Epilogue Amanda

Epilogue

Amanda

Three months later . . .

Tinsel is sparkling as only Tinsel can in early December when Dane and I pull into town the night before the Holiday Parade. The normal year-round number of twinkling lights has multiplied by at least seven thousand. Instead of one hot cocoa stand, there are six on Kringle Lane. Thick scents of pine and cinnamon waft into the car through the heater, and real snow is overflowing the sidewalks.

“Look!” I exclaim, putting a hand to Dane’s thigh and pointing with the other. “They put our snow globe in the old tree lot!”

There are no other snow globes on the street.

Lorelei called laughing so hard she was crying not long after Dane and I arrived back in New York for our first trial month there, reporting that traffic had completely shut down in downtown Tinsel while the Jingle Bell Fest Committee gathered to try to figure out how to fit twenty snow globes that were wider than the sidewalks onto the sidewalks when someone objected to putting them in Reindeer Square instead.

Wait.

Not the entire Jingle Bell Fest Committee.

My grandmother was absent from discussions.

She’s been asked to step down and put her health first.

Which was a kind way of the town saying your generation is done here .

Dane and Lorelei’s grandparents have been relieved of their roles in some of the smaller holiday committees too.

And speaking of Lorelei—“Park! Park! ” I squeal at Dane.

He smiles that patient smile of his while he takes his time finding a safe spot to pull over on the side of the road.

“I’m going to go hug your sister so that she’s all yours by the time you get there, deal?” I say.

“It’ll cost you a kiss.”

I peck his cheek, knowing that’s not what he wants, and laugh when he hooks his hand behind my neck to pull me in for something deeper.

I love this man.

I don’t care if we’re in San Francisco or New York or Tinsel or anywhere else in the world.

I love him.

His quiet smiles. His warm eyes. His gentle patience.

The way he asks, “Do you want company, or do you want to go alone?” when I tell him I feel a desperate need to go to a museum or show or that I’m craving Greek but want to try a place I’ve never been.

The way he gets along with Yazmin.

The way he not only came to every night of my play last week, but also insisted on making half of his office in New York come, too, so that we sold out nearly every night.

The way he calls my mom.

He calls my mom .

It started by accident, but he does. He calls and checks on her roughly every other week.

Some days I still wonder what he sees in me.

Other days, I make sure to spend as much time naked as possible so that he remembers what he sees in me.

“Take Chili?” he says as he releases me.

“Of course.”

Maybe that’s what he sees in me.

That his dog and I are besties. Mr. Lazybones accompanies me to work nearly every day when I’m working close to our neighborhood, and he even keeps up.

I hop out of the car and get Chili out of the back seat, and then the two of us dash up the street to tackle Lorelei in a hug. She’s outside the Gingerbread House with samples.

“You’re here!” she squeals.

“I missed you!” I squeal back.

Chili woofs.

It’s a halfhearted woof, but he does it like he’s saying hi too.

“Amanda!” Mom says in the doorway. “Welcome home, sweetie.”

I shift from Lorelei so I can hug Mom as Dane reaches us.

It’s a hug-a-palooza on Kringle Lane, and I’m here for it.

Once we’ve all hugged our fill—including Dane hugging Mom—we slip into the shop to get out of the cold.

The changes are small, but they’re there.

Instead of Dolly Parton, Mariah Carey is singing to us.

The nutcrackers by the bakery counter are wearing ugly Christmas sweaters instead of elf outfits.

There’s a new note on the menu.

Ask us about gingerbread-baking classes!

But the biggest change—Grandma is sitting at one of the tables with Dane and Lorelei’s grandmother.

I freeze in my tracks. Dane makes a startled noise.

They’re playing dominoes.

Our grandmothers are eating gingerbread and playing dominoes.

“Oh, close your mouths,” Grandma Vicki says. “Doctor’s orders. He says we’ll live longer if we make up.”

“I think he’s full of crap,” Dane’s grandma says.

