Page 64 of Stitch & Steel
Only this time, the lanterns and string lights twinkled brighter. The checkered cloths were replaced with ivory linens and centerpieces full of blooming peonies and blush roses. A folk band played softly as the sun dipped low and cast golden streaks through the trees. A breeze rustled the candle flames, and I danced barefoot with my husband under the stars.
Bear cried during his toast. Bullet held up a glass and honored Gran’s love story—her first, and mine. Kasey caught the bouquet, and the MC boys acted like it was a crime scene.
Gran held court in a rocking chair beside the fire pit, wrapped in a shawl Logan had hand-woven with our names stitched into the lining. Her eyes never stopped glowing. She never once forgot where she was or why we were there.
I think that was her gift to me.
A perfect day. One last miracle.
When Logan pulled me into his arms later, spinning me in the soft grass and whispering that I was hisalways, I believed him with every fiber of my being.
Because today wasn’t just a wedding.
It was the start of forever.
Epilogue
LOGAN
Two YearsLater
Christmas Eve.
Up here in the mountains, it feels like the world holds its breath the night before Christmas. The air is cold and still, a hush hanging in the pine like even the wind doesn't want to disturb the magic.
The cabin is lit up like a Norman Rockwell postcard—fresh garland draped over the porch rails, flickering candles glowing in every window. There’s a wreath the size of a motorcycle tire hung on the front door, and the scent of woodsmoke, cinnamon, and pine needles wraps around you the second you step inside.
This place used to be Gran’s. Hers in spirit and soul. She left it to us just like she said she would, but it’s not just a deed in a drawer. It’s a promise I made—to keep it safe. To keep Bella safe.
She’s inside now, cradling our son, cheeks flushed with laughter and heat, dressed in an oversized sweater and reindeer pajama bottoms she swore she'd never wear, but does every year now anyway.
The ring on her finger—the family ring—catches the firelight.
Goddamn, she still takes my breath away.
Bear’s over by the firepit in full Santa getup, the red suit stretched tight over his broad chest, beard glued on crooked. He’s handing out marshmallows to the kids, pretending he doesn't tear up when our son climbs on his lap for the second time, asking for "a puppy and maybe a little brother.”
Scout’s laid out near the fire, chin on his paws, watching everything with the patience of a mountain sage. That dog’s been through it with us. He knows.
The MC boys came up early to help decorate. Bullet strung lights around the barn and trees, Bear handled chopping firewood, and even Pledge, now a full patch, made sure the generator stayed humming in case the power blinked. They teased and cursed, drank hot cocoa like it was spiked with motor oil, but every single one of them showed up like family.
Because that’s what we are now.
Family.
We’re not in the clubhouse this year. Not anymore. Christmas is here now. At our home. The one Gran gave us. The one we turned into something new and lasting.
Gran…
She passed quietly last spring.
Bella held her hand. Scout curled at the foot of the bed. I stood at the window, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t break.
She went with a smile. Said she'd already lived a thousand lives in one—seen her girl happy, kissed her grandbaby's forehead, watched a man she trusted build the kind of life up here most only dream of.
She was ready.
We weren’t. But she was.
