He shrugs. “A couple of days, probably.”
"I want to stay longer than that," I say.
His eyes darken with something deep, something hopeful and terrified at the same time. "How long?"
I swallow. "As long as you'll let me."
His jaw tightens, as if he's holding back a rush of emotion. "Then don't leave when the road clears."
"I won't," I whisper.
He kisses me softly at first, then with more certainty, more promise, more heat. When we break apart, he holds me close as if he's never letting me go again.
The storm continues outside, slow and gentle now.
Inside the cabin, everything feels warm and bright and full of promise.
Epilogue
Emory
OneYearLater
Snow drifts lazily across the mountain, soft flakes swirling outside the cabin windows. Inside, the world feels warm and calm, lit by the glow of the fire and the faint shimmer coming from Pike's workshop. It's the kind of evening that makes the whole mountain seem like it's holding its breath.
"Last ornament of the season," Pike says as he steps out of the workshop, wiping his hands on a cloth. He looks at me with that familiar warmth, the one that still makes my breath catch. "You ready to see it?"
"Always."
He crosses the room and opens his hand. Nestled in his palm is a delicate sphere of deep green glass with a faint gold swirl running through it, soft and luminous in the firelight.
"It's beautiful," I whisper. “Where should we put it?”
He no longer keeps his identity a secret, but he’s carried on the tradition of the Glass Ghost, secretly placing ornaments on trees and in places where people will find them. Only now, I help him do it.
"This one is for our tree." His voice softens. "Our first Christmas as husband and wife."
It's been a full year since the blizzard that changed everything. A year of quiet mornings, shared meals, late nights in the workshop, and slow, sweet routines that feel like home. A year of learning each other. Choosing each other. Loving each other deeply.
Pike hangs the ornament near the top of the tree, a Fraser fir we cut together from the edge of the property, and then turns toward me. His hair is a little longer this winter, curling slightly at the ends, and his jaw is rough with evening stubble. When he crosses the room again and wraps his arms around my waist, I melt against him easily.
"You've been quiet tonight," he says. “Is everything okay?”
"I've been thinking."
He lifts a brow. "About what?"
I slip my hands up his chest, letting my fingers rest just over his heart. "About how last Christmas, I came looking for the Glass Ghost and found the man of my dreams."
"And changed my whole damn life," he says, his voice low.
"And how this Christmas," I continue, "something else is changing it too."
He studies me closely. "Emory?"
I take a steady breath, even though my heart is racing. "I'm pregnant."
For a moment he freezes. Then his hands tighten around my waist, carefully slide to my stomach, and cradle it as if he's already protecting what's inside.
