Page 16

SADIE

It’s not until I see the flashing red and blue lights illuminating the facade of Town Hall that I finally believe it’s truly over.

I’m standing at the front of the café—like all the other patrons—with a steaming mug of coffee clutched tightly in both hands, my gaze fixed on the window as if I might miss the moment if I dare blink. But there it is—Zeke, tall and authoritative beside his official Sheriff’s Department SUV, Travis’s red checkered flannel stark against the gray stone of the old church, and Caleb leaning with a casual defiance against his vehicle, arms crossed and jaw set in a determined line. Hal Burton, the former mayor of Glacier Hollow, is in handcuffs, his complexion ashen and his features drawn tight as Nate Barrett guides him down the front steps like a weary man dragging the trash to the curb. He helps Hal into the back of the State’s SUV for the long drive back to Anchorage.

Jenny moves silently through the crowd, not uttering a word. She doesn’t need to. Her actions speak volumes as she weaves between customers, methodically refilling coffee mugs before settling onto one of the bar stools, her eyes bright yet inscrutable. I take another sip, feeling my heart thunder against my ribs, a relentless beat that matches the tension in the air.

It’s more than the arrest that sends shivers down my spine. It’s the profound silence that follows. That rare, hushed stillness that blankets a place when its people collectively realize that the storm has finally begun to lift.

Wren steps into the café, her presence commanding attention as she surveys the room. It’s hard for me to fathom that I’ve lived here for four years without ever crossing paths with her before Zeke took me to her cabin for safety.

“You’ve got a nice little place here. I was sorry to hear Maggie died.” Her eyes land on her brother. “You do know he’s going to be impossible to live with now that he helped bring down a corrupt mayor.”

I don’t respond. Not immediately. Because the truth is, my mind isn’t on the café or even the town. It’s on Zeke. On the way he appeared last night—grimy, streaked with blood, and utterly exhausted—but still so intensely focused, still so irrevocably mine.

He’d texted me two simple words: It’s done.

That was all the message said, but it spoke volumes. And now I’m on the brink of facing a version of this town that hasn’t existed since I arrived—maybe even before. A town where I’m not just the girl with the cinnamon rolls and the quiet smile. I’m the woman who stood her ground. Who spoke her truth, and who has a mountain man at her side, willing to set the world ablaze to protect her.

* * *

Before the morning sun fully rises over Glacier Hollow, I unlock the café door and flip the sign to OPEN , my heart pounding louder than it should. The wind outside bites sharp, swirling flakes into tiny tornados that race down Main Street. The cold has a way of making the town feel smaller, tighter. More fragile.

I’m still adjusting the chairs when I hear the bell above the door ring—clear, familiar. My hands pause mid-movement, breath catching, because I know that sound. I know what it means: someone’s here before the espresso machine has even warmed.

It’s Ada.

She steps inside, bundled in her thick parka, arms crossed tight, face pink from the cold. There’s something in her eyes that grabs me—unshed tears, pride maybe, or just that kind of worn-down hope that’s clung on too long.

“You’re opening, right?” she asks, voice trembling as she steps forward. “Because I didn’t eat breakfast, and I’m starving.”

I smile, heart aching just a little at how much her presence means. “Pick a table, Ada. Coffee’s on me.”

She doesn’t pick a table. She walks straight to me, arms opening wide, and pulls me into a hug so fierce I lose my breath for a second.

“You’re brave,” she whispers against my shoulder. “We all saw it. We didn’t say anything, but you did. You saw it, and you didn’t look away.”

I wrap my arms around her. “I didn’t feel brave. I just got tired of being afraid.”

She pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “Maybe. But you had heart. Maggie saw that. And that means something.”

Her words hit deep. I blink fast and nod. “Thanks, Ada.”

Behind her, the morning crowd starts to drift in. John and Lydia from the general store shuffle through the door, their gloved hands linked like always. Pete clomps in, his boots knocking snow against the threshold, muttering about frostbite and frozen fish traps. He grunts a hello and pulls me into a bear hug so tight I squeak. The man smells like pine and campfire, but he’s family now. They all are.

The café hums with something different today. Not the same frantic tension that’s been pulsing under every smile. This morning feels… cleaner. Like the town just exhaled for the first time in weeks. Like we’re on the other side of something.

Two hours later, as the sunlight finally spills golden through the front windows, I hear the door open again. It’s him.

Zeke walks in like he always does—quiet, grounded, like the mountain carved him out of rock and decided to lend him to the rest of us. His eyes find me across the café, and before I can move, he’s already behind the counter, taking the towel from my hands like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And then—he kisses me. Not in secret. Not rushed. Right there in front of everyone, his hands on my hips, mouth warm and steady on mine, like he’s never once cared about hiding. Like he’s making a point. Ada lets out a delighted squeal, and someone—probably Pete—lets loose a low whistle.

I smile against his lips, my cheeks flushed with something brighter than embarrassment. “Bold move, Sheriff.”

