Outside, the wind stirred, carrying faint music from the café across the street—something cheerful, careless. A couple of kids skated on the frozen edge of the lake, their laughter echoing up through the still air.
Soren leaned against the workbench, crossing her arms, staring at nothing.
She’d been alone plenty of times before. Hell, she preferred it most days. But this—this wasn’t solitude. This was absence.
She missed the way Nia’s laugh had sounded against her shoulder. The way her green eyes had softened when she finally stopped pretending she wasn’t afraid.
Soren sighed and reached for her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Her contacts were mostly locals, suppliers, the lodge, Ellis. NoNia.
Of course not. They’d never exchanged numbers. That was supposed to make it easier.
It didn’t.
The kettle clicked off behind her, the hiss of steam breaking the silence. She poured herself a cup and took a sip, too hot, too bitter.
The mug sat beside her, still chipped, still whole.
She stared at it for a long time and whispered, “Guess you’re staying a while.”
Outside, the snow kept melting.
Inside, nothing was fixing itself.
Evening came fast in the mountains that time of year. By five, the sky had turned violet, the lake glazed in gold and shadow. Soren shut up the workshop early, the stillness too loud, the air too heavy.
She carried the white mug home with her, tucked into the cab of her truck like it was something fragile. She told herself it was so she wouldn’t forget to wrap it for shipping. But she knew better.
Her cabin sat near the treeline above town, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Inside, it was warm and familiar—the same stack of books, the same wool blanket thrown over the couch, the same half-finished shelf project leaning against the wall. Nothing had changed.
She tossed her keys onto the counter, poured herself a beer, and collapsed into the armchair. The room was too quiet. Sheturned on the small radio for company; it caught a local station halfway through a news bulletin about the storm cleanup.
“...air travel resumed. Hospitals reporting a backlog of postponed procedures…”
The mention ofair travelandhospitalsmade her chest ache.
She took a long drink, staring at the mug on the table. It was ridiculous, but she imagined her initials scrawled beside Nia’s neat, printed name on one of those surgical scrub tags.Dr. South.The kind of woman who fixed people from the inside out. The kind who didn’t look twice at small-town carpenters with calloused hands.
And yet, for a handful of nights, she had.
Soren leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and reached for her phone. She scrolled aimlessly—emails, voicemails, weather updates—until one new message blinked onto the screen.
Unknown number.
Subject line:Thank you.
Her pulse jumped. She opened it.
Hi Soren,
I made it back to Phoenix Ridge this afternoon. The roads were clear by the time we reached the valley. The hospital already has me back in the schedule—some things never change.
I just wanted to thank you—for everything you did during the storm, and for... everything else. You made a difficult week something I’ll remember for more reasons than I expected. I hope the lodge got its heat fully working again. Stay warm up there.
—Nia
That was all. No number. No invitation. No promise. Just enough to make her chest ache and her mouth curve in a soft, helpless smile.
Soren read it twice, thumb tracing the screen like she could touch the voice in those words. Then she hit reply before she could overthink it.
