Soren stood then, pulling Nia into her arms. The kiss that followed was different than all the ones before—slow, steady, full of everything that had built between them. When they finally broke apart, Soren pressed her forehead to Nia’s, voice thick.
“I love you too, Doc. More than I probably should.”
Nia smiled through her tears. “Good. I’d hate to be the only fool here.”
They ended up on the couch by the fire, tangled together under a blanket, Nia’s head resting against Soren’s chest. The flames danced low, and outside the window, the snow began to fall again—soft, silent, endless.
Soren brushed her thumb along Nia’s hand and whispered, “You’re staying, right?”
“For now,” Nia murmured, half-asleep already. “And maybe a little longer than that.”
Soren smiled, kissed the top of her head, and watched the snow until it blurred into light.
For the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t feel empty.
It felt like home.
And when the morning came, there would be two mugs on the table—and two people who finally knew what it meant to stay.
EPILOGUE
1 YEAR LATER
Snow drifted down over Hawthorne Lake, soft and endless, turning the town square into something out of a postcard. The Christmas tree glittered gold and silver, children chased each other with mittens full of snow, and somewhere near the bandstand a small brass band valiantly fought its way throughO Holy Night.
Soren stood with an arm around Nia’s waist, their new puppy—a shaggy, thick-coated mountain mix named Moose—sitting obediently at their feet with snow on his nose. He was all paws and enthusiasm, wearing a bright red bandana that readOfficial Snow Inspector.
“Think he’s impressed?” Nia asked, glancing down.
Moose gave a solemn little huff and promptly tried to eat a snowflake.
Soren chuckled. “That’s a yes. He’s a big fan of weather events.”
“He takes after you,” Nia murmured.
“I prefer to think I’m less drooly,” Soren said, and Nia elbowed her lightly.
The mayor’s voice carried over the square, thanking everyone for supporting the clinic and the community. When the tree lights flickered on, the crowd gasped, and the whole place seemed to glow. Nia leaned closer, her breath visible in the cold. “You realize this is our first Christmas where nothing’s on fire or canceled by weather.”
“Give Moose five minutes,” Soren said. “He’ll find a way to chew through the extension cord.”
As if on cue, the pup barked once—happy, harmless—and several children nearby turned to giggle at him. Nia’s smile softened as she watched them. “I never thought I’d feel like I belonged somewhere like this.”
Soren brushed her gloved thumb along Nia’s jaw. “That’s because you never had someone dragging you into snowbanks before.”
“You dragged me into your truck.”
“And look how that turned out.”
Nia tilted her face up toward her. “Better than either of us deserved.”
Soren kissed her—quick, sure, and right there in front of everyone. Moose wagged his entire back half in approval.
When they finally broke apart, Nia laughed. “Come on, you. Let’s take our child home before he tries to electrocute himself.”
The cabin glowed warm against the dark, firelight spilling through the windows. Inside, Moose bounded in, shook off a small storm of snow, and collapsed in front of the hearth with a groan that sounded entirely adult for a six-month-old dog.
Nia hung their coats while Soren refilled the wood stove. The air smelled of pine and cinnamon. Outside, the storm had quieted to a hush.
