Page 47 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

“YouTube, last night.” When she laughs, I pull her closer. “Actually, your mom. Said I needed to practice for important occasions.”

“Like your father's wedding?”

“Among others.” The ring at the bar seems to pulse in my mind. But no – not tonight. Tonight is for them.

Except...

The music shifts to something slow and sweet. Eden's head rests against my shoulder, and suddenly I can't remember a single oneof the reasons why I was waiting. Can't think of anything except how right she feels in my arms, how perfect her boutique looks next to my bar, how the past two months have been the best of my life.

“Eden?”

“Mmm?”

“I'll be right back.”

She blinks up at me, confused, as I sprint toward the door. I hear her call after me, but I'm already halfway to The HideOut. The ring is exactly where I left it, tucked safely in my desk drawer. Simple, elegant, with a small diamond that reminded me of starlight on snow.

When I return, slightly out of breath, Eden's waiting by the hot chocolate station.

“Jack? What are you?—”

I drop to one knee, right there between the marshmallows and the hand-shaved chocolate.

“I had a plan,” I tell her, heart pounding. “Something about cherry blossoms and spring, but... I don't want to wait. I don't want to plan. I just want you, Eden. Forever. Even if you hate my Christmas lights and reorganize my filing system and make me hand-cut marshmallows for the rest of our lives.”

“Jack...” Her hands fly to her mouth.

“Marry me?”

For a moment, there's just the sound of music and distant laughter. Then Eden pulls me to my feet, tears streaming down her face.

“Yes,” she whispers against my lips.

Later, as we sway to another slow song, her ring catching the light, Caterina raises her hot chocolate in a toast. “To new beginnings,” she calls out.

“To new beginnings,” everyone echoes.

Eden squeezes my hand. “To coming home,” she whispers, just for me.

And she's right. We're all home now.

Epilogue 2: One Year Later

Jack

The HideOut looks different tonight. Eden's touch is everywhere – from the twinkling lights (perfectly straight this time) to the elegant draping that transforms our local bar into something from a wedding magazine.

The familiar scent of oak and whiskey mingles with roses and vanilla, just like Eden and I have blended our lives together.

Our wedding reception is in full swing. Tony’'s manning the bar, serving our signature cocktails with names Eden insisted on – “The Failed Intervention” (her dirty martini with a twist) and “The Small Town Surrender” (my bourbon-based creation that even her city friends are ordering).

The dance floor we cleared by pushing back the tables is full of both our worlds: her fashion industry colleagues twirling with our small-town regulars.

From my spot by the bar, I can see Dad and Caterina swaying to the music, looking as in love as they did at their own wedding last February.

A year of marriage has only made them more synchronized, more certain. Just like a year of loving Eden has only made me more sure about today, about forever.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eden slides her arms around my waist, pressing against my back. Her wedding ring catches the light as she moves, and my heart does that familiar skip it's done since the first night she walked into my bar.

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