Home For Christmas Bonus
This is a bonus epilogue for readers of Home For Christmas. It is best read after you’ve finished the entire novel.
Home For Christmas Bonus Epilogue
Christmas Eve in Juniper Falls, five years later…
Grant
The kitchen smells like butter and brown sugar, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got flour in places it has no business being.
“Dad, the butter’s too cold. You can’t cream it with the sugar when it’s straight from the fridge.” Maisie appears at my elbow, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, glasses perched on her nose. At thirteen, she’s become my unofficial sous chef, which means she spends half her time correcting my technique and the other half taking photos of our disasters for her friends.
“I thought it needed to be cold,” I protest. “Like for pie crust.”
She sighs dramatically. “That’s pie crust. This is cookies. Different rules. Here, we’ll microwave it for a few seconds.” She takes over with the confidence of someone who’s been baking with her mother since she could reach the counter. “Uncle Daniel would be so disappointed in you right now.”
“Uncle Daniel taught me to make exactly one dish, and it’s not cookies.”
“His lasagna is pretty good though,” she admits.
From somewhere near the floor, my three-year-old son’s voice pipes up. “I’m helping!”
I look down to find Ray—named after the uncle who saved me long before I knew I needed saving—sitting in the middle of my measuring cups and wooden spoons, having created what he calls his “kitchen band.”
“You sure are, buddy.” I crouch down and scoop him up, settling him on my hip. He immediately grabs my nose with sticky fingers.
“Cookie?” he asks hopefully.
“Not yet. They have to bake first.”
“But I hungry now.”
“You’re always hungry.” I kiss his forehead, getting a whiff of the syrup from breakfast that he somehow still has in his hair despite the bath Callie gave him this morning. “How about some apple slices while we wait?”
“With peanut butter?”
“Yes.”
Maisie’s already cutting up an apple, arranging the slices on a plate with the artistic flair she brings to everything. She’s grown so much in the past six years and changed from the shy seven-year-old who used to hide behind her mother’s legs to this confident teenager who organizes gift drives at school and makes sure her little siblings don’t kill themselves climbing furniture.
“I’ll put Ellie in her high chair with some puffs,” Maisie says, already moving toward the living room where our eighteen-month-old daughter has been playing in her pack-and-play. “She’s probably getting fussy anyway.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
She returns moments later with Ellie on her hip, my youngest babbling happily and reaching for everything. Maisie settles her in the high chair with practiced ease, scattering some puffs on the tray.
“Pwetty!” Ellie announces, holding up a star-shaped puff.
“Very pretty,” I agree, ruffling her wispy blonde hair.
She nods enthusiastically, and puts it into her mouth before reaching for more.
This is my life now. Cookie dough and sticky fingers. And lots and lots of homemade ornaments all over the place. The cabin Uncle Ray left me has been transformed. We added a whole new wing two years back, Jake and Cole Merrick helping me frame it out. Three bedrooms for the kids, an expanded kitchen because apparently I married a woman who thinks cooking should happen in actual space, and a family room where toys multiply like rabbits.
But Uncle Ray’s room is still here, preserved in the original part of the cabin. His fishing gear on the walls, his workbench in the attached shop where I’ve been teaching Ray to use tools (the safe ones, with very close supervision). Photos of Uncle Ray with my dad, with my mom, with me as an angry teenager who didn’t know how lucky he was.
Sometimes I go in there just to remember. To say thank you to a man who gave me a place to land when I needed it most, who saved this place for me even though he didn’t live to see me claim it.
“Dad?” Maisie’s voice pulls me back. “The cookies are ready for the oven.”
“Perfect timing.” I help Maisie slide the trays into the oven, checking to make sure Ellie is still happily occupied with her puffs. “You’re getting really good at this, you know.”
She shrugs, but I can see the pleasure in her eyes. “Mom taught me. And I’ve been watching a lot of baking videos.”
“For someone who claimed baking was ‘too precise and not creative enough,’ you sure spend a lot of time making cookies.”
“That’s different. Baking is for fun.” She starts measuring ingredients for the next batch. “Though I was thinking… Maybe I could help Mom more at the shop next summer. Like, actually work there. I’d be fourteen by then.”
My chest tightens with pride. “I think she’d love that.”
“Yeah?” She looks up, suddenly vulnerable in the way that reminds me she’s still a kid, still growing into herself. “I don’t want her to think I’m trying to take over or anything. I know The Mistletoe Market is her thing. But I really like making wreaths and arranging the ornaments, and she said I have a good eye for color.”
“Maisie.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “Your mom would be honored. The Mistletoe Market has always been about creating beautiful things. You helping would just make it better.”
She smiles, that sunshine smile she inherited from her mother. “Okay. I’ll ask her tonight.”
The front door opens, bringing a gust of cold air and the sound of stamping feet.
