Before I can think of a response, another voice calls out, warm and teasing. “Don’t just stand there, bring her inside before she freezes!”
A woman—mid-fifties maybe, with kind eyes and a streak of silver in her braid—sweeps forward, wiping her hands on her apron. She doesn’t hesitate, just pulls me into a hug that smells like cinnamon and warm wool.
“So this isher,” she says against my shoulder. “About time.”
“Mom,” Holt says, half a groan, half a laugh.
She waves him off and holds me at arm’s length, studying me. “Pretty as a sunrise,” she says decisively. “You hungry?”
“Uh—”
A girl about my age steps forward—Holt’s cousin Cynthia, as he introduces her—and presses a mug into my hands. “Cider,” she says with a mischievous grin. “You’ll thank me later.”
I take a sip—sweet, spiced, intoxicating. The warmth hits my chest and spreads all the way out to my fingertips.
Holt stays close, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the swirl of people. I feel their glances, their smiles, the friendly nods. He introduces them all—brothers, cousins, clanmates—with a mix of gruff affection and quiet pride.
Watching him like this—relaxed, laughing, utterly in his element—does something to me. I’ve never seen him so at ease. He’s still my mountain bear, all rough edges and growliness, but here he’s part of something bigger, something that feels… right.
When he looks down at me, eyes soft in the firelight, I know he feels it, too.
The music gets a little louder,and laughter ripples through the room. The air is warm and full of joy andlife.
I slip out of the immediate bustle and lean against one of the wide timber posts, just watching for a minute.
Holt’s surrounded—two little boys have attached themselves to his legs, shouting something about a bear ride, and he’s growling dramatically, scooping them both up like they weigh nothing. Their shrieks of laughter echo through the hall.
My chest tightens. He used to live like this. Used tobelonghere.
For the first time, I realize what he gave up when he pulled away from everyone.
A woman joins me, carrying a tray of cookies. She’s a little younger than Holt, with the same strong jaw and sparkling amber eyes.
“Sorry I missed the introductions earlier,” she says, offering them to me. “I was wrangling dinner in the kitchen. I’m Sam—Holt’s sister.”
I instantly warm at the kindness in her eyes. “Hi. I’m Lila.”
Sam smiles, then looks toward the yard, where Holt is tossing one of the boys into a snowbank and catching him again, both of them shouting with laughter.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I blink. “For what?”
“For bringing him back.” She smiles, watching Holt as he swings one of the boys onto his shoulders. “We’ve been missing this version of him for a long time.”
I can’t speak for a second.
“I didn’t do anything,” I manage.
Sam gives me a knowing look. “Yeah, you did.”
She drifts back toward the others, leaving me standing there with my heart swelling until it almost hurts.
Holt looks up just then, catching my gaze across the room. His grin slips into something deeper—something that saysminewithout a word spoken.
I smile back, the realization settling in my bones:
I’m not an outsider anymore.
