Pumpkins & Promises Bonus
This is a bonus epilogue for readers of Pumpkins & Promises. It is best read after you’ve finished the entire novel.
Emily
Juniper Falls, two years later…
My phone is ringing for the fourth time in ten minutes, and I know it’s not good news. Margaret’s Catering has been handling events in Juniper Falls for twenty years, so when Margaret herself calls me at eight in the morning the day before my wedding, my stomach immediately drops.
“Emily, I’m so sorry,” Margaret says the moment I answer, and I can hear the panic in her voice. “I don’t know how this happened, but we double-booked tomorrow. The Johnson anniversary party and your wedding are both on our calendar for the same day, and the Johnsons booked eighteen months ago.”
I’m standing in the Highland Hollow parking area, staring at the barn where my reception is supposed to happen in less than twenty-four hours, and the distinct feeling that my carefully planned wedding is about to become a disaster of epic proportions.
“What do you mean you double-booked?” I ask for the third time, though I already know the answer. Margaret’s Catering has been handling events in Juniper Falls for twenty years, but apparently today they forgot they had a wedding.
“I’m so sorry, Emily,” Margaret says through the phone, and she does sound genuinely upset. “I can try to pull together some sandwiches—”
“Sandwiches?” My voice comes out higher than intended. “For my wedding? Tomorrow?”
Wesley appears at my elbow, drawn by what I’m sure is the sound of his bride-to-be having a complete meltdown twelve hours before their ceremony.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking in my expression.
I hold up one finger and force my voice to stay level. “Margaret, I need to call you back.”
“Emily, I really am—”
I hang up and turn to Wesley, who’s looking at me with the kind of careful concern usually reserved for unexploded bombs.
“The caterer just canceled,” I say, proud of how calm I sound.
“Okay,” Wesley says slowly. “That’s not ideal.”
“Not ideal?” The calm facade cracks. “Wesley, we have eighty-seven people coming tomorrow expecting a sit-down dinner with locally sourced ingredients and seasonal vegetables. What am I supposed to feed them? Chips and dip?”
“Emily, breathe. We’ll figure something out.”
“Figure something out?” I can hear my voice getting shrill, but I can’t seem to stop it. “This was supposed to be perfect. Everything was planned down to the minute. The ceremony starts at four, cocktail hour at five, dinner at six-thirty. We have a timeline!”
Wesley reaches for my hands, but I’m too agitated to stand still.
“And it’s not just the food,” I continue, pacing in front of the barn where we’re supposed to have our reception. “Did you see the weather forecast? Sixty percent chance of rain. Sixty percent! For our outdoor ceremony!”
“The barn—”
“The barn is set up for the reception, not the ceremony. Do you know how long it would take to move eighty-seven chairs and rearrange everything? And the flowers…”
As if summoned by my panic, a delivery truck pulls into the driveway. I watch in growing horror as the driver starts unloading arrangements of bright orange and yellow chrysanthemums.
“Those aren’t my flowers,” I say faintly.
Wesley squints at the arrangements. “They’re very orange.”
“I ordered white and blush pink. Roses and peonies and baby’s breath. Classic, elegant, timeless.” I march over to the delivery driver. “Excuse me, these aren’t the right flowers.”
The driver checks his clipboard. “Emily Holloway? Highland Hollow?”
“Yes, but—”
“These are what’s on the order. Fall wedding package, hardy blooms.” He starts carrying the arrangements toward the barn. “Sign here.”
I stare at the clipboard like it’s written in a foreign language. “Fall wedding package? It’s May!”
“Lady, I just deliver what the shop tells me to deliver.”
Wesley appears beside me again. “Maybe there was a mix-up—”
“Maybe?” I sign the clipboard with more force than necessary. “Maybe my wedding is turning into a Halloween party?”
The driver loads the arrangements inside and drives off, leaving me staring at what looks like a pumpkin patch exploded in my reception venue.
“Emily,” Wesley says gently, “it’s going to be okay.”
“How?” I whirl around to face him. “How is it going to be okay? The food is gone, the flowers are wrong, and it’s going to rain on our outdoor ceremony. This was supposed to be perfect, Wesley. I’ve been planning this for eight months. Every detail, every timeline, every backup plan. And now…”
I trail off because I can see Dylan’s truck pulling up the driveway, followed by Sienna’s car. They’re early, which means they’re going to witness my complete breakdown.
“Now what?” Wesley asks softly.
