"Good," I say simply, because sometimes the most important truths are the simplest ones.
We stand there as the sun climbs higher, painting the snow in shades of white and gold and pale blue shadow. The view stretches endlessly before us—wild, beautiful, and uncompromising.
Like the life I'm offering her. Like the life she's choosing to build with me.
A hawk circles overhead, riding the thermals with easy grace, and I feel Ariel relax more fully against my side. The morning air carries the scent of snow and pine and the promise of clear weather ahead.
"Ready to head back?" I ask eventually, though I'm reluctant to break the spell of this moment.
She takes one last look at the view, then at me. "Ready."
But as we turn to head back down the mountain, I catch her glance over her shoulder one more time, memorizing the sight just as I memorized her face in the firelight last night. She's claiming this place just as surely as I'm claiming her, making it part of her story, part of who she's choosing to become.
The thought satisfies something deep and primitive in my chest. This mountain shaped me, made me who I am. And now it's hers too, part of the foundation we're building together.
As we pick our way back through the snow-laden forest, I find myself looking forward to showing her everything—every hidden valley, every wildlife path, every secret the mountain holds.
I want to watch her photograph the changing seasons, want to see this place through her eyes as it transforms from winter to spring to summer and back again.
The cabin comes into view through the trees, smoke rising from the chimney in a straight line against the clear sky. Home.
The word carries new weight now, new meaning. It's not just my refuge anymore—it's ours.
And looking at the woman beside me, her cheeks pink with cold and her eyes bright with possibility, I know that's exactly how it should be.
Epilogue – Ariel
Two Years Later
The rain starts before dawn, a gentle drumming on the cabin roof that pulls me from sleep with the kind of contentment that comes from knowing I have nowhere else to be.
Joel's arm tightens around my waist as I stir, his face buried against my neck, breath warm on my skin even in sleep.
I slip from bed slowly, leaving him to the deep rest he's earned after yesterday's work on the new trail markers. The cabin is dim in the gray morning light, but warm, Joel banked the fire perfectly before we went to bed, the way he always does. The way he takes care of everything, takes care of me, without making it feel like an obligation.
I pad to the kitchen in bare feet and one of his flannel shirts, the fabric soft and familiar against my skin. Coffee first, then work. The ritual of grinding beans and measuring water feels meditative with rain pattering steadily overhead, wrapping the cabin in a cocoon of sound that makes the world feel smaller, cozier.
My latest prints are spread across the dining table, shots from last week's hike to the ridge where Joel first kissed me two years ago.
The light had been perfect that morning, golden and sharp, catching the frost on pine needles and the steam rising from the creek. Looking at them now, I can almost feel the bite of cold air, hear the crunch of snow under our boots.
"Those came out well."
Joel's voice makes me smile even before I turn to find him leaning against the kitchen doorway, hair mussed from sleep, wearing nothing but pajama pants that hang low on his hips.
"The magazine editor thinks so too." I hold up one of the prints—a composition of ice formations along the creek bank. "She wants to feature this series in the winter issue."
He moves to stand behind me, his chest warm against my back as he studies the photograph over my shoulder. His hands settle on my hips with casual ownership, thumbs stroking small circles through the flannel.
"This one's my favorite," he says, pointing to a shot of the waterfall where we first met. "Remember what you said when you took it?"
"That I'd never been anywhere more beautiful." I lean back into his solid warmth, tilting my head to catch his eye. "I was wrong, though."
"Yeah?"
"It gets more beautiful every time I see it with you."
Joel's arms tighten around me, and I feel his smile against my temple. "Sentimental this morning, aren't you?"
