The snow falls just like it did a year ago—coating the town in a thick blanket of white.
Driving through the main road, Piper's already bouncing in her seat, pointing out the window like a kid on Christmas morning.
"There's the general store! And the Skyline—oh my god, they have evenmorelights this year." She presses her face to the glass. "Harlon, it’s so pretty."
Pretty doesn't begin to cover it, I think as I pull the truck into the parking lot of the Snowcap Inn.
This time last year, I was a wreck. I was terrified of what I felt for Piper Cross, of what it meant, and of all the ways loving her could blow up my life.
Now sheismy life, and I can't imagine hernotbeing a part of it.
I kill the engine and she's out before I can come around to help her, spinning in the snow with her arms out, laughing. Her dark hair catches the light from the lampposts, and I have to take a second just to watch.
This woman is allmine.
"Come on, sexy," she calls, grinning at me. "Let's check in."
The same proprietor is at the desk, gray-eyed and scowling. His eyes narrow when he sees us.
"You two again," he grunts.
Piper lights up. "You remember us!"
"Hard to forget. Young couple, looked half-frozen, couldn't stop staring at each other." He pushes the registry across the counter. "Same room?"
"If it's available," I say, signing us in.
"It's available." He takes my card, processing it with a simple tap. "Try to keep it down this time."
Piper's cheeks go pink, and I bite back a smile. "We'll do our best."
He hands me the key. "Second floor. End of the hall. You know the way."
We do. And as we climb those stairs, Piper's hand in mine, I'm hit with a sense of déjà vu mixed with wonder.
Last time, I could barely let myself touch her. Now I couldn’t stop even if I tried.
The room looks exactly the same—wood paneling, huge bed, window showing nothing but the white expanse outside. Piper drops her bag and immediately goes to the glass.
"I can't believe we're back," she whispers.
I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. "Believe it."
She leans into me, sighing happily.
This year has been...Christ, it's been everything. Piper moved to Wyoming in February, set up her workspace in my cabin, and just... bloomed. Her apps took off, especially that emergency shelter locator she built after our experience. Park services across five states are using it now. She gets emails from grateful hikers every week.
And she's happy. I know this because she tells me everyday—with smiles in the morning, notes in my pack, mind-blowing kisses when I get home, and sometimes even x-rated texts while I’m trudging up a mountainside.
She’s one in a million, my girl.
We decide to walk into town, hand in hand.
Hope Peak is even more festive than last year. Every storefront sparkles with lights, garland drapes from lamppost to lamppost, and Christmas trees are everywhere.
"This place is magical," Piper breathes, squeezing my hand. "I'm so glad we came back."
We push through the door of the general store, and she makes a beeline for the food section. I follow, watching her fill a basket with cheese, fruit, and the same kind of summer sausage we had last time.