“Now I’m a bride who can’t even execute her own wedding properly.” The words come out shaky, and I hate how vulnerable they sound. “I help run Highland Hollow, I organize our festivals, I plan family events all the time. How can I not handle my own wedding?”
Wesley steps closer, ignoring the approaching vehicles. “Emily, you handle crises all the time. Remember when the harvest festival tent collapsed and you reorganized everything in two hours? This is just another problem to solve.”
I groan.
“None of this is unsolvable or even important. Only one thing is,” he says.
“Which is?”
“Marrying me.” He reaches up and touches my face. “Emily, I don’t care if we serve peanut butter sandwiches and get married in a thunderstorm. I just want to be your husband.”
“But everyone’s coming,” I protest weakly. “Your sister flew in from California. My cousins drove from Georgia. They’re expecting—”
“They’re expecting to watch two people who love each other get married,” Wesley interrupts. “Everything else is just decoration.”
Dylan and Sienna reach us before I can respond, both of them taking in my frazzled appearance and Wesley’s gentle but firm tone.
“Emergency?” Dylan asks. “Because we brought wine and Sienna’s emergency chocolate stash.”
“The caterer canceled,” Wesley explains. “And there’s been a flower situation.”
“And the weather,” I add miserably. “Don’t forget the weather.”
Sienna, who’s become something of a crisis management expert after two years of running Highland Hollow’s events, immediately goes into problem-solving mode.
“Okay, catering. How many people?”
“Eighty-seven.”
“The Copper Kettle?”
“Sarah’s out of town visiting her sister,” Dylan says. “But what about Novel Sips? They cater coffee and pastries for events.”
“I can’t serve my wedding guests coffee and donuts,” I say.
“Why not?” Wesley asks. “Your apple cider donuts are famous. People drive from three counties over for them.”
“It’s not elegant—”
“Emily,” Sienna interrupts gently, “what’s your favorite meal from this place?”
I blink at her. “What?”
“Your favorite Highland Hollow meal. The one that makes you think of home.”
“Apple cider donuts and coffee,” I admit. “But—”
“Then that’s perfect.” Sienna pulls out her phone. “I’m calling Andrew at Novel Sips. Dylan, can you handle getting tables set up outside under the barn overhang in case it rains? Wesley, flowers. We’re going to work with what we have.”
“But they’re orange,” I protest.
“They’re autumn colors,” Sienna corrects. “Very rustic chic. Very on-brand for Highland Hollow.”
“And if it rains?” I ask.
Dylan grins. “Then we’ll have the coziest wedding reception in Juniper Falls history. Nothing says romance like being stuck in a barn with everyone you love.”
I look around at the three of them. Wesley with his calm certainty. Dylan with his practical optimism. Sienna with her take-charge efficiency. And I feel something in my chest unclenched slightly.
“You really think we can pull this together?”
“Em,” Dylan says, putting an arm around my shoulders, “you baked enough donuts for hundreds of visitors while handling a class of preschoolers. I think you can handle one wedding.”
“Even if it’s not perfect?”
Wesley takes my hand. “Especially if it’s not perfect.”
As if to emphasize his point, the first fat raindrops start falling from the darkening sky.
“Well,” I say, looking up at the clouds, “I guess we’re about to find out just how not-perfect we can make this thing.”
“Actually,” Sienna says, checking her phone, “before we dive into crisis mode, Dylan and I have something we wanted to tell you.”
Dylan shifts slightly, suddenly looking nervous. “Yeah, we were going to wait until after the wedding, but…”
“We’re having a baby,” Sienna announces, her face breaking into a radiant smile.
For a moment, the catering disaster and flower mix-up and threatening weather all fade into background noise.
“A baby?” I shriek, throwing my arms around both of them. “Really?”
“Really,” Dylan confirms, looking dazed and thrilled and slightly terrified all at once. “Due in December.”
Wesley claps Dylan on the back. “Congratulations, man. That’s incredible.”
“Thanks,” Dylan says. “We’re pretty excited. And terrified. But mostly excited.”
“A Christmas baby,” I say, already thinking about tiny stockings and holiday photos. “Oh, this is wonderful.”
“It is,” Sienna agrees. “Though I have to say, the timing of this announcement is perfect. Nothing like impending parenthood to put wedding planning stress in perspective.”
She’s right, and I feel another knot of tension release. In the grand scheme of things—Dylan and Sienna starting a family, Wesley and me building a life together—whether we serve filet mignon or apple cider donuts tomorrow seems almost laughably unimportant.
