Nia’s stomach knotted. The roads would open soon. The flights would resume.
This—whateverthiswas—would have to end.
She rose and found her sweater on the back of a chair, pulling it on like a shield. Her legs wobbled slightly, reminding her of the night before. When she stepped into the hall, the smell of coffee hit her like a memory she didn’t want to let go of.
Soren was in the small kitchen, barefoot, wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, humming softly as she poured coffee into mismatched mugs. Her hair was tousled and damp from a quick wash, a streak of sunlight catching the curve of her jaw.
It was a scene so normal, soordinary, that it nearly broke Nia’s heart.
Soren turned, caught her in the doorway, and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Morning, Doc.”
Nia tried to answer with the same ease. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Soren said, handing her a mug. “The generator’s half-beating again. I’ll take a look later, but for now we’ve got fire, coffee, and relative peace. That’s a win.”
Nia accepted the mug, fingers brushing Soren’s for a fleeting second. “You always find something to fix.”
“Habit,” Soren said, then softened. “You look more beautiful than ever in the morning.”
Nia arched an eyebrow. “Flattery before caffeine? Bold.”
Soren grinned. “Observation, not flattery.”
The teasing came easily, but Nia’s heart wasn’t keeping pace with her words. She watched Soren move around thesmall kitchen, the way she made everything seem effortless—grounded, steady,real. It was the kind of ease Nia didn’t understand, and couldn’t stop wanting.
She sat at the counter, taking a sip of coffee. It was too strong, slightly burnt, and somehow perfect. “You’re not supposed to make me feel comfortable here,” she said, mostly to herself.
Soren leaned against the counter across from her, mug in hand. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is,” Nia said quietly. “For me.”
Soren’s brow furrowed. “Because?”
“Because it makes it harder to leave.”
The words slipped out before she could catch them. For a heartbeat, the air between them held still. Soren’s expression softened—not surprise, just quiet understanding.
She crossed the space between them, slow and unhurried, until she was close enough that Nia could smell the coffee and soap on her skin. She rested a hand against the edge of the counter beside Nia, not touching her, but near enough that Nia could feel the warmth radiating from her body.
“Then don’t think about leaving,” Soren said softly.
Nia forced a small, brittle smile. “You make it sound easy.”
Soren shrugged. “It could be,” she said.
Their eyes met, and for a long moment, Nia forgot about the world beyond the mountain—the hospital, the surgeries, Julia’s voice, the expectations. There was only this room, this woman, and the steady heartbeat of something that shouldn’t have been possible.
But the snow was melting. She could hear it—slow drips from the eaves, the sound of a world waking up.
And she knew that once the world woke, this little pocket of impossible warmth would vanish with it.
Nia took another sip of coffee, keeping her gaze on the window, afraid that if she looked at Soren too long, she might forget to go back at all.
By late morning, the lodge had come alive again.
Guests moved through the halls in soft murmurs, bundled in sweaters, voices bright with the kind of cautious optimism that came after surviving something bigger than themselves. The worst of the storm had passed.
Nia stood by the window of her room, cradling the second cup of coffee Soren had made her before slipping off to help Ellis with the backup generator. Outside, the plow trucks looked like toys against the endless white, crawling their slow path toward the mountain road.