He doesn’t pull back right away. Just lowers his head, voice rough. “Needed that.”

“Me too,” I breathe.

The café settles into its rhythm after that—plates clinking, spoons stirring, voices low and steady. I hand off a tray of cinnamon rolls and start wiping the counter again, but my eyes keep drifting to where Zeke now sits.

Same stool. Same place he claimed that first day.

Back then, he felt too big for this space—too dangerous, too still. Now he fits, as if that spot was always meant for him.

He leans back, coffee mug in one hand, toying with a sugar packet in the other, and watches me like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. I wipe my hands on a towel and walk toward him, heart thudding in a rhythm I’m finally not afraid of.

“You’re in my seat,” I tease.

He lifts his gaze, smiles slowly and deliberately. “This is where you found me.”

Without thinking, without giving myself the chance to hesitate, I reach for him. My hands slide up his chest, into the scruff on his face, and I kiss him like I’ve been waiting years to do it in broad daylight. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me close, and for a minute—there’s no one else in the room.

“I love you,” I say when we finally part, my voice soft but certain.

Zeke doesn’t even blink. “I know,” he replies, thumb brushing my jaw. “I love you too, Sadie.”

A soft ‘aww’ rises from the back of the café—probably Jenny—but I barely hear it.

“You sure about saying that with half the town watching?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

Zeke grins. “I’d shout it from the top of Talon Mountain if that’s what you needed.”

I kiss him again, gentler this time, and rest my forehead against his. “No need. You’re right here. That’s all I need.”

The rest of the day flies by in a blur of gratitude and cinnamon sugar. But when we pour the last cup, tuck in the chairs, and the sun begins to dip, I grab my coat and start the short walk back to my cottage.

It’s quiet, the kind of stillness that wraps around you like a warm blanket. I breathe it in, every pine-scented gust of wind a reminder that I’m home.

* * *

The sun sinks low, casting long, shimmering rays over the landscape as I make my slow, deliberate walk to the cemetery. The air is crisp, imbued with a freshness that doesn’t bite but rather caresses my skin, while the snow crunches softly under my sturdy boots. It’s one of those days that Glacier Hollow seems to capture perfectly—quiet and bathed in a golden glow, with a wildness lingering at its edges. I pull my knitted scarf tightly around my neck and bury my hands in the deep pockets of my coat. In one hand, I cling to a neatly folded note I never sent.

Maggie’s grave lies tucked away near the back, nestled under the lean silhouette of a crooked pine whose branches seem almost to bow in memory. The surrounding snow has been recently cleared—perhaps by careful hands, maybe Ada’s or even Wren’s; it hardly matters now. Despite the passage of time, she remains remembered.

I crouch beside the grave, running my gloved hand along the weathered edge of the stone, feeling the chill through the fabric. Then, I settle onto a small, timeworn bench beside it. My breath escapes in delicate, frosty clouds, and for a few lingering seconds, I simply sit, as if allowing the quiet stillness of the place to envelop me like a soft, comforting blanket.

“I know I promised,” I murmur into the hushed air, my voice barely disturbing the silence. “And I wanted to tell you… I kept it.”

A gentle breeze picks up, tugging stray strands of hair across my face, as if playfully echoing her presence. I tuck them away behind my ear and continue with quiet determination.

“I got out. I didn’t just survive—I truly lived. I found something good, someone good, and I refused to let fear dictate my fate.” My throat tightens with emotion, but the words continue to flow unimpeded. “I made it count, Maggie. Just like you always told me to.”

Above me, the trees creak and whisper in the wind, their rustling branches suggesting they, too, are absorbing every unspoken sentiment. They stand sentinel, as if holding space for all the thoughts too delicate to articulate.

“I wish you could’ve met him,” I whisper, as if confiding in the quiet earth. “I know you would’ve liked him—maybe not immediately, since he’s a bit rough around the edges, but you would have seen it in time. Maybe even before I did. The way he looks at me, the way he holds me as if I’m something precious and worthy of protection.”

I press my hand reverently against the cool surface of the stone. “He makes me feel safe, even when the rest of the world falls apart. He reminds me I am more than what happened to me, and that I don’t have to keep proving I deserve to exist.”

As the wind shifts once more, this time with a gentler, almost tender touch, I could swear that it carries her familiar voice—soft and reassuring. ‘You always did, Sadie.’

A bittersweet smile finds its way to my lips. I rise slowly, dusting the fresh snow off my coat with a measured farewell gesture.

Before I turn to leave, I steal one last, lingering glance at the crooked pine and the steadfast stone beneath it. “Thank you,” I murmur into the fading light. “Thank you for getting me here—for being the reason I never gave up.”

Then, with a newfound resolve, I begin the journey back toward town, toward Zeke, and toward whatever awaits me next. This time, the future no longer looms as a specter of fear. I know who I am, and I know who’s waiting at the end of the trail.

* * *

Ready for the next story!