“It’s no problem. If either of you need anything,” Sam said, turning toward her, “don’t hesitate to ask. It’s just me and Fargo down the road, and we don’t mind lending a hand. Your aunt knows my number, but I’d probably hear you if you hollered loud enough.”
“Thanks.” Maddie nodded, though she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel comfortable calling for help. Vocally or otherwise. She had spent so long handling things on her own that the idea of relying on someone—even someone as kind as Sam—felt foreign.
“Guess I’d better get back before the snow starts up again,” Sam said, glancing out the window. “Got a few things to take care of before it gets worse.”
“Thanks again, Sam,” Schatzi said, standing up from her chair with a little difficulty. “Stay warm out there.”
“Will do,” he said, pulling his gloves back on. He gave a small nod to Maddie before heading to the door, Fargo boundinghappily after him. The cold rushed in again as they left, and Maddie stood by the window, watching them disappear down the snow-covered path.
“He’s a good man,” Schatzi said, her voice quiet as she sat back down. “Has his own burdens. Who doesn’t? Lost his wife a few years back.”
Maddie’s chest tightened. She hadn’t known that. It explained the quiet sadness she had seen in Sam’s eyes. The same sadness she saw every time she looked in the mirror. Grief was a terrible common ground to share, but it had a way of binding people together, even if they didn’t realize it at first.
“I can tell,” Maddie replied softly, her eyes still on the path where Sam and Fargo had walked. “About the burdens, I mean.” The world outside was so quiet, the only sounds the faint whistle of wind and the crackle of the fire behind her.
She looked over at her aunt.
Schatzi didn’t say anything else, but her expression was filled with understanding. She picked up her knitting again, her needles clicking softly in the cozy silence of the room.
Maddie turned back to the fire, the warmth of the flames brushing against her face. She hadn’t expected the mountains to feel this welcoming, this familiar. But something about the quiet house, the snow-covered trees outside, and the brief connection she’d made with Sam and his dog made her feel like this Christmas wouldn’t be as lonely as she’d feared.
Of course, it would be hard to be lonely with Schatzi and Ernie for company, but this house still held some memories that were bound to stir up a lot of emotions.
Deciding to focus on the present, Maddie peeked into Aunt Schatzi’s cup. “You want more coffee?”
“I’d love some. Thanks.” Schatzi worked the yarn without even looking at it, her years of experience guiding her fingers.
Maddie picked up the cup and went into the kitchen to refill it, then got a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun for herself. She brought all of it back out to the living room. With a sigh, she sank into the chair across from Schatzi, the soft cushions and warm fire just what she needed. Ernie hopped onto her lap, his fur soft under her hand, his purr making her smile.
As Maddie sipped her coffee and managed a one-handed bite of her breakfast pastry, she realized something she hadn’t expected.
Being here wasn’t just her filling the space in Aunt Schatzi’s house. She was filling the space in her heart. Making new memories. That had to be a step forward, didn’t it?
Chapter Three
More snow had fallen overnight, piling up nearly another six inches and covering the landscape in an unbroken blanket of white. The world beyond the windows of Aunt Schatzi’s house looked like a snow globe that hadn’t yet been shaken—peaceful, pristine, untouched.
Maddie sat at the kitchen table, cradling a warm mug in her hands. The smell of fresh coffee and the breakfast casserole in the oven swirled around her, grounding her in the stillness of the moment as she gazed out at the serene winter wonderland. The warmth from the mug seeped into her palms, offering a brief reprieve from the chill that seemed to linger at the edges of the house, despite the constant fire in the hearth.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Schatzi said from across the table, breaking the silence. She was wrapped in a thick knit shawl, her hands curled around a steaming cup. The lines on her face were softer in the morning light, though her eyes sparkled with the sharpness that had always defined her.
She’d stopped using her cane. Apparently, that only came out when her arthritis was particularly bad.
Maddie nodded. “It really is. There’s something about the mountains, isn’t there? Even the quiet feels...different. Bigger, somehow.”
“The air’s better, I’ll tell you that much. It’s why I’ve stayed all these years,” Schatzi replied, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You can feel the history here. Every winter storm, every gust of wind—it’s all woven into the land. It’s good for the soul. Helps you see things clearly. Reminds you of what’s important.”
Schatzi sipped her coffee. “And what’s not.”
Maddie wasn’t sure if she had reached the point of seeing things clearly or knowing what was and wasn’t important, but she could admit there was something comforting about the isolation of the mountains. The grief that clung to her felt a little less suffocating in this place.
The ache of Jack’s absence remained with her, as constant as her own heartbeat, but it was muted here, like the sharp edges had been worn down by the rhythm of nature and the warmth of Schatzi’s company.
Maybe it was all the open space too. The endless sky and the towering mountains wherever she looked. Gave her a feeling she’d never had in the city. Like she could finally breathe. Like a new part of her had room to open up.
Schatzi shifted in her chair, wincing slightly as she adjusted her shoulder. “Stupid arthritis,” she muttered. Then louder, “Don’t let me forget. Hannah’s coming by today.”
“Hannah?” Maddie asked, setting her coffee down.
