Afterward, he stays close, his arm heavy and comforting around my waist. He pulls me against his chest, tucking me into his side, and pulls the quilt over us both. The fire crackles softly in the other room, and the world feels quiet again.
I trace a slow line along his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. "That felt… like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just a matter of convenience, being stuck in a snowstorm together with nothing to do.”
His arm tightens around me. "Good," he says simply. "Because that's not what this is."
I smile into his shoulder, warmth blooming in my chest. "What is it, then?"
He's quiet for a moment, his hand tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder. "I don't know yet," he admits. "But it was something.”
“It sure was,” I agree.
It was everything.
Chapter 6
Rowan
BythetimeIwake, the storm has burned itself out, leaving the mountain wrapped in clean white stillness. Pale light filters through the window, soft and cold, painting everything in shades of blue and silver. For a moment I don't move. I just lie there and listen to the fire popping low in the hearth, to the wind sighing through the trees, to the slow, even breath of the woman tucked against my chest.
Merry.
She's warm and solid in my arms, her hair spilled across my shoulder like dark silk, her hand resting over my heart. The sight of her there settles something deep in my bones, something I didn't know was restless.
I don't do this.
I don't wake up with someone in my bed. I don't share my space, my routines, my carefully constructed quiet. But none of that feels wrong this morning. It feels… inevitable.
She shifts, blinking awake, her gaze finding mine almost immediately. A sleepy smile curves her lips. "Good morning."
"Morning," I say, my voice rough with sleep.
She stretches a little, pressing closer without thinking, and I tighten my arm around her, the possessive instinct sharp and unmistakable. The thought surprises me with its certainty.
Mine.
Not in a way that cages her. In a way that commits. In a way that says I'm willing to make room, to share this space I've guarded so carefully.
"You okay?" she asks softly, like she senses the weight of my thoughts.
"I am," I say. And I mean it.
She studies me for a moment, those dark eyes seeing more than I'm comfortable with. Then she smiles and leans up to kiss me, soft and sweet and perfect.
We get up slowly, dressing in comfortable silence. I hand her one of my sweaters without asking, and she slips it on like it's the most natural thing in the world. It hangs loose on her, sleeves too long, and the sight makes something warm and protective bloom in my chest.
She rolls the sleeves up and catches me watching. "What?"
"Nothing," I say, but I can't quite hide my smile.
Outside, the snow is deep but calm. The world is hushed, pristine. The road is still buried, but the sky is clear now, pale blue stretching over the ridge like a promise.
"Looks like we're here a little longer," she says, peering out the window.
"Yes," I say. "But we’re not stuck anymore."
She turns to look at me, curious. "What do you mean?"
I set two mugs of coffee on the table and meet her gaze. "Now we’re here by choice."
