcony.” Long distance? Slayed it like a dragon with a spreadsheet and a prayer. We’re solid. We’reus. And tonight, I’m about to make it forever.
But first, s’mores.
The group’s in full post-turkey coma, wine glasses half-empty, pie plates scattered like casualties. Jack’s trying to balance a marshmallow on his nose, Hope throws more marshmallows at him to break his concentration. Pete and Ainsley are making out in the corner like they’re still in high school, and Beth’s painting a tiny middle finger on a graham cracker with melted chocolate. Ryan—Kait’s brother, who’s now my unofficial gym buddy—is arguing with Micah about whether AI could roast a better turkey.
Kait’s laughing at something Beth said, her eyes crinkling, and I’m so gone for her it’s embarrassing. She catches me staring, smirks. “What, Daniels? You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?” I ask, innocently sipping my cider.
“The one that says you’re about to do something stupidly romantic.”
I grin, kissing her temple. “You know me too well, Jamison.”
Ainsley claps her hands, nearly knocking Pete off the couch. “Okay, weirdos! Thankful time! S’mores edition! Go!” She points to the door and we all begrudgingly move to gather around the fire pit outside, snow crunching under our boots, the sky so clear you can see every star like it’s showing off.
The air’s crisp, our breath fogging, and the s’mores station is a disaster of melted chocolate and sticky fingers. Kait’s roasting a marshmallow with the focus of a bomb tech, her tongue poking out in concentration. I’m supposed to be toasting mine, but I’m too busy watching her, the ring box in my pocket burning a hole through my jeans.
Pete goes first, arm around Ainsley. “Thankful for this one not poisoning us with her casserole. Yet.”
Ainsley swats him, but she’s grinning. “Thankful for Pete’s face. And for not having to adult alone.”
Beth raises her marshmallow like a torch. “Thankful for a new mural that landed on my plate last week, paintbrushes, friends who don’t judge my pretty flask, and the fact that I didn’t set the cabin on fire when cooking the turkey.”
Micah, deadpan: “Thankful for stable Wi-Fi and the fact that AI hasn’t unionized. Yet.”
Jack with mouth full of graham cracker, “thankful for this wine, for Josh finally growing a pair, and for the fact that I’m not on dish duty, again.”
Hope smiles, and holds up her wine glass, “thankful for growth, this couch, and the fact that nobody’s started a food fight. Yet.”
Ryan smiles, and looks to the flickering flames: “Thankful for my sister’s boyfriend not being a total loser. And for being invited to my first Friendsgiving.”
Kait’s turn. She’s got her marshmallow perfectly golden, and leans into me, smiling soft. “Thankful for second chances. For New York mornings with this guy’s terrible coffee. For my kids at school who think I’m a superhero. And for all of you, for making this feel like home.”
My heart’s doing backflips. I squeeze her knee, my throat tight. The ring box feels like it’s pulsing.Now or never, Daniels.
I stand, clearing my throat. “My turn.”
The group quiets, sensing something’s up. Kait’s looking at me, one eyebrow raised, marshmallow forgotten. I take a breath, the fire crackling, snow falling soft around us.
“I’m thankful,” I say, voice steady but loud enough for everyone to hear, “that she said yes.”
Kait blinks. “Yes to what?”
The group’s confused, murmuring. Beth’s eyes narrow like she’s solving a murder mystery. I drop to one knee in the snow, pulling the ring box from my pocket. The firelight catches the diamond—a simple solitaire, because Kait’s not about flash—and the gasps are immediate. Ainsley squeals. Hope’s phone is out. Jack drops his s’more.
Kait’s hands fly to her mouth, eyes wide. “Josh?”
I open the box, my hands shaking but my heart sure. “Kaitlyn Jamison, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Twice. First when we were seventeen, sneaking fries at the drive-in, thinking we were invincible. You were my best friend, my partner in crime, the girl who made every moment better just by being there. I was an idiot who let you go, and I’ve spent every day since regretting it.
“Then last year, in this exact spot, you gave me a second chance. You let me back in, even when I didn’t deserve it. We fought for this—time zones, canceled flights, spreadsheets, tacos at 2 a.m. because you aced a test and I needed to celebrate with you. You moved to New York with me, turned our tiny apartment into a home, let me burn your coffee every morning and still kissed me anyway. You’re my anchor, my adventure, my favorite person to steal cherries from.
