He leaned the toolbox against the wall. “You can put up Christmas in July if it pleases you. November isn’t a stretch in my mind.”
“It pleases me,” she smiled. “I want the house to remember us.” She swallowed and shrugged, and a hint of old worries flickered across her face.
He crossed to her and sat on the floor. “Then we’ll give it something it can’t forget.”
When the wind came hard and fast, it came out of the north. The first deep snow covered the lake in a hushed blanket of white. They woke to a world that was both dim and bright at the same time. Blake cleared a path from the door to the woodpile and stamped it firm. Elise made coffee and slid the mug into his hands when he came back in. They stood together at the window while flakes, slow as breeze-blown feathers, floated past.
The storm settled over them for three days. The power hiccupped once or twice, then steadied. They cooked stew and bread in a cast-iron pot and ate at the hearth. They played checkers, cards, and talked about everything and anything.
One night, while the storm shook the roof and pine boughs thumped the siding, Elise stared into the fire and spoke without looking away. “Growing up, after my mom died, I kept thinking everything I had would be taken,” she said. “Then everything was. It’s hard to let my mind unclench the fear. It’s hard to carry the worry of what will happen.”
Blake lay on his side, facing her, one hand under his cheek, and watched the way flame made her eyes look deeper. He didn’t reach for the easy answer. He reached for the true one. “Then give me what’s worrying you to carry,” he said. “I can shoulder what you can’t carry anymore.”
She turned toward him. “One thing,” she said, “is that I’m afraid this bubble will burst and the peace we have will shatter.”
“There are no guarantees about the future, but while we’re here, you’re mine, and you’re safe. I won’t let the world shatter this.”
She leaned into him, and he pulled her into his chest. Their lips touched softly at first as his hands moved with reverence, tracing the curve of her shoulder and the slope of her waist. Each touch was his promise spoken in silence. She responded bythreading her fingers through his hair, drawing him closer, and he felt the tremor in her breath against his mouth.
"I've got you," he murmured against her lips, praying she believed him.
The firelight painted them in gold and shadow as he kissed the hollow of her throat, her collarbone, the place where her pulse beat strong under his touch. She arched into him, and he took his time, memorizing every sigh, every flutter of her eyelashes, the way she whispered his name like a prayer.
When he moved above her, their eyes locked, and in that moment, the world beyond the firelight ceased to exist. There was only the warmth between them, the slow rhythm they found together, the way their breathing synchronized.
She traced the line of his jaw, then pulled him down until their foreheads touched. "Stay with me," she breathed.
"Always," he promised, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
Their movements were unhurried and deliberate. Tonight, they weren’t driven by urgency but by the need to savor and hold this moment sacred. He watched her face, knew what made her gasp and what made her fingers tighten against his back. When pleasure finally crested through them both, it was gentle, like a tide coming home to shore. It was what they both needed. A declaration of what could be if they chose it.
Afterward, he gathered her against him, her head on his chest, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on her skin. The fire crackled softly. Her breathing slowed, deepened.
"The bubble's still here," she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head. "And it will be tomorrow, too." He’d protect it as long as he lived.
As December rolled in,the weather cleared a bit, and with it came the kind of days that held vibrant blue skies. The lake formed a skin of ice at the edges now, and it cracked into lace at noon but mended by dusk. They walked the frozen paths, varying their route every day. She wore his jacket. He wore the knit cap she’d made him in a weekend of trial and error and rude words for defenseless yarn and an innocent crochet hook. The cap fit horribly and perfectly, and he wore it because she’d made it for him.
They worked, too. Real life did not stop just because they’d found a quiet place to hold it. Elise wrote, checked the facts twice, then sat with the itch to send what she had made into the world, but she didn’t send any of the articles. She let the world wait, or perhaps she made herself wait. Blake checked feeds, traced patterns on maps, and kept the perimeter of their sanctuary safe. Guardian hadn’t reached out to him, and he knew clearances took time. Plus, Guardian knew Elise was safe, so she wasn’t fast-tracked.
When his cell went off one afternoon, he smiled at the number that wasn’t listed on the phone. It meant it was either his mother or father. He’d been texting with them regularly, almost daily, but hadn’t spoken to them since they’d arrived at the cabin. He answered and grinned when he heard his mom’s voice. “I know you're safe, and I know where you are, but you haven’t introduced me to who you’re with.”
“I guess we should rectify that, shouldn’t we?” He winked at Elise, who was trying hard to pretend not to listen and failing miserably.
“That’s what I was thinking. Beth has residency and can’t come home for Christmas. So, your dad and I were?—”
“No,youwere, notwewere,” his father said in the background.
Blake laughed. “Yes?”
“We thought we could pop over to yours and spend Christmas Day with you and Elise. I got her name out of your dad. And the fact that she’s a reporter. Oh, and Irish. Of course, all of this is weather permitting.”
“I think that would be nice.”
“Really? I mean, we’d have both of you out here, but her clearance isn’t back, and she really can’t be anywhere near here without one.”
“Understood. We’d love to have you come out.”
