A/N: Dear Richonne family, I want to thank all of you who supported my book launch last week. It meant the absolute world to me. Writing a book has taken all of my free time over the last year, and because of that I haven't been around much, but today I found myself with a little bit of extra time and I wanted to give it to you. I hope you enjoy this Christmassy epilogue to Game Changer. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate and thank you again for your support on my book. This is truly the best fandom.

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Epilogue

"Careful, Carl!" Rick hollered as his son's shiny dress shoes skated across the blacktop. He wove between a couple of parked town cars, drawing annoyed looks from their bored drivers, then jumped a slushy puddle. Rick winced. New England winters provided far too many opportunities for little boys to break an arm.

Carl slowed a bit when he got to the paver path, but still kept a good pace ahead of them. "You be careful too," he said to his date. Michonne tossed him a look as she easily traversed the slick terrain in heels. He still let a protective hand fall to her elbow. "You know, it's probably sixty-degrees in King County right now. We could cook out, drink cocoa on the back porch."

"We'll do all of that this weekend when we fly in," Michonne promised, slipping her arm around his waist. "Christmas is supposed to be just like this."

She was stunning in her cranberry-red, wool coat and fuzzy white scarf, her hair piled on top of her head with diamond clips decorating her locs like icicles. As much as he had pushed for a quiet evening at home watching Christmas movies, he had to admit, he was glad he hadn't missed out on seeing her dressed like this. Besides, they still had tomorrow for pajamas and cocoa, and the very special present he had under the tree with her name on it.

Carl reached the front steps, and just as he was about to push the glowing doorbell, the heavy oak door swung open and the warm light of the home's foyer flooded the snowy stoop and spilled onto the lawn. "Ho, ho, ho!" Hershel—erm—Santa shouted, waving a white-gloved hand at Carl. He was a little old to be fooled by his old friend's disguise, but Carl's eyes still lit with magic like he was letting himself believe. Staying in the cold, busy city for the holiday wasn't Rick's first choice, but he couldn't deny, there was something about a white Christmas that made all little boys wide-eyed, and all old baseball team owners look like Saint Nicholas.

Michonne tipped her chin to look at him, and her own eyes were merry and bright. A few snowflakes landed in her hair and her eyelashes now that they had stopped moving, and he brushed the watery remnants of one from her cheek with his thumb. He felt a warmth spread through his chest, beating out the frigid December air.

"Feeling less Grinchy?" she asked, catching on to the way his thoughts had pivoted.

He took a deep breath of the snowy air and squeezed her to him. "Much," he said, leaning in for a quick taste of those full, warm lips. "But I'm still looking forward to the end of this night. For other reasons." She smiled, her cheeks rounding and her teeth showing. That warmth crept lower.

"But first," she said, "Hershel's Famous Christmas Eve Party."

"Yeah. First things first."

"Get in here, you two," Hershel shouted, breaking the snowy, Christmas spell that had come over them. He'd dropped the jolly act once Carl had disappeared inside. "You're letting all my heat out."

Rick took Michonne's hand and led them through the doorway to the marble and gold foyer of Hershel's home. The chandelier above them was strung with garland and baubles, the grand staircase decked out with more fresh greenery than the woods behind the house. Hershel was an old country boy at heart. He didn't bask in his wealth like a lot of other people who shared his zip code did, except at these once-a-year holiday parties where he threw his money and all of his connections at collecting the best decorators and caterers and party-planners the city had to offer, to transform his home into a Christmas wonderland. Rick looked around at the guests, mingling and sipping champagne in every corner of the place, and then at the beautiful woman on his arm. The whole scene was growing on him.

A man in a tuxedo took their coats, and even though he'd seen it before they left, Rick let himself take another indulgent look at the dress Michonne wore, emerald green with silver stitched throughout the fabric like tinsel. A long slit up the side that showed off those legs of hers, and the sparkly straps of her shoes. She looked like a Christmas tree, and he desperately wanted to be underneath her.

A white-shirted woman greeted them with a tray of champagne while Hershel stood by, adjusting his fake belly. "You gonna wear that thing all night?" Rick asked, handing a flute to Michonne and taking one for himself.

"As long as the mood strikes me. Besides, I'm feeling a little bit like the man himself, seeing the two of you here together, knowing I'm the reason for it. Ho, ho, ho."

"Now that it all worked out, and he's got a trophy in his office, he's proud of himself."

Michonne laughed and gave Hershel a warm hug. "We're glad to be here."

"Well, go get some food and enjoy yourselves. I've got some new tricks to show Carl."

…

Rick in a tuxedo was something Michonne didn't think she'd ever tire of. When they'd first met, their mutual love of casual days and quiet nights bonded them instantly, but since Rick's team had made it to the World Series last fall, and she'd won an award for her story on Negan, she'd gotten used to being on his arm at black-tie functions. She was developing a taste for celebrations, as long as they were with Rick. Didn't hurt that they always ended with a more private celebration when the night was over.

