Epilogue
Months passed.
The winter chill crept away, and the March breezes lent themselves to new life.
It hurt a little less every day.
The Josh stuff.
The Silas stuff.
More… more so the Silas stuff. Josh was hardly a blip on the radar now, but the week with Silas… it had changed me, I think.
I threw myself into teaching. The kids and myself. I was in therapy, I’d adjusted my medications, and things were looking… better.
Until I saw a damned book on the New Releases rack at my local bookstore.
SNOWED IN
By Silas Reed.
I walked straight past it, blinking away tears.
But it was almost magnetic the way my feet kept bringing me to that table.
To that book.
To that stupid author picture on the back.
I picked it up.
Put it down again.
And with an exasperated sigh, I peeled open the front cover.
My jaw dropped as I read the dedication.
To the girl that made my heart melt faster than snow.
And the nights I’ve spent regretting my cowardice ever since.
I’ll never be so stupid as to expect forgiveness.
But the cabin’s ours if you want to run away in April.
I’ll be waiting.
My fingers trembled as I clutched the book to my chest. My heart was hammering, loud enough that I was certain anyone nearby could hear it. I should have been angry — furious, even.
But I wasn’t.
I was breathless. And maybe, just a little, I was smiling.
The chaos of last December, the firelight, the snow, the ache, the laughter, the heat — it all came rushing back like a tidal wave I hadn’t realized I’d been holding back. My cheeks burned as I realized how much I’d missed it… him.
I sank into a nearby chair, the book open in my lap, and for a long moment, I let myself simply feel.
No logic.
No plans. Just the weight of the words, the pull of the invitation, the undeniable truth that I had never stopped thinking about him.
A soft laugh escaped me — surprised, a little shaky. “Damn it, Silas Reed,” I whispered to the empty bookstore aisle. “You’re impossible.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me back. I ignored it. Right now, I didn’t care about texts, emails, or obligations. All that mattered was the promise in front of me.
My fingers traced the dedication again, lingering over the words as if touching them might somehow pull him closer, across time and space.
The snow outside had long melted, but inside my chest, it was still winter. And for the first time since that week in the cabin, I felt a little flutter of hope.
Maybe… just maybe… I would run away again.
This was stupid.
Ludicrous.
Fanciful and dumb.
It had been three weeks since the book release as my car chugged up the hill to the cabin.
Almost four months since I’d seen him.
Heard him.
And here I was, absolutely stupid for following a dedication in a book like a goddamn treasure map.
The gravel crunched beneath my tires, the sound startling in the quiet mountain air.
For a second, I just sat there, engine idling, hands locked on the steering wheel like maybe that would stop me from shaking. My chest ached with something I couldn’t name — hope, maybe. Or fear. Maybe both.
The cabin looked different in the spring light — less like a secret and more like a promise. Wildflowers had started to sprout near the steps, little pockets of color pushing through where the snow had once been.
I cut the engine. The silence that followed was deafening.
And then — before I could even reach for the handle — the front door flew open.
Silas burst out onto the porch, bare feet, flannel hanging open over a threadbare T-shirt, hair a wild mess like he’d been pacing for hours. For a heartbeat, he just stared — eyes wide, unbelieving — and then he started down the steps.
He didn’t say my name. He didn’t need to. It was written all over his face.
I stepped out of the car on legs that barely wanted to hold me. The air between us crackled, heavy and sharp, like the seconds before a summer storm.
And then he was running.
I barely had time to breathe before his arms were around me — solid, desperate, trembling.
He hauled me off the ground, spinning me once, twice, until the world blurred and all I could do was laugh and cry and hold on.
My hands fisted in his shirt, his face buried against my neck, and for a moment everything just… stopped.
When he set me down, his palms framed my face, thumbs brushing tears I hadn’t realized were falling. His voice broke on a whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“I almost didn’t,” I breathed. “You broke my heart, Silas Reed.”
“I know.” His forehead pressed to mine, eyes squeezed shut. “I’ve been trying to write my way out of that moment for months, and I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words. I just — God, Colette — I thought leaving was the right thing. That you’d be better off if I didn’t stay.”
“And?”
His laugh was a wrecked, beautiful thing. “And I was wrong. I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.”
I reached up, tracing the scar at the edge of his jaw, the one I’d memorized with my lips that night. “Then say it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for every morning I woke up and didn’t have you next to me.”
Tears burned my throat. “You don’t get to fix this with pretty words.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking for another chance to try.”
And maybe that should’ve made me angry. Maybe I should’ve walked back to my car and driven away. But his eyes were the same lost I’d felt for months — aching and afraid and wanting so badly to believe we hadn’t imagined all of it.
So, I leaned in and kissed him. Slow. Certain. Like I was finally answering the question he’d never dared ask out loud.
When we broke apart, our foreheads still touching, he smiled — a small, disbelieving thing. “Stay. Just for tonight.”
“I brought a bag,” I said, smiling through the tears.
His answering laugh came out on a shaky exhale, and he pulled me close again, arms wrapping around me like a promise. “Then stay for all of them.”
When the kiss finally broke, Silas was still holding me like he thought I might vanish if he let go.
“I meant it, you know,” he said quietly. “What I wrote in the book. About being a coward. I don’t ever want to do that again.”
My laugh trembled weakly. “You planning to stick around this time?”
He smiled then — small, rueful, completely unguarded. “If you’ll let me. Hell, I’ll follow you wherever you go. You’ve got a gravity I can’t fight.”
“Silas.”
“I’m serious.” His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, slow and reverent.
“You’ve got your classroom, your kids, your whole life waiting for you.
I can write from anywhere. New York, Paris, or some quiet little apartment three blocks from your school.
Just… tell me where you are, and I’ll find a way to be there too. ”
My chest tightened, tears threatening again — stupid, happy ones this time. “You’d really leave all this?”
He grinned, with the same crooked grin that had undone me months ago. “I left once for the wrong reasons. I figure it’s about time I left for the right one.”
He reached for my suitcase before I had the chance to argue, hoisting it from the trunk with an easy strength that made me laugh through the tears. “You planning on unpacking for me too?” I asked, wiping my face.
“Only if you’ll stay long enough to make it worth my while.”
“Silas—”
He cut me off by spinning me, one arm at my waist, the other braced at the small of my back. I gasped, then laughed — a full, unguarded sound that rang across the clearing as he lifted me off my feet and kissed me again.
When he set me down, our foreheads stayed pressed together.
“Stay,” I whispered.
“I will.” His breath brushed my lips. “Wherever you are, I think that’s home.”
We walked hand in hand toward the cabin. The late afternoon light had turned gold, spilling through the pines, glinting off the windowpanes. Smoke curled from the chimney — soft, slow, forgiving.
Inside, the same fire crackled in the hearth. The same creaky floorboards. The same old plaid blanket draped over the couch. But now it all felt rewritten — like the story had started again from the right chapter this time.
He set my suitcase by the door, then turned to me with that half-smile that still made my heart stutter. “You hungry?”
I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped into his arms again. “Starving.”
“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We’ve got forever to catch up on.”
Outside, the wind carried the faint scent of spring — the first thaw of everything frozen.