Nia turned away before Soren could see her smile. She bent to straighten the pile of quilts, pretending it was for order’s sake. But inside, she could feel it again—the dangerous warmth that had nothing to do with the fires they’d lit.
By the time the lodge settled again, night had thickened around the windows. The wind was gentler now, brushing the eaves in long sighs. Most of the guests had gone to their rooms, the lobby reduced to the soft pop of firewood and the low murmur of the radio the clerk had left on for company.
Nia lingered near the desk, uncertain what to do with herself. She wasn’t used to this kind of quiet after a crisis. In the hospital, silence after chaos was clinical—monitors steady, lights harsh, adrenaline still burning in her blood. Here it was softer, more human.
She noticed Soren sitting by the hearth, long legs stretched toward the fire, hair still damp from melted snow. The collar of her shirt was open, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the edge of a tattoo curling up her throat. A half-empty mug sat beside her.
“You’re still on duty?” Soren asked without looking up.
“I was making sure everyone was comfortable.” Nia crossed the room, pulling her sweater tighter around her.
“They are. You did good.”
The praise warmed her more than the fire. She lowered herself into the armchair beside Soren, feeling oddly self-conscious. “You make it sound like I’m your apprentice.”
Soren grinned, eyes glinting in the firelight. “I wouldn’t mind a partner. You’ve got decent bedside manner.”
“I’m not sure handing out blankets counts as medicine.”
“Depends who you ask.”
Nia smiled despite herself. The glow of the fire made everything look dreamlike—soft, gold, slightly unreal. “You seem very at home in all this,” she said. “The chaos. The cold. The broken boilers.”
“I grew up with it,” Soren said. “My mom ran a small workshop out past the ridge. We fixed anything that could break—cars, pipes, fences. People brought us their problems and expected miracles. Guess I got used to it.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“Mom taught me everything that mattered.” She poked at the fire with the iron poker, the flames leaping. “When she got sick, I thought I could fix that too.”
The words hung there—simple, unembellished, heavy.
“I’m sorry,” Nia said quietly.
Soren gave a small shrug. “Cancer doesn’t care how good you are with a wrench.” She took a sip of her drink, staring into the fire. “After she died, I found myself just running away from life. Didn’t plan to stay here, but the mountain’s hard to quit.”
There was something in her tone—a quiet ache wrapped in acceptance—that pulled at Nia. “You talk about her like she’s still with you.”
“She is.” Soren’s smile was faint. “Every time I pick up a tool, she’s there, telling me to stop over-tightening the bolts.”
Nia’s throat felt tight. She thought of her own family—distant, efficient, proud. Of Julia, whose version of love had always been conditional. “You were lucky,” she said finally. “To have that kind of love.”
Soren looked at her then, eyes steady. “You didn’t?”
Nia felt a tight chest thinking about her own strict upbringing. “My parents were surgeons. My childhood was focussed on being the best. It wasn’tloving.I mean, I guess they loved in their own way, but I never felt close to them.” She stared at her hands, long surgeon’s fingers that had stitched, mended, repaired—but never held still long enough to simplyfeel.
“You ever think about stopping?” she asked.
Soren leaned back, considering. “Sometimes. Then I get restless. You?”
“I wouldn’t know how.” Nia gave a small, humourless laugh. “Every hour of my life is scheduled. If I stop moving, I start thinking. And that’s… dangerous.”
“Thinking’s not the enemy,” Soren said gently. “Sometimes it’s the only way out.”
The fire cracked, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. For a long moment they sat without speaking, the silence between them easy, companionable. Nia found herself watching the play of light across Soren’s face—the strong line of her jaw, the glint of amber in her dark eyes.
Without thinking, she reached for the blanket draped over the arm of her chair and tossed one end toward Soren. “You look cold.”
Soren caught it, tugged it across both their legs with a crooked smile. “You just wanted an excuse to share.”
