Epilogue
One Year Later
From a safe distance, Wilder watched the exchange. He was close enough he could hear every word and see every movement without missing a beat. He was also far enough away he could laugh without catching hell from either party.
“I heard you the first time.” Bailey folded her arms and widened her stance into a fierce warrior pose. “My answer is still no.”
“Come on,” Felix insisted. “We have to do it.”
“I said no.”
“But how are you supposed to create an authentic, good old-fashioned Texas Christmas without a real Christmas tree?”
“We use a fake one.”
“That’s just messed up.”
“What’s wrong with using a fake tree? It’s August and a million degrees outside.”
“If you’re worried about the heat, I can assure you my crew and I are more than capable of surviving. This isn’t our first Texas summer, little lady.”
“And where will you find this genuine Christmas tree off-season?”
“We’ll trek out into the woods.”
She gasped in outrage. “You want me to let you loose in what’s probably a national—or at least state—forest to murder a tree that’s going on a set for two days at best?” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re insane. I’m the designer here. You’re the muscle.”
“The muscle?” Now Felix looked ready to spit fire. “Well, if you’re the designer, then shouldn’t you know better than to try and shove fake Christmas down people’s throats?”
“This is a fake Christmas.”
“But the people reading that fancy magazine won’t know when they see the photos in December.”
“The answer is still no. We’re using the artificial fir.”
“You’re like the frickin’ Grinch.”
“And you’re being a baby and messing with my designs. Besides . . .” She glared up at him. “I like artificial trees.”
Felix looked like she’d just asked him to use his best hammer to open a pickle jar. For his part, Wilder could only snicker. They’d been at each other’s throats most of the morning. He couldn’t blame them for being on edge. They only had a couple of hours to finish up their work before the photographer arrived. They’d been busy since the three of them had opened a home renovation business together in the heart of Austin. After Bailey’s website—Home Making with Bailey—had launched, their demand had grown even more. So much that one of the premiere interior design magazines wanted to do a multi-page spread on their company for the holiday issue.
It would be huge for them when it ran, but at the moment, it was a pain in their collective asses. There’d probably be more yelling and hurt feelings before the day was over. And Wilder couldn’t be happier.
When he and Waverly had walked away from Playing House, there’d been more than a few moments when he wondered if they’d come out the other side all right. The public outcry hadn’t been pretty. Though they’d spoken truthfully and from the heart, plenty of people considered them regular con artists.
Fortunately, another scandal broke out in the televised home improvement world. Another duo on a rival network had swindled viewers out of millions of dollars through their Ponzi-style real estate classes. That had made their story seem tame when compared to a criminal case.
After the scandal quieted down, Devon found Waverly a job at DN. She was doing some sort of development work, creating shows and hiring the crews to make them. Despite their pattern of fighting and making up followed by more fighting and more making up, they’d decided they couldn’t live without each other. They’d tied the knot in an intimate wedding on Hilton Head Island as soon as the ink was dry on his divorce papers. A few months later, they’d welcomed their son into the world.
Co-parenting Virginia hadn’t been without its quirks, but they were figuring it out. At the end of the day, she had two pairs of parents who loved her dearly and wanted what was best.
Through all of it, Bailey had stuck with him. There were times she still worried everything was changing too quickly, but Wilder was always there to remind her they were in it together. After her mama and Roger, then Paige and Felix, announced their respective engagements, she’d seemed to settle down even more. She’d even taken to answering her father’s calls and responding to his texts. They’d met him for dinner a couple of times, too, when they’d taken Virginia to New York City for one of her visits. There were still hurt and hard feelings. They might never be close, but at least they had something more than nothing.
So when Wilder had asked her to marry him one year to the day after they’d met at an old Victorian house, she’d said yes. They were planning a wedding at their farmhouse this fall, then they’d take a belated honeymoon over the holidays.
Sometimes, a guy was luckier and happier than he deserved to be.
Glancing up from untangling the lights she wanted for the fake tree, Wilder watched Bailey finish her battle with Felix—for the moment—and saunter toward him. Slipping an arm over his shoulder, she watched his progress. “What’s this I hear about Waverly bringing Renee in for a meeting this weekend?”
He winced. He’d hoped to break that news to her first. “I think they have a pitch for us. Either they want to do a wedding special or worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“A full series order.”
“Mmm.” She let out a sigh, but a smile played at her lips. “That would explain why Renee called to ask if I’ve changed my opinion on home improvement TV.”
“Have you?”
She shrugged. “It isn’t all bad.
“It got us here.”
Because really, in the end, while his time on Playing House hadn’t been a picnic, it was how they’d found each other. And someday, when Virginia was older and they had their own children and grandchildren, there’d be a full season of episodes to show how they’d fallen in love. (Their descendants would also be able to see that they’d always been silly.)
“Speaking of getting us here . . .” She glanced around at the chaos surrounding them. “Are you nervous about this photoshoot?”
“Should I be?”
“Oh . . . I don’t know. The photographer could suggest we dress you up in a Santa suit.” She wiggled her eyebrow. “Maybe you’ll make your grand entrance through the chimney. The fireplace we built for the shoot isn’t real. We could drop you down it pretty easily.”
“Santa, hmm?” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Would you care to sit on his lap? Tell me if you’ve been a good little girl or a bad one?”
Her face flushed bright pink. “Sometimes, you’re so . . . gross.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” she agreed, leaning over to kiss him. “And I love you.”
At the end of the day, that was really all that mattered. No matter what kind of schemes people might be hatching for him, no matter what happened on the next job, it would all be okay. He was building a life with the woman he loved, and you couldn’t beat that.