Not because of the view.
But because of the life we’re building here, one quiet, starlit promise at a time.
And it feels like forever already.
21
The next morning, work begins on the bridge.
Trucks pull in just after dawn, bringing men and women from town bundled in flannels and denim, faces ruddy from the cold. There’s laughter, the scrape of shovels, and the rumble of tractors. Sam tells me this is just how things work around here—when someone needs help, the town shows up.
By noon, the bridge is cleared, reinforced, and fully repaired. The road is open again. We can come and go as we please.
Sam brushes the snow from his gloves and turns to me, his smile easy. “Want to go into town?”
I shake my head. “No. Let’s go check on the filly.”
He grins like I gave the perfect answer.
Later, we emerge from our bedroom wrapped in the quiet, golden haze of another lovemaking session. My body still sings with the echo of his hands, his voice, his name in my mouth. I’ve never craved anyone like this. Never felt this kind of hunger that only grows the more it’s fed.
Phern’s in the living room, perched on the edge of thecouch with her laptop. She doesn’t look up when we walk in.
“Sam,” she says flatly, “your label called while you were busy.” Her nose crinkles in subtle judgment. “Said it was important.”
He sighs. “Guess I’d better call them back.”
He kisses the top of my head before stepping out. I sink into the opposite end of the couch, still smiling, still glowing.
Phern glances at me. “He’s happy.”
“I’m happy, too,” I say quietly, hoping she hears everything layered beneath that.
She doesn’t respond.
At first, it doesn’t register as strange.
But then it starts.
At dinner, she ignores me when I ask her to pass the salt, even though I’m sitting right next to her. Her elbow finds my side a little too sharply while we wash the dishes—an “accident,” she doesn’t apologize for.
Something’s shifted.
I can feel it in the space between her words. In the tightness in her shoulders. In the way she no longer looks me in the eye when she talks.
And that warm, glowing certainty I felt hours ago? It cools. Just a little. Because something is off.
And I don’t know why.
Sam and I are lying in bed later that night, the fire casting slow shadows across the walls, the sheets tangled around our legs. Sam’s arm is draped across my waist, his fingers trailing soft circles against my skin.
But my mind won’t quiet.
Not with the echo of Phern’s cold shoulder still lingering like a bruise I can’t see.
“Can I ask you something?” I murmur, staring at the ceiling.
His fingers pause. “Course.”
