The Christmas Puppy Bonus
This is a bonus Epilogue for readers of The Christmas Puppy. It is best read after you’ve finished the entire novel.
Palmar Island, four months later…
Corey stood at the kitchen sink in the house on Sandpiper Lane, looking out through the bay window at the yard, and tried to make his hands stop shaking.
It was ten-thirty in the morning on the second Saturday in April. In three hours he was getting married.
The yard had been transformed. Somehow, without him having to do hardly any of the work, it had become the wedding venue he and Gayle had pictured for months. Rows of white folding chairs were arranged in a small crescent facing the big oak tree in the corner. A wooden arch that Tom Richardson had built and Corey had painted white last weekend stood beneath the tree, draped in soft greenery and small clusters of white flowers. A long farm table sat off to one side, set for the small reception dinner they’d have later with the people that had become family.
The weather had cooperated. He’d been checking the forecast obsessively for two weeks. But this morning had come in warm and golden, the sky a clean spring blue, the light doing that particular Palmar Island thing it did in April, where everything looked like it had been polished.
It was perfect.
He couldn’t believe it was actually happening.
“You’re going to break that mug if you hold it any tighter.”
Corey turned. Miss Doris was standing in the kitchen doorway in a soft green dress, her gray curls freshly permed and a small apron tied over the top of her outfit. She’d been here since eight in the morning and had taken over the kitchen. Corey had learned long ago not to fight her when she was a woman on a mission.
“Sorry,” he said, and made himself set the mug down. It was one of the blue-and-silver pottery mugs Gayle had given him for Christmas.
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“A man who isn’t nervous on his wedding day,” Miss Doris said, matter-of-fact, “hasn’t understood what he’s about to do. You’re doing it right.”
She crossed to the oven and opened it a crack, checking on something inside. Then she closed it, adjusted a dial, and turned back to him with her hands on her hips.
“Now,” she said. “Come look at this cake.”
He followed her into the front room, where a small side table had been cleared and covered with a white cloth. On it sat the cake she’d been working on for two days.
It was three tiers. White buttercream. Simple and elegant, decorated with fresh flowers that matched the ones in the arch outside. She’d insisted on making it herself. When Gayle had suggested ordering one, Miss Doris had given her a look that had ended the conversation.
“Miss Doris,” Corey said. “It’s beautiful.”
“Of course it is.”
“Really beautiful.”
She patted his arm. “I’ve made a lot of cakes in my life, dear. I know when to bring my A-game.”
Corey looked at the cake. Then he looked at her.
He’d known her for years. When his parents had died, Miss Doris had shown up with lasagna and quiet company. And she hadn’t ever really stopped checking in on him. She was the closest thing he had to family on the island. He and Gayle had asked her to walk with them to the arch as one of their witnesses, and she’d said yes with tears in her eyes, and then she’d made the cake, and now here she was at ten-thirty on his wedding day, making sure he wasn’t spiraling.
“Miss Doris,” he said. “Thank you. For all of this.”
She waved a hand at him. “I get to eat some of it after. Don’t thank me yet.”
“I mean it.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Her eyes softened.
“Corey,” she said, “I’ve known both of you for a long time. And I have been waiting years to see both of you happy.”
He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Presti came down the stairs at a jog, tail wagging furiously, and slid to a stop in front of Corey with his signature enthusiasm.
He was seven months old now and but still a puppy. He’d doubled in size since Christmas. His coat had come in fuller, his legs had gotten longer, and he’d finally grown into his ears. He was still ridiculous, and still stole socks. And occasionally he attempted to eat the couch cushions. But he’d also learned to sit and stay, mostly, and sleep through the night. He had become the kind of dog people stopped to admire on their walks around the neighborhood.
Today he was wearing a bowtie.
Corey crouched down. “Look at you, buddy.”
The bowtie was small and forest green, matching the arch outside. Gayle had ordered it a month ago and had made a whole production of trying it on him last week to make sure it fit. Presti had tolerated it with the resigned dignity of a dog who understood he was involved in something important, even if he wasn’t sure what.
He’d been staying at the cottage with Corey since New Year’s Day. That had been the arrangement. He’d move in with Corey after the closing, and Gayle would come over every evening for dinner. It had worked out about as well as anyone could have hoped. Presti had settled into the space like he’d been born there.
Presti tilted his head at Corey and licked his nose.
“I’m going to marry your mom today, buddy,” Corey said quietly.
Presti’s tail thumped.
“I know. I’m nervous too.”
The dog leaned against his leg. It was one of Presti’s newer habits—leaning against people when they seemed like they needed it.
He’d become such a good dog.
Corey scratched behind his ears for a long moment.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “Let’s go check the yard one more time.”
***
By eleven-thirty, people had started to arrive.
Corey went upstairs to change and stood in front of the mirror in the small bedroom, adjusting his tie. He’d bought a new suit for this. Navy blue, well-cut, with a small green boutonniere pinned to the lapel that matched Presti’s bowtie. He looked at himself for a long moment.
He looked like his father.
