Page 91 of Terms and Traditions

Nash and I followed her, a few others trailing behind us. The wind was still biting and frigid, despite the layers, but the whistle and crack of the fireworks going up the next street over were worth it. The colours danced overhead in a tapestry of red, green, and silver.

It was just starting to snow again, the snowflakes catching in our hair. I stole a glance at Nash and watched the way the flickering fireworks cast shadows on his face. His grin was boyish and adorable. Strong and steady. I slipped my icy hand in his and squeezed it lightly.

He squeezed back. Three times.

I tilted my head at him curiously. Despite Gabe’s best efforts, I hadn’t mastered Morse code.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Happiness trickled through my fingers and all the way down to my toes. I was… content and a little giddy. And I loved it. Loved him.

I sent a return message of my own with four squeezes. I love you, too.

Nash smiled down at me, the streetlight’s soft glow winking off his glasses and the powdery snow sticking to his hair and coat. Despite the nipping wind, his gaze was warm. He lifted our entwined fingers and kissed the back of my hand. “Steph,” he whispered, leaning down till our noses nearly touched.

I loved when he said my name, but the swoosh of a window opening above us cut off our moment. And when we looked up, Emmett was hanging out the window with a Nerf gun.

“Please remember your audience,” he groused, waving the gun towards Sadie, who was still mesmerized with the pyrotechnics display. “I will use this if you get mushy.” But his lips were twitching with a hidden smile beneath his beard.

For all his grumbling, he was happy for us. Unable to resist a tease of my own, I stood on tiptoes and kissed Nash’s cheek, dragging him towards the door out of the way as Emmett let out a shot.

“Bah humbug!” Nash called out to him.

“Wrong holiday, Nashville.”

I laughed till my sides ached in Nash’s arms, under the streetlights and the pop of the fireworks. And it felt right. Like home.

Epilogue - Stephanie

April—four months later

“Right there, perfect!” I clicked the shutter button, its rapid purr a familiar friend. Checking my screen, I scrolled through the shots to make sure I’d captured enough before changing positions.

The heady aromatic smell of lilacs hung heavily around us as the late-April breeze mussed my curls, tickling my cheek. I inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of my favourite flowers. Pity they bloomed for such a short time.

I refocused on my subjects. “All right, face each other. Paisley, wrap your arms around Greyson’s neck. Grey, place your hands on Paisley’s hips.” The evening sun diffused through the maple leaves overhead, giving a soft, golden-hour glow to the pictures. This copse of trees with an old wooden swing was my favourite part of the Satterfield property. It had always screamed romance to me. Perfect for a wedding. Or an engagement. Focus!

My models complied, looking absolutely adorable. Nash had surprised me with a spontaneous trip to Serenity Springs, Idaho, to visit friends for the weekend, and I was itching to whip out my camera. Paisley and Greyson were my willing—or mostly willing, since they were both camera shy—test-run models. Getting to shoot my bestie and her husband filled my heart. Paisley had had a rough go of life but watching her throw her head back with laughter as Greyson whispered something in her ear was a precious honour as a photographer. And being back in Idaho fed my soul. I was back with my people. Once I’d called it home-away-from-home, and in a way, it still was. But in the last five months, I’d found home had shifted from a place to a person. Spokane was truly home because Nash was there.

I was four months into my photography career, and just last month, Nash and I started a hunt for my replacement as a PA. Bookings had skyrocketed, and I’d settled into my rhythm in shooting and editing. From family shoots to senior graduations to engagements, I’d found my footing. For now, weddings were a no-go, at least not without a second shooter. But I was happy.

“Give her a kiss—no making out!” I called.

Paisley shot me a disapproving look, one I was sure she’d honed the use of as a librarian. “Do we look like Myles and Juliet?”

I laughed. “Touché. Carry on.” I snapped a few more candid shots before taking another sneak peek at the screen.

“Can we finish our shots on the back-porch swing?” Paisley asked, beaming up at Greyson. “We had our first kiss there.”

“And several more after that,” Greyson said quietly, smirking.

Paisley’s face flushed and she laughed, swatting his chest. Almost four years into marriage, they still had that spark and banter. I loved that for them.

“Of course. Let’s go!” I glanced around. “Wait, I left my bag at the swing. I’ll meet you there in a few.”

Hand in hand, Paisley and Greyson headed for the house, whispering. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him reach for her hand, pressing a kiss to her temple before they disappeared around the bend. Something was up, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Hurrying to the rustic swing, I nestled the camera into my bag. It was easier to transport that way since I’d have to change my lens at the porch, and I didn’t want to do that right here and risk any floating dust particles. I ran a hand over the braided old rope. Still sturdy. I’d spent countless hours on this swing whenever I was in town. Thinking. Praying. Daydreaming. I zipped the bag and straightened, pausing a moment to breathe in the fragrant perfume of lilacs.