Epilogue 2 - Noelle

EPILOGUE 2 - NOELLE

Five Years Later

“ D addy! The orchid is doing the thing!”

Our four-year-old daughter Holly's excited squeal rings out as she presses her nose against the glass partition. Her dark, unruly hair is a mess as she jumps up and down, pointing at Sawyer's prized Shenzhen Nongke Orchid. He was cultivating it for years before he and I got together, and now it’s finally blooming.

“Inside voice, sweet pea,” I remind her, though I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. She's inherited her father's love of plants and my inability to contain excitement.

“But Mommy, look!” She grabs my hand, tugging me closer to the glass. “It's blooming! Just like Daddy said it would for Christmas!”

She's right. The rare orchid we've had a time-lapse camera on for months in preparation has finally decided to open, its exotic petals slowly unfurling like a gift being unwrapped. The sight still takes my breath away, even after five years of helping Sawyer tend his precious plants.

“Should we go get him?” Holly bounces on her toes. Her Christmas pajamas—decorated with little dancing reindeer—make her look even more precious than she already is.

“I think that’s exactly what we need to do,” I say, scooping her up to sit on my hip. At seven months pregnant with our third child, I probably shouldn't be lifting her, but I can't resist. “He’s giving Nick his morning bottle, but he won’t want to miss this.”

As if on cue, Sawyer appears in the greenhouse doorway, our one-year-old son in one arm. The sight of my mountain man holding our baby still makes my heart melt. Especially when he's wearing the Christmas sweater I got him—complete with twinkling lights and a built-in speaker that plays ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’ whenever I hug him tight.

“I heard the word 'blooming' and rushed in,” he says.

“Daddy! Come see!” Holly wiggles until I set her down, then runs to take his free hand. “Your special flower is opening!”

“Is that so?” He lets her drag him to the glass, and I watch his eyes light up at the sight of the orchid. After all these years, his passion for his plants still amazes me. Though these days, he has room in his heart for so much more.

“It's just like you said,” Holly declares proudly. “A Christmas miracle!”

Sawyer's eyes meet mine over her head, and we share a smile. She has no idea how many Christmas miracles this greenhouse has witnessed.

“Speaking of miracles,” he says, passing Nick to me so he can lift Holly for a better view. “Did Mommy tell you what happened here five years ago?”

“The crashed car story!” Holly claps. It's her favorite bedtime tale—how Mommy destroyed Daddy's fence and saved him from being a Christmas Grinch forever.

“That's right.” Sawyer nuzzles her cheek, making her giggle. “Happiest accident ever.”

“Even better than when I crashed my tricycle into your Venus Flytrap?” Holly asks innocently.

“We don't talk about the Flytrap Incident,” Sawyer says gravely, but his eyes light up with humor. He's come so far from the brooding man I first met. These days, his smiles come easily, especially around our children.

Nick babbles and reaches for the glass, his chubby fingers leaving smudges that would have driven the old Sawyer crazy. Now, he just chuckles.

“Like father, like son,” I say. “Already fascinated by the plants.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Sawyer counters, nodding at Holly, who's now singing ‘Deck the Halls’ to the orchid. “Already spreading Christmas cheer to every living thing on the mountain.”

“You love it.” I lean into him as he wraps his free arm around me, his hand splaying protectively over my swollen belly.

“I love you,” he corrects, dropping a kiss on my temple. “All of you. Even if you did turn my serious research facility into Santa's botanical garden.”

He's not wrong. The greenhouse has evolved over the years, becoming a perfect blend of both our passions. The rare specimens still have their climate-controlled sanctuary, but the retail space has become something magical. Especially during the holidays, when families drive up from town to pick out Christmas plants and take photos in what the locals now call ‘The Mountain's Winter Wonderland.’

“The plants don't seem to mind,” I point out, watching the orchid continue its slow revelation. “They bloom better with a little Christmas spirit.”

“Everything does.” His voice goes soft, thoughtful. “You taught me that.”

“Daddy!” Holly interrupts before I can get too misty-eyed. “Can we have hot chocolate? With extra marshmallows? Please?”

“Only if you help me check the temperature gauges first,” he bargains.

“Deal!” She scrambles down from his arms and runs to get her special clipboard—a miniature version of Sawyer's research notes, complete with rainbow stickers.

“And then are we going to grandma and grandpa’s?” she calls over her shoulder, already in love with the Christmas extravaganza my parents’ love to host.

“After breakfast,” I laugh. “And after we pack up the car.”

“And after we take our Christmas card photo!” Holly adds, already knowing the routine. “In our matching jammies!”

Sawyer groans dramatically, but I know he secretly loves our family traditions. Even the musical sweaters.

“Go enjoy your success with your daughter,” I tell him, bouncing Nick as he starts to fuss. “I'll get breakfast started. Something tells me we're going to need extra energy today.”

He pulls me close for a proper kiss, one hand still resting on my belly where our newest miracle grows. “I love you, Christmas angel.”

“I love you too, Mountain Man.” I straighten his sweater. “Even if you still pretend to hate the musical ones.”

His laughter follows me out of the greenhouse, mingling with Holly's excited chatter about temperature zones and optimal growing conditions. Five years ago, I crashed into this mountain seeking shelter from a storm. Instead, I found a home, a family, and the kind of love that blooms brighter with each passing season.

Just like Sawyer's latest blooming orchid, some things are worth the wait. They open in their own time, revealing beauty that takes your breath away. And sometimes, if you're very lucky, they bloom just in time for Christmas.

“Mommy! Daddy says the orchid is my Christmas sister's namesake!”

I turn back with a grin. “Is that so?”

Sawyer shrugs, trying to look innocent. “Well, Nongke Nevaeh does have a nice ring to it...”

And as our daughter lectures her father about proper plant terminology, I send up a silent thank you for black ice, broken fences, and all the Christmas magic that brought us here.

Some accidents really are meant to change everything.

For the better.

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