Hershel's Christmas Eve party was just as she remembered it. It was so good to be back here after missing the last one. It was especially good to be here with Rick and Carl. She looked around the room, spotting the boy practicing whatever new trick Hershel had shown him on a couple of Rick's teammates. She smiled, remembering when it was she who'd spend the evening mastering one of the old man's illusions. How funny, she thought for maybe the thousandth time, that both she and Rick were so at home in this place, yet hadn't been at home here together until now. How fitting that they be there together tonight.

The couple that Rick had been making conversation with wandered off, and Michonne took the opportunity to tug him closer. They'd been entertaining small talk all evening, and she wanted to steal a private moment with her date. "I want more champagne," she said.

"Well, lucky for you, I don't think it's in short supply."

The cheery top-forty holiday music that had been their soundtrack petered into a quiet rendition of O Holy Night and she stopped in her tracks. "Oh, but first, let's dance," she said.

Rick laughed, and led her to the living room where a few other couples had already had the same idea.

She took his hand and settled against his firm chest. The offseason hadn't affected his training, and she let her fingers stroke at the hard muscles of his back while they swayed. "Do you ever think about it?" she asked. "How we should have met at this very party last year?" She let herself contemplate the irony of her late introduction to Rick once more—the year she'd missed this party to go away with Mike, how downtrodden she'd been knowing all the festivities were still taking place, and she was missing them. That was the year Rick and Carl had been here. Maybe she'd somehow known that she was missing out on this future. Him. Them.

"I think it went like it was supposed to."

"Yeah?"

"You weren't a big fan of ballplayers, remember? You probably wouldn't have given me the time of day."

"Not true," she said, smiling into his shirt. "I fell for that face the minute I saw it. I wouldn't have been able to resist."

Rick chuckled, then his voice went soft. "This year was a rollercoaster, but I think I was meant to go through it the way I did."

Maybe he was right. Maybe the thing that she and Mike ended up becoming was something she needed to go through too. Serendipity or not, they'd met and they were here and this was the best Christmas yet. She leaned her head on his shoulder and the tinkle of Carl's laughter sounded from behind her as they danced. "Either way," she said. "Right now, this, it's exactly right."

"It is, but later on tonight. You and me alone. That's gonna be more right."

Michonne laughed, her muscles suddenly feeling tired and ready to call it quits. "What do you say we move on to that part, then, cowboy?"

"I've been waiting for you to say that all night."

…

Michonne descended the stairs carefully, her bare feet turning the flowing hem of her dress into a tripping hazard. Rick was sitting on the couch, still in his tux, with the fireplace serving as the only light in the room. "He's dreaming of sugarplums," she said.

Rick turned toward her, a lazy, exhausted smile pulling at his lips. "Sorry you got saddled with the bedtime story."

"Please. I've been dying to read The Polar Express this year. Carl gave me a reason."

Rick held his arm out, and she took the spot beside him, snuggling into his chest. "Are you tired?"

"I am," she sighed. "But I'm also enjoying this moment. Let's sit here for a little while longer."

"Okay."

She adjusted the skirt of her gown and pulled her knees up beneath her, resisting the urge to fall asleep. "You're sure you want me to stay tonight?"

"What kind of question is that?"

She had to admit, going back to her place felt like an odd choice since she'd been staying there since the season ended, but she had to make sure. "Christmas morning is special. I don't need to intrude. I can come back after you've had your time—"

Rick cut her off with a kiss, hard and final. When he pulled away, there was something flickering in his eyes that she couldn't quite read. He looked almost nervous. "Rick."

"Come here." He stood and tugged her hand, leading her out of the room and toward the archway that separated his living room from his kitchen. He pointed up, a sly smile on his lips, and she laughed.

"You didn't need mistletoe if you wanted a kiss," she said, hoping that private celebration was about to begin.

But Rick shook his head. "I'm not going to kiss you yet."

She put on an exaggerated pout, the kind she hoped would get her on the naughty list later. "Tease," she simpered.

"I'm not going to kiss you until you say yes."

"What?"

Rick shoved a hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, velvet box. Michonne's hands flew to her mouth. "I was going to wait until tomorrow morning, put it under the tree, but watching you walk Carl to bed, hearing you read to him, I couldn't wait another minute. You're right, Michonne, whether it was at that party a year ago, or because I went and almost ruined my career and needed you to pull me out, you and I were always going to be. If you think I'm going to spend this Christmas or any other without you, you're crazy. You're my second chance of a lifetime. Will you marry me?"

Michonne felt tears burn the corners of her eyes, picturing his handsome face the first day they'd met—covered in scruff, bruised, and smile-less—about to change her life. Maybe Hershel really was Santa Claus. "Yes, Rick," she said, letting him slip the ring on her finger. "Of course, I'll marry you."