Page 31

Natalie smiled, already picturing the scene, the lights, the music, the laughter. And all of them together, building something new. It wouldn’t be perfect. Nothing ever was. But it would be theirs.

The porch creaked as Natalie and Davey stepped back inside the lodge, the warmth of the woodstove welcoming them like open arms. Olivia was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in a bowl of biscuit dough.

Her apron, cream-colored with tiny, faded violets was dusted with flour, and her hair, loose for once, had slipped from its usual bun and fell in soft waves around her face.

It was a scene that tugged at Natalie’s heart in the gentlest of ways. After all the months of tension, of missteps and mending, there was something healing about seeing Olivia like this again, comfortable in her space, at ease in her body, grounded.

“There you two are,” Olivia said, turning with a wide smile. “I was just about to send someone out with a rope to reel you back in.”

“We were bonding,” Davey said, brushing snow from his shoulders. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve accepted my new position as best big brother and man of honor.”

“You mean best man,” Natalie corrected, elbowing him lightly.

“I stand by what I said,” Davey deadpanned.

Mason stepped in behind them, closing the door with a gust of wind. “You promised me coffee, Liv. Don’t make me regret this engagement.”

Olivia snorted. “Don’t tempt me. The beans are in the cabinet. If you want it strong, make it yourself.”

Davey turned to Mason and jerked his chin toward the door. “You ready to head into town for the kegs?”

“Ready,” Mason replied, grabbing his keys from the hook near the door.

“Wait, kegs?” Natalie blinked. “I thought this was going to be a quiet gathering?”

Mason shrugged. “This is Olivia’s version of a quiet gathering.”

“We’re not having a party with sparkling cider and hummus, Natalie,” Olivia said with a wink. “It’s Colorado, not Connecticut.”

Natalie laughed, holding her hands up. “Fine. You win.”

Mason stepped close to her and gave her a quick, grounding kiss on the temple. “We’ll be back before dinner. You okay?”

She nodded, but before she could answer, Davey opened the door, letting in another gust of wind. “Let’s go. I’m driving. I don’t trust you not to detour through every scenic overlook.”

Mason shot him a look, but followed him out, leaving Natalie and Olivia alone in the suddenly quieter lodge.

Olivia wiped her hands on a towel and nodded toward the kitchen table. “Come on. Sit. The dough needs to rise, and I need to catch my breath.”

Natalie followed her, taking the seat across from her, folding her hands in her lap.

For a few moments, neither spoke. Outside, snow fell with a quiet insistence.

It layered the pine boughs and softened the world.

Inside, the crackle of the fire was the only sound.

Then Natalie exhaled and met her friend’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Olivia looked confused for a second, then nodded. “Of course. Why?”

“With all of this.” Natalie paused. “With me. With Mason. With… everything.”

Understanding dawned slowly across Olivia’s face. She leaned back in her chair, the weight of history settling gently in the lines around her eyes.

“Oh, Nat,” she said, shaking her head. “That was few blurred hours, a lifetime ago.”

Natalie studied her face carefully. “But you were close once. Closer than I realized.”

“We were good friends,” Olivia said, her voice steady. “At a time when I had few friends and even fewer choices. Mason was… safe. Familiar. And I admired him for everything he did here. But it wasn’t love, sweetheart. It was never love.”

Natalie’s eyes shimmered, her voice small. “Not even a little?”

Olivia leaned forward, resting her hand gently over Natalie’s.

“I promise you. Mason was never mine. He was always waiting for someone like you, someone brave enough to challenge him and kind enough to stay. I saw it when you first got here, how he looked at you. It was never me and I never wanted it to be.”

Natalie’s throat tightened. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to make things messier than they needed to be.

You had enough to deal with. And later…” She exhaled.

“Later, I was ashamed. That I hadn’t told you about Davey’s father sooner.

That I’d let my own insecurities become se crets.

Maybe if you’d lived here, been part of my every day, then there’d have been a moment when I’d have shared but it didn’t happen like that. ”

Natalie’s voice cracked. “You’re the only family I had when I got here. You still are.”

Olivia’s hand tightened. “And you’re mine. And sometimes family mess up, then they move on.”

The emotion that had hovered between them for weeks, shards of misunderstanding, long looks, unsaid apologies, melted in that moment.

“I’ve been thinking,” Natalie said, blinking back tears. “About the wedding.”

“Oh?”

“I know it’s traditional to have a sister or a cousin or someone you grew up with as your maid of honor. But I don’t have anyone like that.”

Olivia smiled, something flickering behind her eyes.

“I’ve got you,” Natalie continued. “You’re the one who took me in. Who made me believe I could still be useful when I felt like nothing but ruins.”

She stood and moved around the table, crouching beside Olivia’s chair. “Would you be my maid of honor?”

Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, Natalie…”

“It would mean everything to me.”

Olivia’s eyes filled. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

They hugged then, clinging tightly, like two women who had weathered every kind of storm and finally found their way back to each other. When they pulled apart, both were crying and laughing in equal measure.

“You’ll be stuck with me through the whole planning,” Olivia warned, dabbing at her cheeks with the edge of her apron .

“Good,” Natalie said, standing again. “That’s exactly what I want.”

As they began talking colors and music and menus, the tension that had long pulsed beneath the surface seemed to lift.

Outside, the sky began to brighten just enough for the sun to pierce the clouds.

Inside, two women sat close over tea and flour and dreams, planning not just a party, but a life that was slowly, beautifully, beginning again.