And none of it felt dramatic at all.
It felt like breathing.
The lodge was quiet in that late October way: soft lamplight pooling against cedar walls, crackling fire in the stone hearth, faint smell of cinnamon drifting in from the kitchen.
Outside, the night sky hung clear and cold over the lake. October stars in the Midwest were sharp enough to make you believe you were being watched in the best possible way.
And inside… Carson was standing at the big table, studying the property map spread across the dining table like a man preparing to conquer a tiny, adorable kingdom.
“Our house,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, “has the best sunrise access on the whole ridge.”
I leaned against the table and watched him.
It was the same expression I’d seen on forest trails, on planning circuits, in gear sheds. Focused. Quiet. Strong.
But now there was something else layered under it.
Ease.
Peace.
The unguarded kind.
“You say that like you’re trying to convince me,” I teased, nudging his hip with mine.
He straightened, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I still can’t believe you agreed to it.”
I pretended to gasp. “Excuse you — I’m a woman who loves a good sunrise. Dormant winter foliage? Frosty lake reflections? That house was calling to me.”
“That house,” he echoed, sliding a hand to my waist, “is barely more than walls and optimism.”
“Yes, but it’sourwalls and optimism.”
He pulled me closer, eyes softening. “You really like saying that, don’t you?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” he said, amused. “You said ‘our’ nine times today.”
“I counted eight.”
“Nine,” he insisted, brushing a kiss to the top of my hair. “You said it when you told your mom we’d bringourpotato salad to dinner, even though we don’t have a kitchen yet.”
I shrugged. “We have fingers. We can mix things in bowls.”
“Sienna…”
“Okay, fine,” I said. “We’ll buy a portable stove.”
He chuckled — low, warm, the kind that never failed to slip under my ribs.
It still amazed me how easily we fit into each other’s orbit now. Not without bumps. Not without awkward early months where I nearly put myself back on a plane to Alaska twice. But he’d never pushed. He’d never cornered.
He’d stayed steady.
And somewhere along the line…I’d stopped running.
He kissed my temple, then turned back to the map. “I still think we need to install a larger back deck.”