“I’m home!” Callie’s voice calls out. “And I brought reinforcements!”
I head to the entryway to find my wife buried under shopping bags, snow dusting her blonde hair, cheeks pink from the cold. She’s somehow more beautiful than she was five years ago with laugh lines around her eyes, confidence in her stance, the bearing of a woman who knows exactly who she is and what she’s built.
“Reinforcements?” I take half the bags from her.
“Hazel intercepted me at the shop. She’s right behind me with more food than our entire guest list could eat.”
Sure enough, Hazel’s car pulls into the drive, and I can see her through the windshield, already directing someone—looks like Rose—about which dishes to carry first.
“Of course she is.” I lean down and kiss Callie, soft and quick. “Missed you.”
“I was gone for a few hours.” But she’s smiling, her free hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Missed you too. How are the cookies?”
“In the oven and only slightly imperfect.”
“Perfect amount of character?”
“Obviously.”
Ray barrels into the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Mama!”
She drops to one knee, letting him crash into her for a hug. “Hi, baby. Did you help Dad bake?”
“I made music!” He demonstrates by banging on her shopping bag.
“I can hear that. Very artistic.” She looks up at me over his head, eyes soft. “Everything under control?”
“Always.” There’s flour on every surface, Ellie’s probably gotten into something she shouldn’t by now, and I’m pretty sure Ray has syrup in places we won’t discover until bath time. But it’s the kind of chaos I love and wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“Liar.” But she says it fondly, standing and pressing another kiss to my cheek. “But I love you anyway.”
“Good thing. You’re stuck with me.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
Behind us, Hazel’s voice calls out: “Are you two going to help unload, or are you just going to stand there being adorable?”
Callie laughs and heads back outside. I follow, pausing in the doorway to look back at the cabin. At the lights twinkling on the tree, at Maisie in the kitchen conducting her baking like a professional, at the evidence of family scattered across every surface.
Five years ago, I stood in this same spot thinking I’d fix the place up and leave. Never imagining that leaving would become impossible. That staying would become everything.
Uncle Ray was right. This cabin needed life.
And now it’s overflowing with it.
***
Callie
By six o’clock, the cabin is bursting at the seams.
Sarah arrived first, bearing trays of cookies from The Copper Kettle. Then Rose and Daniel with enough appetizers to feed half of Juniper Falls. Jake and Cole Merrick with their families, kids immediately dispersing to find Ray and Ellie. Lila and Graham Hart, Hannah and her son Silas who’s now a teenager and surprisingly good with the younger kids.
And Hazel, of course, holding court in the kitchen with Ellie on her hip, directing traffic like the benevolent dictator she is.
“Callie, where did you want the drinks?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just points to the counter. “Actually, there is fine. And those cookies need to come out. Maisie, can you get them?”
“On it, Miss Hazel!”
I watch them work together, my daughter and this woman who’s been a constant in our lives since before I can remember. Who orchestrated my reunion with Grant, who’s held my hand through grief and celebrated every joy.
“You’ve got a good one there,” Hazel says, nodding toward Maisie. “Smart, capable, kind. You should be proud.”
“I am.” My voice catches slightly. “Every single day.”
Hazel’s eyes soften. “And Owen would be too. You know that, right?”
It’s been over eight years since I lost Owen, and most days the grief is manageable. A dull ache rather than a sharp pain. But moments like this, when someone speaks his name with love and remembrance, still make my chest tight.
“I hope so,” I whisper.
“I know so.” She squeezes my arm. “And Grant has been—well. He’s been exactly what you and Maisie needed.” She glances toward the living room where Grant showing Ray how to make some sort of paper craft. “That man is smitten. Completely, totally smitten.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“As it should be.” Hazel hands Ellie back to me. “Now, I’m going to go make sure those appetizers are arranged properly. You know Daniel, he’s all about flavor and forgets about presentation.”
She sweeps off, and I stand there holding my daughter, breathing in her baby smell. She pats my face with her small hands, babbling something that might be words or might just be happy sounds.
“Mama! Mama!” Ray comes running. “Look what Dad helped me make!”
He holds up a paper snowflake, only slightly lopsided, with his name written across it in Grant’s careful handwriting.
“It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Should we hang it on the tree?”
“Yes!” He grabs my free hand, pulling me toward the living room.
The tree that dominates the space is a spruce Grant and the kids cut down last week from a farm just outside town. It’s covered in ornaments collected over five years of marriage. Handmade ones from Maisie’s art projects, the special wedding ornament Hazel gifted us years ago, baby’s-first-Christmas ones for each of the kids.
And right in the center, the snow globe Grant gave me that Christmas Eve when he chose to stay. The handcrafted one with Juniper Falls’ town square rendered in perfect detail.
I pick it up carefully, shaking it so the snow swirls around the tiny buildings.
