Page 86 of A Cheesecake Christmas

The End

Epilogue

Aria

One year later

Dark, ominous clouds slide across my vision in the distance as I drive to the last day of the Charles Dickens Christmas Festival. It’s the morning of Christmas Eve, and in lieu of Victorian dress, I convinced the committee to allow Theo and I to wear our Christmas blazers.

Not that I don’t love me some Victorian clothing. But with all the work he and I have been doing this past year, the committee was none too happy to grant me this wish. I needed a reprieve from the stays, corsets, and especially the ringlets.

Because I’m a little tired. My job at Wolfe Strategies has been amazing, but it’s not easy. So, slipping on the blazer feels like a comforting, well-deserved treat after a long day. A long year.

Although, when Theo got word yesterday that we didn’t have to dress up, he looked oddly unhappy. What has come over my sweet, sweet man?

He’s my man.

Mine.

And I’m as proud and giddy because of it as I was last year. Even more so.

I pull into the parking lot at the Barrie Mansion and claim the spot with a placard sporting my name. We were granted an official parking spot when we told them we were coming back as co-hosts this year.

I’m out of my car and into the mansion just as lines of customers start forming a few minutes before we open the doors. The whole place smells like wassail and cranberries. Fresh evergreen boughs adorn every possible surface of the mansion. The vendors and their booths seem ready to go. It’s a gorgeous sight, one that I’m thankful for, as last year’s closing day, which we unexpectedly spent in the tent in the back, replays in my mind.

In the grand foyer, I sense him, or maybe even smell his spicy scent, just before he slides his arms around my waist and buries his head in my hair.

“Good morning,” Theo says, nuzzling into me a little more. “You ready for this?”

I relish his arms around me, closing my eyes. “I am. Are you? I can’t believe another festival is in the books.”

“Well, almost in the books. You never know what could happen.”

I spin around and pin him with a look. “Don’t. Remember last year?” I shudder as I think of the broken tree branch debacle, staying up all night, working on moving a hundred booths from the broken and dark mansion.

“I do. But everything always turns out in the end.”

I clasp his hands in mine, right before Liz Langer moves to unlock the doors so we can begin. “My eternal optimist.”

“I have been thinking about—” he hesitates, letting his gaze drop to the floor before brightening in a smile. “Well, I’ve been thinking about this year. Everything last year felt like an uphill climb. This time around? It’s been a lot smoother.”

“You up for year three?” I ask, my eyebrows waggling.

“You can’t ask me that until New Years is over. At least. I’m tired.”

“Me, too. How do all these committee members do it year after year?”

“I think it gets in your blood,” he says, gently tugging on a lock of my hair. “Sort of like what you’ve done to me.”

Before I can respond, Liz opens the door.

“You can’t say stuff like that when I don’t have time to savor it.” I rise to meet him in a quick kiss. “But I’ll be thinking of it all day.”

I grasp his hand as long as I can before we pull apart, a necessity as Liz is funneling everyone in our direction.

We wave and greet, and before I know it, it’s time for us to tend to the other duties of the day, a million tiny odds and ends.

Theo and I are at the homemade soap booth, helping the vendor pass out samples of oatmeal and honey soaps, when I hear Grandpa Beckwith’s “Ho, ho, ho!” Decked out in a Santa costume, he’s stuffed his middle with who-knows-what to add a paunch he doesn’t have. He’s even got a furling, fluffy, fake beard on.

---