It’s big. Not in a flashy, showy way. In a solid, grounded way that looks like it grew straight out of the mountain. Dark wood. Wide windows glowing with warm light. A wraparound porch that hugs the entire structure, its railing dusted with snow.
Flower beds line the front, neat and carefully tended even under their winter blanket. I can picture them in spring, bursting with color. To the side of the yard stands a massive tree, its branches stretching wide. A tire swing hangs from one of them, swaying gently in the wind.
The sight of it hits me somewhere deep and tender. A tire swing. Something about it feels… hopeful. Like laughter frozen in time.
Calder parks near the porch and kills the engine. For a second neither of us moves. The storm hushes the world, snow falling in thick, steady silence.
“Come on,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get you inside.”
The cold slaps me again the moment I open the door, but it’s different now. Temporary. Manageable. I hurry up the porch steps behind him, my boots thudding against the wood.
The front door swings open, and warmth spills out to meet us. Real warmth. The kind that wraps around your skin and sinks in.
And then I see the dog.
He’s huge.
A wall of fur and muscle barrels into the entryway with a deep, booming bark that freezes me in place. My heart jumps into my throat. The dog’s head is massive, his coat thick and dark, eyes bright and alert.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
“It’s alright,” Calder says calmly. “Bear. Sit.”
The dog drops into a sit immediately, though his tail is wagging hard enough to thump against the floor. He looks between us, tongue lolling, excitement practically vibrating off him.
“This is Bear,” Calder says. “He’s loud, but he’s a softie.”
Bear huffs like he understands the insult and then trots straight toward me. I stiffen, every instinct screaming at me to step back, but Calder’s presence at my side anchors me.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “He just wants to say hello.”
Bear presses his enormous head against my hand with surprising gentleness. His fur is warm and thick under my fingers. He lets out a happy little whine and leans into me like I’m the most interesting thing he’s seen all day.
A shaky laugh escapes me. “He’s… not what I expected.”
Calder’s mouth twitches. “He gets that a lot.”
I scratch behind Bear’s ears, and he melts into it, eyes half closing in bliss. The tension in my shoulders eases another notch. There’s something deeply comforting about the weight of him, the uncomplicated affection.
The house smells like wood smoke and something savory simmering in the kitchen. The entryway opens into a wide living space with high ceilings and a stone fireplace crackling softly. Everything feels sturdy. Lived in. Safe.
Safe.
The word settles in my mind, fragile and precious. I clutch my backpack a little tighter, suddenly aware of how out of place I must look standing in this beautiful space with snow in my hair and tear tracks still drying on my cheeks.
“You can put your stuff down,” Calder says. “You’re shaking again.”
I hadn’t realized I was. The cold is gone, but the adrenaline is still humming under my skin.
I set my bag by the door and rub my arms. Bear noses my hand insistently until I pet him again. His tail thumps approval.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, looking up at Calder. “For stopping. For… all of this.”
His gaze holds mine, steady and unreadable. “You’re not freezing on the side of my mountain,” he says simply. “That’s all there is to it.”
Emotion swells in my chest, sudden and overwhelming. I blink it back and focus on the solid warmth of the house, the soft crackle of the fire, the comforting weight of Bear leaning against my leg.
Outside, the storm gathers strength. Snow piles against the porch railings. The world beyond the fence fades into white.
