The radio played another carol, slow and sad, and outside the snow began to fall again — light, soft, and endless.
The snow had been falling for an hour by the time Soren noticed.
Big, lazy flakes drifted past the window, settling over the porch she’d just cleared. She watched them for a while, one handwrapped around her mug, the other tracing absent circles in the condensation on the table.
The clock above the stove ticked toward noon. Christmas morning was slipping into afternoon, and the cabin smelled of coffee, pine, and a roast she hadn’t really wanted to cook but had thrown in the oven anyway because doing nothing felt worse.
She took a slow sip and tried not to think. Not about the empty chair across from her, not about the soft sound of laughter that sometimes echoed in her head when the house was too quiet.
The knock startled her.
A sharp rap, sudden against the hush of falling snow. She froze, setting her mug down carefully. Nobody came out this far unless they meant to — her nearest neighbour was a half mile away.
Soren crossed to the door, pulse picking up as another knock came, gentler this time.
She pulled it open.
And forgot how to breathe.
Nia stood on her porch, half-covered in snow, cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her dark hair was loose, damp at the ends where it brushed the collar of her coat. A small duffel hung from her shoulder. Behind her, the mountain looked like something out of a postcard — white, still, endless.
For a second, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the snow sliding off the eaves and the faint whistle of the wind.
Then Soren found her voice, rough and quiet. “You got lost again, Doc?”
Nia’s lips curved, uncertain but real. “Maybe I was trying to.”
Soren blinked, gripping the edge of the door. “You… you shouldn’t be here. The roads?—”
“Clear,” Nia said softly. “I checked three times. I rented a car. I… needed to come.”
Soren took her in, heartbeat hammering. The elegant posture, the controlled calm, all still there — but her eyes told the truth. They were bright and tired and full of something that looked a lot like fear.
Soren stepped back without thinking. “Get in here before you freeze.”
Nia hesitated only a second before stepping inside. The warmth hit her immediately, and she shivered, brushing melting snow from her coat. Soren took it from her, hanging it by the stove, hands moving automatically even as her mind caught up to the fact that Nia —Nia— was here.
In her cabin.
At Christmas.
Soren turned back to find her standing awkwardly near the table, eyes darting between the fire and the two mugs. She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “You kept it.”
Soren glanced at the mug and shrugged. “Didn’t seem right to throw it out.”
“Doc,” she said softly, “you sure you’re not just here for the coffee?”
Nia’s lips parted — the faintest ghost of a smile. “Maybe a little.” She took a step closer. “Mostly for you.”
That was all it took.
Soren closed the distance, her hands coming up to cup Nia’s face, her thumbs brushing the cold from her cheeks. Nia’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch, a soft sound catching in her throat.
When Soren kissed her, it wasn’t like before — not hurried or desperate or stolen from the dark. It was slow and sure and full of everything they hadn’t said.
Nia melted into her, fingers fisting in the front of Soren’s shirt. The kiss deepened, turned breathless, then gentled againuntil their foreheads rested together, both smiling through uneven breaths.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to come,” Nia whispered.
