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His shoulders slump forward. “But I’m eleven now. That’s plenty old enough to have a phone.”
“No promises, but I’ll talk to your mom about it again— ah, there she is!” I point, and Preston follows my finger to the woman currently setting up my booth beside her famous truck. She smooths out the tablecloth and adjusts some carvings, ensuring they’re perfectly aligned for people to view.
“Mom!” Preston yells. He starts to run forward but stops and looks both ways. When he’s certain the way is clear, he continues to run over with the large present in his arms.
I hope she likes it. It was Preston’s idea, and we’ve been working on it for three weeks. Brilliant, that kid is. He puts the box on the table and wraps his arms around her. In the past year, he’s grown like a bean and now comes up to her chin.
“What’s this?” Everly asks, and I wrap an arm around her waist. I kiss her, then look at Preston expectantly.
“Well…” he begins shyly, toeing at the dirt. “Dad and I thought we could do something nice for you on the one-year anniversary of our meeting.”
He pushes the box forward, and Everly looks between us, tears in her eyes. “You guys didn’t have to do this!”
“We wanted to,” I say. “Open it.”
She tears into the paper and opens the box. When she peers in, she gasps. Reaching her hand inside, she pulls out a flawless wooden tier tray. It has wood-burned carvings along the edges and is sealed in a dark-colored food-safe paint with a resin finish. Preston did most of the work under my instruction and is turning into a fine young woodworker. After all, he did spend the entire summer working for me at the shop.
“For displaying your cookies and baking,” Preston says. “Do you like it?”
“I love it!” she says, wiping her eyes. She pulls Preston and me into a hug. “Thank you.”
Everly gets to work plating cookies and brownies onto the various tiers, and Preston pulls out some more items to display at our booth.
I can’t believe I’ve found such a beautiful family.
Epilogue, Everly
Two Years Later
The log cabin has become exceptionally more decorated since Preston and I moved in. Hunter took an entire summer to renovate and add two bedrooms, one for Preston and another for the guests. By guests, I mean my sister, Edel, and my brother, Emmett. Even my mother has, on occasion, graced us with her presence.
Danny has made a habit of popping by and interacting with us as a family. He says we’ve created the home he’s always wanted. We’re a perfectly imperfect family, and I can’t get enough of this life we’ve built together.
I couldn’t be happier. Hunter has been the perfect father, and it elates me to know my son finally has someone to depend on, someone to look up to and talk to.
“I’m not wearing that,” Preston says, pointing to the shirt I’ve laid on his bed.
“Please?” I look up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
Now twelve, Preston’s a whole three inches taller than me but still hasn’t caught up to Hunter. He groans. “No, don’t try to guilt me. I can’t wear that. It’s embarrassing!”
I stare at him, pleading. “Think of how cute it would be.”
He glares but relents and snatches the shirt off the bed. “Fine. But no pictures, and we’re not going out anywhere.”
“Deal!” His eyes narrow further, and I can tell he’s skeptical. I sigh, pulling out my phone and handing it to him. “How can I take pictures if you have my phone?” I ask, sticking out my tongue.
Not long after Preston’s changed into the shirt, I hear the familiar sound of the front door opening. He and I share a look, and I give him a curt nod. It’s time to shine.
Hunter makes his way into the kitchen, opening and rummaging through the fridge. “Do we have anything that’s sugar content isn’t higher than half?” he asks, pushing aside what I know to be a few layers of cake cooling before I can ice it.
I glance at Preston and jerk my head toward where Hunter is bent over. He sighs but relents and walks over to the kitchen. He sits at the island counter, and I’m thrilled to note that most of the shirt is visible due to his height.
“Hey, Dad,” Preston says a bit too casually. “Do we have any waffles?”
“Ask your mother,” he says without looking up.
Preston looks at me, and I wave my hands frantically, egging him on.
