Epilogue

epilogue

One Year Later

frankie

I keep checking the parking lot for Noah. He said he would head right from the airport to the photo booth, and I’ve been explaining that fact to the winter campers who have slapped pucks into my backdrop set at least a dozen times. They think it’s funny, and it would be if my head wasn’t on the other side of the facade.

“Say eggnog!” Norris dangles a stuffed candy cane above the camera lens to draw the toddler’s attention toward him. He snaps a burst of photos in the one second the toddler gives him before squirming his way off my father’s lap.

“I hope I got it,” Norris laughs out.

“It’ll match every other photo we have of him,” the mother sighs.

I hand the woman a candy cane and give her an understanding smile. My guy won’t sit still for pictures either. Of course, he’s twenty-two.

“He’s here!” one of the kids shouts from the rink. Dozens of skates peck at the ice as my brother’s winter camp squad races toward me. I wave them toward the rink’s entrance, but it’s no use—they’re roaring right at me.

“Sorry about that. I’m glad I made it before they trampled you,” Noah says at my shoulder. His arms circle around me before I can startle in surprise, and his lips press cool kisses into the crook of my neck as a gaggle of pre-teen boys and one bad-ass girl encircle us.

“I’m going to kiss him now, so if you find that gross, you should probably go wait over there,” I warn, spinning around and leaping into his arms.

He holds my legs around his waist while his mouth covers mine in a deep kiss I’ve dreamt about for the last month. A few of the boys whistle, and some of them tease us by shouting gross . It bounces right off me, though, because I have waited for this kiss. I’ve been a good girl, and it’s the only thing I asked of Santa. The real Santa, not my dad.

“Sorry I’m late. I missed you so bad,” he says, peppering my lips before setting me back on the ground.

“Do you think we can get the extra hour back from the NHL?” I joke.

“Ha, probably not.” Noah grins and holds up his hands, ushering his fans to head toward the table my brother set up to the side of our photo set.

“I’m just glad I beat the snow,” he says.

I glance up at the sky, patches of blue peeking through the cloud cover, and drop my gaze back to him with my usual skeptical squint.

“You sure about that?” I don’t know why I question him. He’s freakishly accurate about the weather.

He shrugs.

“We’ll see.” His smug grin tells me he’s absolutely sure. Snow is coming. Sooner than we all think.

“I’ll sign jerseys and pictures over there, then we’ll take the ice for an hour. Hope you guys are ready to work hard!”

He waves the kids into a semblance of a line. They shout yeah in unison and follow his directions for the most part, bumping into one another as they battle for the first few spots by the table. Noah has been a Flame for a full month. Instead of spending the year in a smaller market getting games under his belt before heading to the big league, he was pulled up right away, thanks to an injury to Calgary’s starting goalie. His saves in his first five games pretty much solidified him as the team’s starting goalie for the rest of the season.

Of course, that means he’s traveled this year a lot more than we expected. And between my heavy semester in Michigan and his schedule, it’s made planning a wedding a bit of a challenge. Maybe that’s all right, though, because we sort of blew our families’ minds with the announcement. They have no idea he proposed in the elevator the day of my brother and dad’s surgeries. They think it happened a month later at Tiff, when we all went to watch a game. We didn’t recreate the moment because we felt like it was a rash decision, even if it was. We just wanted our families to feel a part of it. And sure, there was the added benefit of not hearing my brother lecture us on how we’re rushing things. Noah and I are simply catching up.

Noah slips into the line waiting to see Santa and signs a few autographs for some of the parents while he waits to see my dad. My father stands from his seat and levels my fiancé with a hefty ho, ho, ho when their eyes meet. And when they hug, some of the younger kids in line look on with open mouths, not impressed that Santa knows a famous hockey player, but rather awe-struck that Noah knows the Santa, himself.

“You want to give the suit a try, just for old times’ sake?” my dad teases.

Noah chuckles and shakes his head.

“I think I’ve had my fill.”

The two chat for a few minutes, then Noah lets my dad get back to work while he heads to the signing table to whip through the stack of photos and the extra jerseys my brother gathered for his ragtag crew.

Since Noah was drafted, my brother spent the summer knocking out college credits and managed to graduate a semester early. We went to his ceremony at Tiff two weeks ago. The hockey team showed up for him, even though he no longer joined them on the ice. He was an assistant coach for the end of Noah’s last season, and before graduating, he helped Coach get the team ready and launch their new season. He’s decided to use his business degree to start a new youth club with teams for five different age groups. He’ll split coaching duties with my dad. And now that Noah’s dad is officially retired, he plans to help, too.

