One Year Later...
"You're sure you don't mind?" I ask, watching Alex adjust his tie in the mirror. "These publishing events can be painfully boring."
"Yes, but there were no literary agents in those blizzards," I counter, stepping behind him to smooth the collar of his dark blue shirt. "Or reviewers asking what it feels like to be the inspiration for the 'sexiest mountain man in contemporary romance.'"
He turns, catching me by the waist and pulling me against him. "Is that what they're calling me?"
"That's the tame version." I straighten his tie, enjoying the warmth of him beneath the crisp fabric. "You should see my TikTok. Women across America are falling in love with Ranger Brenner."
He grimaces slightly. "Remind me why I agreed to let you use me as inspiration?"
"Because you love me," I say simply. "And because I promised to change enough details that only we would know the truth."
"The truth being that I'm far less charming and heroic than your fictional creation," he teases.
"Actually, the truth is that reality is better than fiction." I rise on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "Ranger Brenner might be dreamy, but he can't hold a candle to Alex Brennan."
His arms tighten around me briefly before he releases me with obvious reluctance. "We should get going. Wouldn't want to be late to your big night."
I step back to take him in. He’s tall and imposing in his charcoal suit, silver threading his dark hair at the temples, clean-shaven for the occasion. He looks every bit the successful search and rescue coordinator he is, though I know he's far more comfortable in climbing gear than formal wear.
It has been a year of transformations. The cabin has slowly become our home rather than just his—my books mingling with his on the shelves, my laptop permanently stationed by the window with the best view, photos of us together joining the ones of his past. Now they’re on the walls, not hidden away in his bedroom.
The biggest change, though, is in Alex himself.
The man who once built his life around barriers and safety protocols has gradually learned to lower his defenses.
And me? The inexperienced romance novelist who once crafted love stories based purely on theory is now writing from a place of understanding.
My latest book, "My Rugged Savior," hit the New York Times bestseller list three weeks ago and hasn't budged since.
"Come on," Alex says, checking his watch. "Your adoring public awaits."
The Darkmore Community Center has been transformed for the book launch party.
String lights hang from the rafters, tables are decorated with miniature pine trees and tiny fire-rescue equipment, and a massive backdrop featuring the book cover—a broad-shouldered man in a search and rescue jacket standing against a mountain backdrop—dominates the far wall.
"This is..." Alex pauses, searching for the right word.
"Too much?" I suggest, suddenly nervous about how he'll react to the fuss.
"Perfect," he decides, squeezing my hand. "You deserve it all."
My agent Melanie swoops in before I can respond, pulling me into a perfumed embrace. "There she is! Our literary star!"
"Hi, Melanie." I return the hug before stepping back to Alex's side. "You remember Alex?"
"The muse himself!" She extends a manicured hand. "Wonderful to see you again. Are you prepared for your celebrity status? I've had three editors ask if you'd consider posing for the next cover."
Alex's expression is priceless. "I think I'll stick to rescuing real people, thanks."
Melanie laughs. "Smart man. Now, Sheryl, you need to mingle. The bookstore has already sold out twice, and Reader's Circle is talking film rights. This is just the beginning!"
As she guides me toward a group of publishing executives, I glance back at Alex. He gives me an encouraging nod before making his way to the small cluster of familiar faces from town.
The next hour passes in a blur of congratulations, questions about my writing process, and inquiries about the next book in the series.
I sign countless copies, pose for photos, and try to absorb the reality that my little romance novel about a search and rescue officer falling for a city girl caught in a wilderness emergency has resonated with so many readers.
Eventually, I spot Alex by the refreshment table, deep in conversation with a silver-haired man I don't recognize. They're both laughing—a sight that still catches me off guard sometimes, given how rarely Alex used to show that side of himself.
I excuse myself from a conversation with my publisher and make my way to them.
"Sheryl!" Alex's face lights up as I approach, his arm automatically extending to draw me to his side. "There's someone I want you to meet. This is Dr. Hansen, Jason's father."
I feel a momentary jolt of surprise. In the year we've been together, Alex has gradually opened up about Mike and Jason, sharing stories and memories, but he's never before sought out connection with their families.
"It's lovely to meet you," I say, extending my hand. "I've heard so much about Jason."
Dr. Hansen's eyes crinkle warmly as he shakes my hand. "And I've heard a great deal about you. Alex tells me you're responsible for bringing him back to the land of the living."
I glance up at Alex, touched by the sentiment. "I think we rescued each other, honestly."
"Well, whatever the case, I'm grateful." Dr. Hansen's expression grows more serious. "For five years after the fire, we hardly saw Alex. Now he's joining us for the memorial picnic next month."
I squeeze Alex's hand, understanding the significance of this step. The annual picnic honoring Mike and Jason is something he's avoided for years, unable to face their families while carrying the weight of survivor's guilt.
"We're looking forward to it," Alex says, and I can hear in his voice that while it won't be easy, he's ready.
After Dr. Hansen moves on to get another drink, I turn to Alex. "Are you okay?"
He nods, a certain peace in his expression I've come to treasure. "Better than okay. It's time to honor them properly, not just through work, but by living the kind of life they'd want for me." He pauses, eyes finding mine. "The kind of life you've helped me build."
Before I can respond, Melanie taps a glass, calling for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast to Sheryl Cabot, whose novel 'My Rugged Savior' has captured hearts across the country. To Sheryl!"
Glasses raise around the room, and a chorus of voices echoes the toast. As the applause dies down, Alex surprises me by stepping forward.
"If I could add something," he says, his voice carrying effortlessly through the room despite its quietness. All eyes turn to him, curiosity evident on many faces.
"A year ago, I found Sheryl unconscious in a burning cabin." A murmur ripples through the crowd; though many know the basics of our story, hearing it from Alex is rare. "I thought I was saving her life. What I didn't realize was that she was about to save mine."
His eyes find me in the crowd, and the naked emotion in them makes my throat tight.
"Before Sheryl, I existed. After her, I lived again.
" He raises his glass. "So here's to the real hero of this story—not the man on the cover of that book, but the woman who wrote it.
Who taught me that the greatest act of courage isn't running into a burning building, but opening your heart when every instinct tells you to keep it locked away. "
The room erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. I'm too busy trying not to cry as Alex makes his way back to me.
After I kiss him, I think about the dedication I wrote in "My Rugged Savior," words that seemed fitting for both the fictional characters and our very real story:
For those brave enough to walk through fire—literal or metaphorical—and come out the other side, forever changed but not defined by the flames.
We've both been forged by different fires. But what matters isn't the burn.
It's what rises from the ashes.