Page 40 of Fire and Frost

“Remember last year?” Soren asked as she joined Nia on the couch, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “You were stuck here, angry at the world, pretending not to like me.”

“I didn’t like you,” Nia said, smiling against her wine mug. “You were infuriating.”

“I was charming.”

“You were a disaster.” She turned to face her. “A very persistent, very good-looking disaster.”

Soren grinned. “I’ll take it.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the fire burn low. Moose snored softly, paws twitching as if chasing something in his dreams.

Nia’s voice came quieter. “I keep thinking about that time, the storm, the power going out, the roads being blocked, flights being cancelled. I thought it was the worst day of my life.”

“And now?”

Nia looked around—the stacked logs, the mug she always used, the dog asleep in the glow of the fire. “Now it feels like the start of my life. The one that actually fits. Because I met you.”

Soren’s hand found hers. “You know what I think?”

“That you’re about to get sentimental.”

“That I got lucky. You, me, this fuzzy little monster… none of it was part of the plan.”

Moose lifted his head at the sound of his name, tail thumping once before he sighed back into sleep.

Nia leaned her temple against Soren’s shoulder. “Maybe plans are overrated.”

Soren kissed the top of her head. “Maybe they are.”

The wind rattled softly outside, and the world smelled like snow and woodsmoke and home.

Nia looked up at her, eyes warm. “I love you.”

Soren smiled, thumb tracing her cheek. “Love you too, Doc.”

They fell quiet again, the only sounds the fire’s slow crackle and Moose’s steady breathing. Outside, snowflakes drifted past the window, settling gently on the porch Soren had built by hand.

After a long moment, Nia whispered, “Hard to believe it’s been a year.”

Soren nodded. “Hard to believe one blizzard led to this.”

Nia smiled, fingers tightening around hers. “Let’s hope next year’s less dramatic.”

Soren looked at Moose, who was now dream-barking at the ceiling. “No promises.”

Nia laughed softly, leaned in, and kissed her once more. “Merry Christmas, Soren.”

“Merry Christmas, Doc.”

The fire burned lower, the snow kept falling, and the puppy’s tail twitched in his sleep—content, safe, home.

And in that quiet mountain cabin, with the storm far behind them and love curled warm at their feet, they finally had everything they’d ever needed.