Soren smiled faintly. “You must not know me that well yet, Doc. I was about five minutes away from driving down to Phoenix Ridge to find you myself.”
That made Nia laugh — a small, shaky sound that broke whatever was left of Soren’s restraint. She pulled her close again, holding her tight, just breathing her in.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, the world finally felt warm again.
By the time the snow stopped, the cabin smelled like cinnamon and pine.
The fire roared in the hearth, throwing soft orange light over the room. Nia had changed into one of Soren’s flannels—sleeves rolled, collar a little too big—and it undid Soren every time she looked at her.
They’d cooked together—if you could call it that. Pancakes that stuck to the pan, scrambled eggs that turned out half-perfect, half-charred. Nia had laughed through it all, warm and unguarded, hair falling in her face while she insisted on making coffee “properly this time.”
Soren had watched her, completely undone by the sight of this woman—this impossibly put-together surgeon—barefoot in her cabin kitchen, laughing like she hadn’t in years.
Now they sat at the small table, empty plates between them, candles burning low. Outside, the lake shimmered beneath a full moon.
Nia reached across the table, brushing a crumb off Soren’s thumb. “You’re a terrible cook,” she teased, voice soft with affection.
Soren grinned. “And yet you cleaned your plate.”
“I was being polite.”
“Sure you were, Doc.”
They smiled at each other across the candlelight, the kind of smile that carried more truth than words ever could.
After a moment, Soren leaned back in her chair. “You know, when you left, I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. That it was just the storm, just bad timing and good chemistry.”
Nia’s gaze dropped to the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “And?”
“And I was full of it.”
Nia looked up, green eyes shining.
Soren’s voice softened. “You were all I thought about. Every morning, I poured two cups of coffee like an idiot. You don’t forget someone who looks at you like you’re worth staying for.”
Nia’s throat worked as she swallowed. “I wanted to stay.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I was scared.” Nia’s words came out small but certain. “Scared that if I stayed, I’d never go back to who I was. That I’d lose control. And I’ve spent my whole life trying to hold it together.”
Soren reached across the table and took her hand. “Maybe it’s time to let go.”
Nia laughed softly, shaky and beautiful. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” Soren said. “But it’s better than being without each someone who is meant for you.”
For a long moment, they just looked at each other—the flicker of the fire reflecting in their eyes, the soft hum of the storm outside. Then Nia stood, circled the table, and stopped in front of Soren’s chair.
Soren tilted her head up, and Nia cupped her face in both hands. “I don’t know what comes next,” Nia whispered. “But I know I want this. You. Us.”
Soren’s pulse stuttered. “You sure, Doc?”
Nia smiled, tears catching in her lashes. “I love you, Soren Stevenson. I think I’ve loved you since the night you handed me a drink and called me out on pretending to be fine.”
Soren’s breath hitched, something breaking open deep inside her. “You don’t have to say that just because it’s Christmas.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