“Still your favorite?” Grant’s voice comes from behind me, warm and close.
“Always.” I lean back against him, his arms coming around me and Ellie both. “Though the competition gets fiercer every year.”
“Good problem to have.”
Ray has already found Silas, who’s been recruited into an elaborate game involving plastic dinosaurs and Lincoln Logs. The older kids are setting up a movie in the family room for later. Adults cluster in the kitchen and living room, conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like music.
This is what I almost missed. What I almost denied myself out of fear.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Grant’s arms tighten slightly. “For what?”
“For staying. For being patient with me when I was too scared to let you in. For loving all of us—Maisie and Ray and Ellie and me—so completely.”
“Callie.” He turns me to face him, careful of the toddler between us. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. You gave me something I didn’t think I deserved. A family. A home. A reason to believe that staying in one place didn’t mean giving up. It meant building something real.”
Ellie chooses that moment to grab both our faces, smooshing them together. “Kiss!”
We laugh and obey, pressing a quick kiss over her head while she giggles with delight.
“Demanding little thing, isn’t she?” Grant says fondly.
“Wonder where she gets that from.” I glance meaningfully at Ray, who’s currently directing Silas on the proper way to build a dinosaur habitat.
“Fair point.”
The evening unfolds in the beautiful chaos of family and friends. Someone starts Christmas music. Kids run through the house at speeds that should be illegal. At some point, Ray falls asleep on the couch between Jake Merrick and his son, and we just leave him there, peaceful and warm.
Around nine, after most guests have left and the house is quieter, I find myself in what we call “Uncle Ray’s room.” The guest room that Grant insisted we preserve, keeping his uncle’s fishing gear and photos and the solid workbench where he taught Grant to build.
Maisie’s in here, looking at the photos on the wall.
“Hey, baby.” I settle beside her on the old quilt. “What are you doing in here?”
“Just looking.” She touches a photo of Uncle Ray and Grant, teenage Grant angry and uncertain, Uncle Ray patient and steady. “I wish I’d known him.”
“He would have loved you so much. All of you.”
“Dad talks about him sometimes. About how he taught him to use tools, how to be patient with wood.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I think Dad was like me. When he first came here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sad. Missing someone. Not sure where he belonged.” She looks at me with those perceptive eyes. “But Uncle Ray helped him figure it out. Like Dad helped me figure it out after… after my other dad died.”
My throat tightens.
“I remember he was tall. That he smelled like sawdust. That he made you laugh.” She leans against my shoulder. “But mostly I remember being sad after he was gone. And then being scared when I started being happy again, like I was forgetting him.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“But Dad—Grant Dad—he told me something once. That loving him didn’t mean I loved my first dad less. That hearts don’t work like that. They just grow bigger.” She sniffles slightly. “I think about that a lot. About how lucky I am to have two dads who loved me, even though one of them isn’t here anymore.”
I pull her close, this girl who’s growing up too fast and not fast enough all at once. “You are lucky. And so am I. To have had Owen, and to have Grant, and to have you.”
We sit there for a while, surrounded by the evidence of Uncle Ray’s life, by the foundation he built that allowed Grant to build ours.
Eventually, Maisie yawns. “I should probably go to bed. I want to be awake early enough to see Ray and Ellie’s faces when they see what Santa brought.”
“That’s the best part,” I agree, smiling at this teenager who’s old enough now to experience Christmas through her siblings’ wonder. “Sleep tight, baby.”
“Mom?” She pauses in the doorway. “Do you think we could put flowers on both their graves tomorrow? Owen’s and Uncle Ray’s? To say thank you for… for everything?”
“I think that would be perfect.”
She slips out, and I stay for another moment, looking at the photos of a man I barely knew but who shaped the course of my life anyway.
“Thank you, Ray,” I whisper to the empty room. “For keeping this place for him. For teaching him it was okay to stay.”
***
Grant
It’s nearly midnight by the time the house is quiet.
Ray’s been transferred to his bed, still clutching a plastic T-Rex. Ellie’s in her crib, sprawled out like a starfish, her favorite blanket kicked to the corner. And Maisie’s light is off, though I suspect she’s still awake, too excited about morning to actually sleep.
I find Callie in the living room, curled up on the couch in her pajamas, staring at the tree with a soft expression.
“Room for one more?” I ask.
She shifts, making space, and I settle beside her, pulling her against my chest. We fit together perfectly now, five years of practice making us experts at this.The quiet moments between the chaos, the stolen minutes when it’s just us.
“That was quite the party,” I murmur against her hair.
“Mmm. Hazel’s already planning next year’s. Apparently, we need a bigger tree.”
“The tree’s already nine feet tall.”
“I know. I told her that. She said we have a bigger family now, we need a bigger tree.”
