Page 26 of Dad Bod's Daring December

Evening wraps around us gently, the celebration under the stars now full of laughter and the clinking of glasses. The crowd is smaller now, the music softer, but the joy is no less palpable. Gifts are piled high on a table, tokens of affection from friends who’ve become family.

Garlands of evergreen and holly drape over the beams, filling the space with the scent of pine. The beautiful wedding cake, adorned with holly and berries, stands almost forgotten as we’re lost in the celebrations.

As Ember chats with friends, I let my gaze wander over the scene. A year ago, I never would have imagined this—a night filled with love and laughter instead of dread and fear.

“May I have this dance?” I ask as Ember returns to my side, her smile lighting up the dimly lit barn.

“Always,” she says, her voice soft but sure.

I pull her into my arms, her warmth a balm against the cold air creeping through the barn’s open doors. As we sway to the music, I think about how far we’ve come—from the chaos of that night to the quiet certainty of this moment.

“Thank God Razor and Rebecca are out of our lives,” I murmur.

Her arms tighten around me, her head resting against my chest. “No more looking back.”

“No more looking back,” I agree.

The farmhouse stands in the background, its windows glowing with warmth and welcome. It’s more than a house now—it’s our home, the place where our future begins.

Epilogue

Edward

Christmas Day

The cabin at the Aspen ski resort where we’re spending our honeymoon is quiet, the kind of silence that settles like a thick blanket over everything when there’s a fresh layer of snow on the ground.

I lean back into the couch, fingers wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, and glance down at Ember. She’s curled up beside me, wrapped in an oversized blanket, eyes bright as she surveys the little Christmas tree we’ve set up in the corner.

The tree is, let’s say…a work in progress. We grabbed it from a farm down the road, and it might be the smallest, scraggliest one there, but it’s ours, decorated with a mismatched collection of ornaments Ember picked up at a yard sale. A few candy canes dangle awkwardly from the branches, and the string of lights we draped over it blinks erratically. Still, it’s perfect.

“I think we did good,” I say, sipping the hot chocolate she made. It’s too sweet, and the marshmallows have half-melted into asticky blob, but it has that cozy taste that reminds me of when I was a kid.

She laughs, nudging my leg with her foot. “Good? It looks like something a couple of kids threw together.”

“Well, maybe a couple of kids did throw it together,” I say, giving her a grin. “What’s a real tree supposed to look like, anyway? We’re making our own traditions.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Fine. Then I’m officially declaring this the ‘Ugly Tree’ tradition. Next year, we find the ugliest tree we can and decorate it however we want. Deal?”

“Deal,” I say, holding out my hand for a shake.

She takes it, her fingers warm in mine, and we sit, soaking in the quiet.

I lean over, kissing the top of her head, and she lets out a sigh that sounds like contentment. We’re here, in this little cabin, miles from everything, just the two of us celebrating our first Christmas as husband and wife. It still feels surreal sometimes. The quiet life, the cozy cabin, knowing that this is forever—it’s more than I thought I’d ever have.

“You know, we could make this cocoa a little more exciting,” I say, reaching over to grab the bottle of Bailey’s we brought along.

“Oh, now you’re speaking my language.”

I pour a generous splash into each of our mugs, and we clink them like they’re wine glasses, grinning at each other before we take a sip.

She lets out a satisfied sigh, sinking further into the couch. “Now this is a Christmas drink. Instant cocoa and a splash of Bailey’s. I’d like to see those fancy cocktail bars compete with this.”

I laugh, pulling her closer. “I think we’re onto something. We should open a business: December’s Cocoa, LLC. ‘We add Bailey’s to everything.’”

She snickers, resting her head on my shoulder. “We could have the whole cabin aesthetic, you know? Mismatched decorations, ugly trees, cocoa on tap. People would eat it up.”

I grin. “Especially if we told customers it was ugly on purpose. We’d be a sensation.”

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