“We fully agree, which is why we’re here,” Grandma Vicki says. “We’re proving him wrong. Oh, Opal, look, you have crumbs on your sweater.”

“I’m saving them for later.”

“You’re saving them to torture Warren when he does your laundry and sees gingerbread.”

Dane’s grandma giggles.

Giggles.

“Surprise,” Lorelei whispers.

“I’m still highly uncomfortable every time they come in and do this,” Mom murmurs. “I’m waiting for the gingerbread to start flying. But I’m going with it.”

I hug my grandma. Dane hugs his.

They both tell us to shoo before we break their concentration. They’ll see us later.

Santa Claus Ho ho ho s, and a blast of cool air sweeps through the shop as Mrs. Briggs enters. “Oh, look! Our parade king and queen have arrived!”

Dane’s ears go pink.

Absolutely. Adorable.

I squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll be so bundled up, they won’t recognize us.”

“Have you seen Reindeer Square yet?” Mrs. Briggs asks.

“People over places,” I reply.

“Tell me there’s not a statue,” Dane says.

Mrs. Briggs grins.

So does Mom.

And Lorelei.

Our grandmothers?

They cackle .

Dane winces.

I squeeze his hand harder. “It’s okay. We don’t have to come back here ever again if you don’t want to see a statue of us.”

“There’s not a statue,” Mom says. “You don’t have to threaten to never show your faces again.”

“What is there?”

“Something . . . else.”

That’s ominous.

I look at Dane.

His smile is more on the resigned side, but I love all his smiles, and I love how frequently I catch him wearing one. “Let’s get it over with and see what they did.”

“Wait for us,” Lorelei says. “We’ll close up early.”

The grandmas insist we let them finish their game so that they, too, can come along.

Almost an hour later, with Dane, Chili, and me all getting hungry, we finally make it to Reindeer Square.

It’s lit up almost as bright at Times Square, but instead of a skating rink and a giant tree, the square is full of the snow globes.

There’s a path cut through the snow to lead us through the display of snow globes, but the best part—the very best part, the surprise—are the guides for the path.

They’re all the statues that either of our families have decorated over the years.

The elves and snowmen and reindeer and other creatures that were in storage, except for the ones Dane and I used in our own snow globe.

Which is in the very center of the square, under the gazebo.

It’s modified, though.

Instead of just the Silvers’ snowman holding my family’s elf with snow swirling around inside, my family’s elf is holding the engagement ring, and Dane’s family’s snowman has my wedding dress draped over one stick arm.

And there’s a plaque affixed to the base of the snow globe, illuminated for easy reading.

T INSEL ’ S J INGLE B ELL F ESTIVAL IS DEDICATED TO D ANE AND A MANDA , WHO RISKED IT ALL TO FIND PEACE BUT FOUND LOVE ALONG THE WAY INSTEAD .

“Instead?” Dane says as he tucks an arm around me and presses a kiss to my hair.

“Our grandparents all still insist the peace is temporary,” Lorelei says with an eye roll at her own grandmother.

“Like Esme says, they can fight it out in the afterlife,” he replies.

Grandma Vicki squeaks.

Grandma Opal glares at him.

He tucks in a smile, but his eyes can’t hide how amused he is. “Feud’s over, ladies. If another family wants to start one, that’s their business. But we’re only coming back if you agree to get along.”

He doesn’t mean it. We’d both miss Lorelei and Esme and my mom and his dad too much.

But our grandmothers don’t know that.

They eye each other.

“Same time on Tuesday?” Opal says to Grandma Vicki.

“Unless my goiter’s acting up.”

“Clearly, I meant if my goiter isn’t acting up too.”

They sniff at each other.

But they also smile.

Almost.

Close enough, anyway.

“Any more surprises here?” Dane asks Lorelei.

She grins. “Of course not.”

No sooner have the words left her mouth than a rousing chorus of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” erupts behind us.

Someone hands me a hot cocoa. I pass it to Dane, and he trades me for a fruitcake log.

“You get me,” I whisper. “I love you so much.”

He just smiles.

And that’s all I need.