Not exactly, but enough that it caught him off-guard. His father had worn a similar suit at Corey’s parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary dinner. He had stood in front of a mirror on that day too, probably, and adjusted his tie. His father had been happy that night. Corey remembered.
He wished his parents could be here.
He’d known that for months, but standing in front of the mirror, tying his tie, he let himself really feel it. His mother would have loved the yard. She would have loved Gayle. His father would have talked Corey’s ear off in the kitchen this morning about the wine, the food, the guest list. They would have been in every photograph. They would have been so proud.
They weren’t going to be here.
But he’d carry them with him. He was carrying them with him now. He’d chosen to move forward the way they would have wanted him to. He was standing in a small cottage full of light and flowers and people, about to marry a woman his mother would have loved, with his mother’s ring already sitting on that woman’s hand.
He walked out to greet their guests and get ready for the small ceremony they’d planned.
He scanned the crowd and saw Penny from the school and her husband. Tom Richardson was there with his family. Dr. Winter and her husband. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. A handful of Gayle’s friends from town. Miss Doris. Volunteers and long-time supporters from the shelter.
They filled the small circle of chairs in the yard. The oak tree spread its branches over the arch. The April sun came down in golden patches through the leaves.
Corey stood at the arch with his hands folded in front of him. He tried to breathe steadily. Presti sat at his feet, ridiculous in his bowtie, watching the back door of the cottage like he understood exactly what was about to happen.
Music started. Something soft. A recording of a string quartet playing something Corey had picked out weeks ago.
The back door of the cottage opened.
Miss Doris came out first, in her green dress, and walked slowly down the aisle to take her place beside the arch. She looked at Corey. She smiled. She had tears in her eyes already.
Then Gayle came out.
Corey forgot everything.
She was wearing a simple ivory dress, tea length, with lace along the sleeves. Her chestnut hair was pinned back with small white flowers. She carried a small bouquet of the same flowers that were on the arch, tied with green ribbon.
He heard Presti’s tail thumping in the grass beside him.
She walked down the aisle, past their small assembled family. She reached the arch. She stopped in front of him. She handed her bouquet to Miss Doris.
She looked at Corey.
“Hi,” she said quietly.
“Hi.”
His voice cracked. He didn’t care.
The officiant was a friend of Miss Doris’s, a retired judge who’d been performing wedding ceremonies on the island for thirty years. She smiled at the two of them and began.
Corey didn’t remember most of the ceremony afterward. He remembered pieces. The way Gayle’s hands felt in his. The way her voice shook when she said her vows. The way Presti kept his composure through most of the ceremony and then, at the exact moment Corey slid the wedding band onto Gayle’s finger, let out one small confused bark, as though checking to make sure everyone was okay.
Everyone laughed.
Gayle laughed. Corey laughed. Their small assembled family laughed. The April sunlight spilled through the oak leaves.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the judge said. “You may kiss the bride.”
Corey pulled Gayle to him and kissed her.
Someone was crying. He’d figure out who later.
Right now there was just her. His wife. Standing in the yard of the house on Sandpiper Lane, in the April sun, in the small crescent of everyone they loved, with a small tan dog in a green bowtie sitting patiently at their feet.
When he pulled back, she was crying and laughing at the same time. He wiped her cheek with his thumb.
“Hi,” she whispered again.
“Hi, Mrs. Roberts.”
Her face broke open into the widest smile he’d ever seen.
Then everyone rushed up to congratulate them before they moved to the table for the reception.
Miss Doris’s cake was cut and served, and it was, of course, as good as it had looked. There were toasts. Tom Richardson gave a long, rambling one about the shelter’s heating system that somehow ended in tears. Penny told a story about the day Corey had come to school after meeting Gayle for the first time. Miss Doris raised her glass and looked at Gayle and said only, You were always worth it, dear, and Gayle had to sit down for a minute.
People danced.
The music got louder.
Presti got tired around three in the afternoon and went to nap in the cool spot under the deck.
Around four, Corey took Gayle’s hand and pulled her away from the party for a moment. They walked to the corner of the yard, near the big oak, where they’d stood a few hours earlier and promised each other everything.
He put his arms around her from behind. She leaned back against his chest. They looked out at the yard, at their people, still eating cake, still talking, still celebrating.
At the small tan dog under the deck, snoring softly.
At the cottage that would, tonight, finally have both of them living in it.
“How are you doing?” Gayle asked quietly.
“I don’t know yet. Ask me in ten years.”
She laughed. Then she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, and he felt her sigh, deep and settling, like she’d been waiting nine years to exhale.
He held her there for a long moment.
Then he kissed the top of her head and said, “Come on. There’s cake to finish.”
They walked back to the party hand in hand.
Behind them, the April sun moved slowly across the yard, and the light kept getting warmer, and somewhere under the deck, Presti’s tail thumped softly in his sleep.
*** The End ***
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading The Christmas Puppy and this little bonus epilogue. Ready for more? If you’re looking for another Christmas on Palmar Island romance, you’re in luck. There’s an entire series of them waiting for you.
And when you’re done with those, I recommend you check out the Winter Brothers of Palmar Island.
The Winter Brothers of Palmar Island
Happy Reading!