“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders as the rain starts to fall more steadily. “Let’s go save a wedding.”
“That’s my girl,” Wesley says, kissing my temple.
As we all rush toward the barn to escape the rain, I catch Wesley grinning at Dylan.
“So,” Wesley says, “you’re really doing this whole responsible adult thing, huh? House, wife, baby on the way.”
“Someone has to be the mature twin,” Dylan shoots back.
“Right, because planning a wedding definitely makes me the irresponsible one,” I shoot back.
“I’m just saying, some of us are ahead of schedule.”
I look at Wesley, who’s trying to look offended but mostly just seems amused. “Are you seriously turning this into a competition?”
“Maybe,” Wesley admits. “Is that weird?”
“Considering you spent years convinced you’d never want a traditional life? A little.”
“Well,” Wesley says, catching my hand and spinning me around despite the rain, “you’ve been a very bad influence on me, Emily Holloway.”
“Soon to be Emily Thorne,” I correct, and despite everything that’s gone wrong today, I can’t stop smiling.
“Soon to be Emily Thorne,” Wesley agrees, and kisses me right there in the rain.
***
The next morning dawns gray and drizzling, which should probably bother me more than it does.
I’m standing in the farmhouse kitchen at six a.m., wearing my pajamas and watching Andrew from Novel Sips coordinate the delivery of what amounts to the world’s most elaborate coffee and donut reception, and somehow I’m completely calm.
“The apple cider donuts will be ready by three,” Andrew says, checking items off his list. “Coffee service starts at four-thirty, and we’ll have hot chocolate for the kids. Maggie’s bringing her maple scones, and I have plenty of dishes for everyone.”
“This is really happening,” I say, more to myself than to anyone else.
“It’s really happening,” Wesley confirms, appearing behind me with two mugs of coffee. “How are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly good.” I accept the coffee gratefully. “I think I had all my panic yesterday.”
“Good thing, because your wedding dress is here,” Mom announces, appearing in the kitchen with a garment bag. “And Sienna’s upstairs setting up a getting-ready station that would make a salon jealous.”
I follow Mom upstairs to find Sienna arranging makeup and hair supplies with military precision, despite being barely eight weeks pregnant.
“You don’t have to do all this,” I tell her. “You should be resting.”
“Please,” Sienna scoffs. “I’m pregnant, not broken. Besides, I need the practice for being the cool aunt who spoils your future children.”
“Future children?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Oh, come on. You saw Wesley’s face yesterday when we announced the baby. He practically started planning your nursery.”
She’s not wrong. After the initial congratulations, Wesley spent most of the evening asking Dylan increasingly specific questions about cribs and college funds and whether they were going to find out the baby’s gender ahead of time.
“He’s being competitive about it,” I realize. “He wants to keep up with Dylan.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
I consider the question while Sienna starts working on my hair. “Terrified and excited and completely unprepared. So, basically normal, I guess.”
“That sounds about right.”
Two hours later, I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in Mom’s bedroom, wearing the dress I found six months ago in a little boutique in Asheville. It’s simple. Ivory silk with delicate lace sleeves and a flowing skirt that makes me feel like I stepped out of a fairy tale.
“Oh, honey,” Mom says softly, and I can see her tearing up in the mirror.
“You look beautiful, Em,” Sienna adds. “Wesley’s going to lose his mind.”
Through the window, I can see the barn where Dylan and Dad are setting up chairs under the covered overhang. The rain has softened to a gentle mist, and everything looks fresh and green and perfect in its own imperfect way.
“I think it’s time,” I say.
The ceremony happens in a blur of happy tears and nervous laughter. Because of the rain, we move everything under the barn’s covered area, which means our elegant outdoor wedding becomes an intimate gathering surrounded by the scent of hay and the sound of rain on the metal roof.
Wesley tears up when he sees me walk down the makeshift aisle on Dad’s arm. I cry when he recites the vows he wrote, about pumpkins and promises and finding home in unexpected places. By the time we kiss as husband and wife, there’s not a dry eye in the house.
The reception unfolds exactly as chaotically as I expected, and exactly as perfectly as I could have hoped.
“This is amazing,” Wesley’s sister says, biting into her second apple cider donut. “Why didn’t you tell me your fiancée was a genius?”
“Wife,” Wesley corrects, and I can hear the pride in his voice. “And I’ve been telling you that for two years.”
“Well, now I believe you. Emily, these donuts are incredible. You should sell them online.”
