I turn another page.
Holly’s favorite. Make a double batch for her birthday. She helps with frosting now.
I swallow. “She wrote about you.”
“Yeah.” Holly’s voice cracks. “She did. That’s why I couldn’t leave it in the car any longer. Why I had to get it back.”
I understand now. It’s not just recipes. It’s proof someone saw her. Loved her. Made her favorite cookies and wrote her name in the margins.
Like the way I carved her name into wood tonight.
“Some things are worth the risk,” Holly says.
My chest tightens. “Yeah. They are.”
She zips the bag and sets it aside. “Thank you for understanding and going out to get it.”
“You’re welcome. But Holly, don’t you ever go out in a storm alone again. Not for recipes or for anything. You call me. You wait. You trust me to come back.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.” I pull her close, and she settles against me. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“And I’ll keep you safe.” She doesn’t hesitate.
“Yeah.”
She chooses me. I choose her.
That’s all we need.
epilogue
. . .
Holly
New Year’sEve arrives merry and bright.
My house on Pine Street glows with fairy lights. Inside, the space heater hums, and the house smells like hot cocoa and cinnamon.
I run my palm over the kitchen cabinet Cole fixed last week. He also installed hooks by the door to hold our jackets side by side. I love seeing his heavy canvas work coat next to my puffy blue one. The sink no longer drips, and the front step is solid under my feet.
Small acts. Practical.
The mailbox outside has a hand-carved sign that readsBROOKS & HARTin letters he burned into the wood. He mounted it two days ago, standing back to make sure it was level.
We’re claimed. Chosen.
The front door opens, and Cole steps in, his arms full of firewood. Snow dusts his shoulders and beard. His gaze finds mine, the way it always does now.
“Cold out there,” he says.
“Then get over here and warm up.”
He stacks the wood by the fireplace, largest pieces on the bottom and kindling on top. Then he comes over and wraps his arms around me. His coat’s freezing, but when his lips press against mine, his mouth is warm.
“Missed you,” he says.
