Page 35 of Curvy Cabin Fever
ARIA
T he coffee’s been sitting untouched in my mug for twenty minutes.
I’m at the table, staring out the window like it might give me answers. Outside, the snow is melting. Trees drip slowly. The roof creaks as weight shifts. The road is visible again, a dark ribbon cutting through the white landscape that has kept us sheltered for weeks.
The storm is gone.
So why do I feel like it’s just getting started?
I haven’t packed. My suitcase is still half-shoved under the bed, the clothes inside a wrinkled mess from when I last rummaged through them looking for something warm.
My flight confirmation is buried in my inbox, unopened and accusing.
The rental car keys are in the fruit bowl on the counter, sitting on top of an orange no one has touched since we bought groceries last week.
I should get ready. I should be folding clothes, checking departure times, making sure I haven’t forgotten chargers or toiletries. I should prepare myself to leave this place that was never supposed to become home.
Instead, I’m sitting here in one of Morgan’s sweatshirts, hair still wet from the shower, heart pounding like I’m waiting for a verdict.
The fabric smells like him—cedar and something else I can’t name but would recognize anywhere.
It’s too big on me, sleeves hanging past my fingertips, but I don’t mind.
It feels like armor against what comes next.
Damien walks in first. He’s already dressed, hair still damp at the temples from his morning shower. He takes one look at me and stills. He knows.
Of course, he does.
He always sees the things I try not to say.
Morgan follows a minute later, yawning. He glances between us and goes quiet, too, reading the tension in the room with surprising accuracy for someone who’s barely awake.
And then Rhett.
Always the last to enter, always the one who carries the most weight when he does. His eyes meet mine across the kitchen, and he doesn’t look away. There’s something in his gaze that makes my stomach flip—determination, maybe. Or resignation. I can’t tell which.
“Today’s the day,” I say, breaking the silence that has settled over us like another layer of snow.
Silence. The kind that feels loaded with words no one knows how to say.
I press on, needing to fill the space before it caves in around us. “The rental’s due back by six. At the airport. If I don’t return it, they’ll charge me for another day.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears, like I’m reciting facts from a distance.
Still nothing. Just three pairs of eyes watching me with varying degrees of intensity.
I bite my lip. “And my flight leaves tomorrow morning.” The words taste bitter, like admitting defeat.
Morgan moves first. He walks over, takes the coffee from my hands with gentle fingers, sets it down on the table with a soft clunk, and pulls me into a hug.
Not playfully, like usual. It’s the kind of hug that says I’m here, and I’m not letting go until you tell me to . His arms are warm around me, solid and reassuring, and I let my forehead rest against his shoulder.
“You haven’t packed,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp.
“I know.”
“You don’t want to go.”
“No,” I breathe, the admission feeling like relief and terror simultaneously. “I really fucking don’t.”
I pull back and look at all three of them, these men who’ve somehow become essential to me in ways I never expected.
“So what happens now? Because I can’t...
I can’t keep pretending this was just a vacation.
Or a snowstorm thing. Or something I can file away as a ‘good memory’ when I go back to Denver and sit in my apartment alone.
” The thought of returning to my empty life makes something twist painfully in my chest.
Damien steps forward, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on mine with that unwavering focus that always makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.
“Then don’t go.”
My throat tightens. Two simple words that carry the weight of everything I’ve been afraid to hope for.
Morgan turns to the others. “Tell her.” There’s an urgency in his voice, an insistence that makes me straighten in my chair.
Rhett runs a hand down his face, clearly bracing himself for whatever comes next. “We talked. Last night. After you went to bed.”
“You three do that a lot,” I murmur, remembering other whispered conversations that stopped when I entered the room.
“Only when we’re planning how to keep you.”
The words hit me like a punch and a kiss all at once, knocking the breath from my lungs while sending heat flooding through my body. Keep me. Like I’m something precious, something worth holding onto.
Damien nods, leaning against the counter with a deceptive casualness that doesn’t match the intensity in his eyes.
“We don’t want you to leave. But we know we can’t all just drop everything and play house.
” His realism is oddly comforting—even now, he’s thinking of logistics, of making this work beyond the fantasy.
“So here’s the plan,” Morgan says, sitting beside me and taking my hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
“You stay here,” Damien continues. “With me. The cabin’s already yours too.” He says it matter-of-factly, as though this revelation shouldn’t surprise me.
“I’ll go back to New York,” Morgan adds, squeezing my hand. “Put in my notice at the gym, shut everything down. I can work remote, train clients online. I’ll be back in a month, maybe less.” His certainty is staggering, the casual way he’s willing to uproot his entire life.
“Price can run things while I restructure,” Rhett explains, mentioning his assistant. “I’m already remote most days, anyway. I’ll start the transition. Step by step.” His voice holds the careful planning of someone who’s thought through every angle, every potential obstacle.
I stare at them, heart pounding so loud I can barely think. They’ve worked it all out, planned a future that includes me, includes all of us together. “And then what?” I whisper, afraid to believe it could be this simple.
Rhett steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne. “Then we come back. For good.”
“To live here?” I ask, needing to be certain, needing to hear them say exactly what they mean.
They all nod.
Morgan grins, a smile that lights up his entire face, the one that made me trust him from the beginning.
“We’ll live here full time. All of us. You, me, Rhett, and Damien.
” He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like four people building a life together isn’t something that defies every convention.
“And the baby,” Damien mutters under his breath, too low for the others to hear, a secret smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
I blink with surprise. “What?”
He smirks, brushes past me, and grabs a muffin from the counter. “Nothing.” But there’s something in his eyes, something possessive and tender, that sends a shiver down my spine.
I look at them again, all three of them, standing there like they’ve never been more sure of anything. Three different men who somehow fit together, who somehow all fit with me. And something breaks open inside me.
Something I didn’t even know I’d been holding back.
I laugh breathlessly—I’m a little overwhelmed.
And then I cry.
Right there, in the middle of the kitchen, in Morgan’s sweatshirt, with coffee going cold and snow still dripping from the eaves. Tears spill down my cheeks, not from sadness, but from the sheer enormity of what we’re choosing.
They come to me at once.
Three sets of arms encircle me.
Three hearts. Different rhythms, same intention.
One home. Ours.
“You’re really not gonna let me leave,” I whisper, the realization washing over me like sunrise after the longest night.
Damien tilts my chin up, his eyes intense. “We’ll drive you to return the car.”
Morgan kisses my cheek, catching a tear with his lips. “But you’re coming right back.”
Rhett wraps his arm tighter around my waist, solid and grounding. “This is our life now.”
I nod, tears still falling, but they don’t feel like grief anymore. They feel like a release. Like letting go of all the reasons I told myself this couldn’t work, all the fear that’s kept me isolated for so long.
And for the first time in my entire life, I’m not scared of what’s next.
Because I’m not facing it alone.