“Actually,” Sienna says, appearing with a cup of hot chocolate, “we’ve been talking about expanding Highland Hollow’s shipping program. Seasonal donut boxes could be perfect.”
“Are you seriously talking business at my wedding reception?” my husband asks, but I’m laughing.
“Welcome to the family,” Dylan says, clapping Wesley on the shoulder. “We never stop working.”
“Speaking of family,” Wesley says, and there’s something in his tone that makes everyone go quiet. “I have an announcement.”
My heart jumps. “Wesley—”
“Not that kind of announcement,” he says quickly, reading my expression. “Though Dylan, your news yesterday definitely got me thinking.”
“Thinking about what?” Dylan asks suspiciously.
Wesley grins. “About how you’re going to be a dad in December, and I’m still just the guy who writes books.”
“Wesley,” I warn, but he’s already pulling something out of his jacket pocket.
It’s a small wrapped box, and my heart starts beating faster.
“Emily Thorne,” Wesley says, dropping to one knee right there in the middle of our donut reception, “we’re already married, so this isn’t a proposal.”
“Then what—”
“It’s a promise. About the future we’re going to build together.” He opens the box to reveal a delicate antique silver baby rattle, engraved with tiny flowers and worn smooth with age. “I know we talked about waiting, about being practical and responsible. But yesterday, watching your brother announce that he’s going to be a dad, I realized something.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t want to wait. I want to build that future with you, starting now. I want the chaos and the sleepless nights and the tiny shoes everywhere. I want to give Dylan some real competition.” He holds up the rattle. “This was my grandmother’s.”
“Wesley Thorne,” I say, laughing through tears I didn’t realize were falling, “are you asking me to have a baby with you at our wedding reception?”
“I’m asking if you want to start trying,” he clarifies. “No pressure, no timelines. Just… if it happens, it happens.”
I look around at our family and friends gathered in the barn, at Dylan and Sienna beaming at us, at the orange flowers that somehow look exactly right against the rustic wood walls, at the rain still pattering gently on the roof.
“You know what?” I say, taking the rattle and holding it carefully in my hands. “Let’s do it. Let’s start chapter two.”
“Chapter two?”
“Chapter one was us figuring out how to be together. Chapter two is us figuring out how to build a family.”
Wesley stands and kisses me, and I can hear cheering and applause and someone—probably Uncle Frank—yelling about how he called it two years ago.
“So,” Wesley says against my ear, “think we can beat them to the finish line?”
I look over at Dylan, who’s whispering something in Sienna’s ear that’s making her blush, and then back at my new husband with his competitive streak and his gentle hands and his dreams of tiny shoes.
“Wesley,” I say, “I think we’re about to find out.”
As our families and friends toast our future and the rain continues to fall and the orange flowers fill the barn with the scent of autumn despite it being spring, I realize something important.
Perfect isn’t about everything going according to plan. Perfect is about rolling with the changes and finding joy in the chaos and building something beautiful with the person you love, one imperfect moment at a time.
And by that definition, this disaster of a wedding day is absolutely perfect.
Later, as we’re cleaning up and I’m still wearing my wedding dress but with Wesley’s jacket draped over my shoulders, Sienna finds me gathering abandoned coffee cups.
“So,” she says casually, “any regrets about the catering situation?”
I look around the barn, where our families are laughing and sharing stories and Uncle Frank is teaching Wesley’s sister how to two-step to music playing from someone’s phone. Half the coffee cups are mismatched, there are donut crumbs everywhere, and my carefully planned timeline went out the window hours ago.
“None,” I say, and mean it completely. “This is exactly what it was supposed to be.”
“Even though nothing went according to plan?”
“Especially because nothing went according to plan.”
Sienna grins. “You know, I think married life is going to suit you just fine.”
As Wesley appears and starts helping us clean up, still wearing his good shirt but with his tie long since abandoned, I think she might be right.
After all, we’ve already proven we can handle whatever comes our way.
Even if it involves orange flowers and emergency donuts and competitive baby planning.
Especially then.
*** The End ***
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Pumpkins & Promises and this little bonus epilogue. Ready for more? A great next read is Pumpkin Patch Proposal, Dylan and Sienna’s story. You’ve met both of them in Pumpkins and Promises. From there, freel free to read your way through the whole series. You can read them in any order, but if you’re up for a challenge, start with book one and work your way through the entire alphabet one sweet romance and one letter at a time.