Mazy shows up to help with the food donations just as Noah and my brother are finishing up with the scrimmage on the ice. My best friend took on handling Noah’s pet project this year, and so far, we’ve doubled the food donations from last Christmas.

“Hey, big guy,” my best friend says, giving Noah a welcoming hug as he steps up to help her close one of the boxes filled with cans.

“Thanks for doing this,” he says.

My friend blushes from his compliment. This is going to be a lifelong thing, I fear. My best friend will forever have a crush on my husband. It doesn’t matter that she has a boyfriend of her own now. And it won’t matter even if they get married. Because my guy is Noah fucking Drake, and he’s been starring in our slumber party fantasy stories for far too long.

“You sure you don’t want to just get hitched this weekend out here? It’s a great set?” I follow Noah’s gaze to the string of lights that’s missing two whole bulbs while a third flickers.

“Yeah, I’m good waiting. I want to do this right. And in summer. On a beach.”

We plan to nail down the details over Christmas. While Noah and I haven’t had a chance to talk about it much, our mothers have been very busy gathering options and putting together scrapbooks. Since they’ve been plotting our romance for years anyhow, it only seems right to let them take the wheel on the wedding. My only stipulation is no snow. Oh, and I want to be walked down the aisle by both my dad and Anthony.

They are both thriving a year out from surgery. My brother’s recovery was fast. My dad’s a little slower, and there were a few worries early on that his body would reject my brother’s kidney. But once he turned the corner, his strength came back quickly.

I’ll finish my degree this spring, a full year ahead of schedule. It’s amazing what one can accomplish when they don’t have a boy around to distract them. Though, I don’t recommend twenty-one-hour semesters. And I definitely don’t endorse piling on school over the summer. My mom worries I’ve been in too much of a hurry to grow up. But I don’t see it that way—not for me, at least. I’m in a hurry to start living.

I flip the sign outside the photo booth to show Closed for Lunch , and we all head toward the parking lot and pile into my brother’s SUV to head to Noah’s for his mom’s famous meatballs and pasta. Noah and I volunteer to scrunch together in the very back, even though he is way too big for the flip-down seat. It’s been a month since I felt his body close to mine, and I’ll take every touch I can get, even the hidden ones in the back seat of my brother’s vehicle.

After my brother pulls into the Drake driveway, Noah and I wave him off and promise to be inside after a few minutes alone.

“Do not be gross in my new car,” he says, and we both hold up our hands. Noah says, “Goalie’s honor,” a joke that goes over my brother’s head.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Anthony responds, tossing the keys to Noah and instructing him to lock up when we’re done.

Once everyone’s inside and the front door is shut, Noah pulls me into his lap and kisses me the way I really wanted him to. We keep it PG, but barely. And after this family meal, I definitely plan on heading right to X-rated when I get him alone upstairs. But for now, his raw, rugged kisses, and a hand on my boob are enough.

When my brother opens the front door to the Drake home and peers through his windshield, we pry ourselves apart and slip out of his SUV to join the others.

“You should knock!” I shout at him as Noah tosses back the keys after locking up.

“It’s my fucking car!” my brother shouts back, shaking his head before returning inside.

Noah and I laugh, and he turns me to face him, my hands in his, his thumb caressing the platinum band and diamond on my ring finger.

“You sure you want a beach?” he asks, leaning forward and kissing the tip of my nose.

“Yeah, Noah Drake. I love you, and I’ll marry you anywhere, but if I get a say, I really want a beach. And sun.” I giggle, then pull my brow in and tilt my head.

“Why?” I question.

Noah lifts my chin just as the first flakes begin to fall. I open my mouth to taste them, laughing and smiling when I return to his gaze. Shaking my head, I stretch my palms out and circle slowly in his family driveway to dance in the snow. Then he joins me, resting one hand on my waist while holding my other as he sways us under the quiet hush of the growing flurries.

“You look so beautiful in the snow,” he says, brushing my hair to the side and leaning in to kiss my cheek.

And without a word, he takes my ring hand and slips a band on to join the diamond he’s already given me. My mouth opens in shock as I look down at my splayed fingers, and he nudges my chin up so I meet his eyes.

“We’ll do the big thing in front of everyone else, on a beach. But I kind of like that we got engaged in secret, and I’d like to start calling you my wife, even if it doesn’t count legally.”

I leap at him and kiss him hard, then rest back on my heels to memorize the way both rings look on my hand. I wish I had one to give him. Before I slip the band back off, tucking it in my pocket, I look up at my husband’s eyes, and I say the only thing that matters. Screw the law.

“I do.”

THE END