I laugh quietly. “Can’t argue with Hazel logic.”
“Nobody can.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just breathing together, watching the lights on the tree cast patterns across the ceiling.
“Maisie asked if we could visit both graves tomorrow,” Callie says softly. “Owen’s and Uncle Ray’s. To bring flowers and say thank you.”
Something warm unfolds in my chest. “That’s a good idea.”
“She’s a good kid.”
“She is. You raised her well.”
“We raised her well.” She turns to look at me, her brown eyes serious. “You’re as much her father as Owen was, Grant. You know that, right?”
“I know.” And I do. It took a while to believe it, to accept that I could be someone’s father without trying to replace anyone. But somewhere between homework help and Christmas pageants and teaching her to change a tire, it became true. “I love her. I love all of them. This whole chaotic, beautiful mess we’ve made.”
“Do you ever regret it?” The question is soft, vulnerable. “Staying? Giving up that job and all the other possibilities?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Never. Not once.”
“Not even when Ray finger-painted the hallway last week?”
“Not even then.”
“Or when Ellie learned to say ‘no’ and decided it was her favorite word?”
“Or then.”
“Or when your father called last month and made those comments about wasting your potential?”
I tense slightly at that. Dad and I have reached a kind of détente. He doesn’t visit, doesn’t really approve, but he’s stopped actively trying to convince me I’m making a mistake. Mom comes several times a year, loves the kids, sends birthday cards and care packages. It’s not the family I wished for, but it’s the family I have.
“Especially not then,” I say firmly. “Because he’s wrong. This isn’t wasting potential. This is building something real. Something that matters.”
Callie kisses my jaw softly. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I know so.” I shift so I can reach the coffee table, pulling out a small wrapped box. “Actually, I got you something. An early present.”
“Grant, we agreed. No expensive gifts this year. The cabin expansion wiped out our savings.”
“It’s not expensive. Just meaningful. I hope.” I hand her the box, suddenly nervous.
She unwraps it carefully and opens the small box.
Inside is an ornament. Hand-carved wood, Uncle Ray’s style but my work. A tiny replica of the cabin, detailed down to the new wing, the shop, the wraparound porch we added last spring.
And carved on the base, five names: Grant, Callie, Maisie, Ray, Ellie.
“Oh.” Her voice breaks. “Grant.”
“For the tree. To remember this year. This version of us.” I touch the ornament gently. “I know we’ll probably outgrow the cabin eventually. Maybe add on again, or move to something bigger. But right now, this is us. Five people who found each other and built a home.”
“Six people,” she corrects, and I must look confused because she laughs through her tears. “Grant Camden, for someone so observant, you’re remarkably oblivious sometimes.”
“What do you—” Understanding hits like a freight train. “Callie. Are you—”
“Pregnant. About eight weeks. I was going to tell you tomorrow morning, but—” She gestures at the ornament. “This seemed like the right moment.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can only pull her close and hold her while my heart tries to process this impossible, wonderful news.
“Another baby,” I manage finally.
“Another baby.” She’s crying now, happy tears that she doesn’t bother wiping away. “I know it’s crazy. I know we’re already overwhelmed and this place is barely big enough and—”
I kiss her, cutting off the spiral of worry. She tastes like the peppermint cocoa we served tonight, like home, like everything I never knew I wanted until I found her.
“It’s perfect,” I say against her lips. “You’re perfect. This family is perfect. And we’ll figure it out like we always do.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I rest my hand on her stomach, where there’s no sign yet of the life growing there. Our fourth child. Our expanding family. “I love you, Callie Camden. More than I have words for.”
“I love you too.” She covers my hand with hers. “Merry Christmas, Grant.”
“Merry Christmas.”
We sit there for a long time, wrapped in each other and the glow of the tree, planning for the future while celebrating the present. Eventually, we hang the new ornament—the one that represents us now—right next to the one from our wedding.
Before and after. Then and now. The family we were becoming and the family we’ve become.
Outside, snow begins to fall, soft and steady, covering the world in white. Inside, the cabin settles around us with familiar creaks and sighs. Uncle Ray’s legacy, now filled with exactly the life he always wanted for this place.
And as the cabin settles into sleep around us, filled with the evidence of our life together, I send up a silent thank you. To Uncle Ray for leaving me this place. To Callie for taking a chance on love again. To Maisie for accepting me into her family.
To whatever force brought me back to Juniper Falls and gave me the courage to stay.
Best decision I ever made.
Every single day, the best decision I ever made.
*** The End ***
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Home For Christmas and this little bonus epilogue. Ready for more? I recommend you check out the Alphabet Sweetheart series that takes place in Juniper Falls. You’ve met a few recurring characters like Hazel already.
And if you’re ready for more sweet, swoony and a little funny, check out my latest series – The Callahans of Elk Ridge.
Happy Reading!