Page 12 of Mountain Man's Autumn Angel
Bobbi patted my arm. “You kids have fun planning your future. I’ve got more couples to check on.”
As she walked away, I stared after her, mouth slightly open. “I think you’re right,” I said. “She’s actually taking credit for all of us meeting.”
“Yep. And if I know Bobbi, she’s already planning the next batch.” Luca pulled me closer. “So, are you ready to be part of her success story?”
I looked up at him—this incredible man who’d been buying my pottery for months, who’d fallen for me through a screen before we ever met, who’d offered me a partnership and a future I’d never dared to dream of.
“Absolutely,” I said, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Bring on the future, Lumberjack47.”
Around us, the festival grounds were emptying, but the magic lingered. And somewhere in the distance, I could swear I heard Bobbi humming the wedding march.
EPILOGUE
MELANIE
The bonfire crackled in the distance, sending sparks dancing into the star-filled October sky. I pulled my sweater tighter around my shoulders and watched as our eight-year-old twins, Rowan and Wren chased falling leaves with their five-year-old sister, Juniper.
“Careful not to go too close to the fire,” I called out, though I knew they’d heard this warning at least a dozen times tonight.
“They’re fine,” Luca said, sliding his arm around me on our oversized blanket. “Look at them—they’re having the time of their lives.”
He was right. All the kids were. Around us, five other blankets held the families that had grown from that magical harvest festival ten years ago. Ayden and Parker’s two children were building leaf forts with Clayton and Calliope’s three. Marissa and Ashe’s kids were teaching Cecelia and Marc’s son how to skip stones in the nearby creek, while Blade and Sienna’s youngest napped against his dad’s chest.
“Hard to believe it all started with a pottery booth,” Parker said from the blanket next to ours.
“And to think Bobbi still takes full credit for it,” Calliope added with a laugh.
“Speaking of Bobbi,” Marissa called out, “has anyone seen her latest newsletter? She’s already booking vendors for next year’s Christmas festival.”
I groaned playfully. “Tell me about it. I've got three custom collections to finish before Thanksgiving—the price of success, right?”
“Three?” Luca raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was two.”
“A boutique in Charlotte just placed a last-minute order.” I leaned against his shoulder. “The seasonal angel concept has really taken off.”
“Understatement of the year,” Cecelia said. “Your angels are in stores all over the state now.”
It was true. What had started as a small pottery business had grown beyond my wildest dreams. The Christmas tree lot and craft festival had become the premier holiday destination in North Carolina, drawing visitors from three states. And somehow, I’d become the unofficial “Angel Lady” of the region.
“Remember when we thought Bobbi was crazy that first year, suggesting we make this an annual thing?” Ayden asked.
“Now look at us.” Marc gestured around at the organized chaos. “We’ve got vendors booking two years in advance, a waiting list longer than Santa’s naughty list, and Luca’s property officially designated as a Christmas destination by the tourism board.”
Luca chuckled. “My parents never imagined their little tree farm would turn into this.”
“They’d be so proud,” I said softly, squeezing his hand.
The Christmas festival had grown from a small local event to a month-long celebration that employed half the town. Food trucks, live music, carriage rides, and a vendor village that sprawled across twenty acres. And at the center of it all, our littlepottery studio—now a full workshop where I taught classes and sold pieces year-round.
“Mama.” Juniper came running over, her blonde curls bouncing. “Rowan says Santa’s elves are gonna start working in your shop next week.”
“That’s because they are,” I said, scooping her onto my lap. “Sort of. I’ve got six college students coming to help make angels for Christmas.”
“Can I help?” she asked, her green eyes—so much like her father’s—wide with excitement.
“We’ll see,” I said, though we all knew the answer was yes. All three kids had inherited the artistic gene, and our kitchen table was constantly covered in their latest clay creations.
“Look at this,” Sienna said, showing us her phone. “The Christmas festival just got featured inSouthern Livingmagazine. ‘The Most Magical Holiday Destination in the South.’”
