Iknew it the second I opened the cabin door and found her coat gone from the hook.
The fire was still going. The blanket she’d wrapped herself in last night—after she came apart in my arms like snowfall—was folded on the couch.
But she was gone.
And I deserved it.
Because I left first.
Stupid.
I didn’t even think it’d take me long. Just a quick hike to the ridge. A favor. Something that might show her?—
That this wasn’t just snowstorm sex.
That this wasn’t just a fling, a contest, or a weird, glitter-covered hallucination.
She’d made my cabin a home. She didn’t even mean to. She just…was.
And I didn’t tell her.
Instead, I slipped out before sunrise like a jackass, with no note, no kiss, no explanation.
And now she thinks I ran.
So I do the only thing Icando. The only way I know how to fix this.
I come back through the storm, arms full of pine boughs, a tree slung over my shoulder—six feet tall, perfectly imperfect, handpicked from the ridge near Phantom River where the wind cuts sharp and the silence feels holy.
My boots slam against the porch, snow flying. My jacket’s soaked through, my beard frozen with flakes. My lungs burn like I ran through the goddamn desert again.
But I don’t stop.
Istorminto the cabin, notice her missing coat, and stomp right down the hallway to my bedroom.
And there she is. Suitcase in hand, frown on her face.
Noel. Red coat on. Bag half-zipped. Eyes puffy, cheeks blotchy. She looks like she’s trying real hard not to fall apart.
Too late.
Her eyes widen when she sees me. The tree. The snow caked into my hair.
“What the hell?—”
“I hiked five miles,” I cut in, breathing hard, “through a goddamn blizzard,for this.”
I drop the tree in front of her.
Snow scatters across the wood floor.
She stares. “You… went out there? For atree?”
“No.” I take a step closer. “Foryou.”
She blinks.
I don’t stop.
