Page 23 of Stitch & Steel

Twenty-Three

BELLA

The snow came late this year, waiting until after Christmas to coat the mountain in a soft, heavy silence.

But once it arrived, it didn’t stop—blanketing the trees, the cabin, the winding road down into town.

From my place curled up on the couch in front of the woodstove, I could see the flakes falling past the frosted window like stars tumbling from the sky.

The heirloom diamond and emerald ring glinted on my finger, catching the firelight as I tucked my legs under Logan’s worn thermal shirt—the one I’d stolen from his drawer and never gave back.

Scout lay snoring at my feet, his tail twitching in doggy dreams, while the woodstove crackled like it was telling secrets.

The whole cabin smelled of pine logs, coffee, and Logan.

Gran was doing okay. The new meds helped. The full-time aide, Ms. Marlene, moved in just before the deep freeze set in. A strong woman with a thick braid and eyes that missed nothing. She doted on Gran and had a rifle of her own tucked behind the pantry door—Logan approved immediately.

The cabin was stocked to the brim—backup generator in place, enough chopped wood for two winters, a freezer full of stews and roasts, and the kind of love that made the air feel warmer even when it was cold enough to turn your breath to frost.

And then there were the mornings.

Slow. Delicious. Unhurried.

Sometimes Logan would wake me with the scent of coffee, other times with the heat of his mouth on my skin.

We didn’t need alarms. The sunrise did the work, peeking through the curtains while he moved inside me slow and deep, whispering things that made my toes curl and my soul ache in the best way.

When his rough hands skimmed down my spine and cupped my hips like they were breakable, I melted into the kind of love you read about in books and never quite believe is real.

After, he’d rest his head on my chest while I carded my fingers through his thick dark hair and listened to the wind whistling against the walls. I never wanted to move. I never wanted this life to end.

But Logan made sure I got to work.

Every morning without fail, he’d fire up the truck, plow the drive, and help me into the cab like I was something precious. He always had hot coffee in a thermos, one for me and one for him, and he'd wait at the school until he was sure I made it in safe.

It was sweet, protective, and occasionally ridiculous—especially when he insisted on installing chains on the tires himself while refusing to wear gloves. “Men like me don’t use mittens,” he’d grumble, and I’d just roll my eyes and hand him another cup of coffee.

We had snowball fights in the yard, Scout joining in with chaotic energy and no regard for sides. Gran even tossed one from her porch rocker once, cackling when she nailed Logan in the back of the head.

Nights were the best though. After dinner—always something hearty like chili or roasted chicken—we’d curl up on the couch again, sometimes with a book, sometimes with music.

Bear had sent us a record player for Christmas with a collection of old vinyls.

Logan pretended he wasn’t into it, but I caught him humming along more than once.

He danced with me in the living room, my cheek pressed to his chest, while the snow fell in sheets outside.

Sometimes we made love right there in front of the fire, my legs around his waist, the flames casting shadows on the ceiling while he kissed me like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

And there wasn’t.

That was the magic of the mountains.

You didn’t need fast cars or five-star restaurants. Just love, loyalty, and someone who’d drive through a blizzard to bring you home.

Logan was mine. And I was his.

Forever.