Chapter 7
Seven
Ethan woke from a dream where Lydia’s hand was warm in his.
They’d been walking. Somewhere green and sunlit, the kind of place that only existed in dreams. She’d been laughing at something he’d said.
Her silky brown hair had been loose around her shoulders, catching the light, and when she’d turned to look at him, her eyes had been warm and unguarded in a way they never were when she was awake.
He’d pulled her close, their faces inches apart, close enough that he could count the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Close enough that he could smell blueberries and fresh air. Close enough that when he’d leaned in, their lips had been about to meet?—
And then Sarah had appeared.
Not angry, not accusing. Just there, standing a few feet away with a sad smile. The smile that said she knew something he didn’t, that she understood something he was too stubborn to see.
Ethan had jerked awake, his heart hammering, guilt and longing warring in his chest.
For a moment, he just lay there in the gray pre-dawn light, trying to shake off the dream, trying to remember that Sarah was gone and Lydia was just a guest in his house and he had no business dreaming about kissing her.
Then he registered what he was seeing through his bedroom window, and the dream evaporated like smoke.
Snow.
Not the light dusting they sometimes got in late November, but real snow. Thick and heavy, blanketing everything in white. The ground was already covered, and more still falling in fat, lazy flakes that seemed to glow in the dim light.
Ethan sat up, disbelief warring with a paramedic’s automatic assessment of what this meant. The roads would be impassable. The power lines sagging under the weight. People without heat, without light, without?—
The lights went out.
Not just his bedroom lamp, but everything. The soft hum of the refrigerator cutting off, the digital clock on his nightstand going dark. The sudden silence was deafening.
Ethan was out of bed before conscious thought caught up, pulling on jeans and a thermal shirt, his mind already running through what needed to be done. Woodstove. Candles. Flashlights. Food that wouldn’t spoil. Water before the pipes froze.
And Lydia. And the kids upstairs who’d already been through enough trauma without adding a power outage and a mini blizzard to the list.
He made his way through the dark house by feel and memory, his hands finding the matches in the kitchen drawer, the oil lamps he kept for emergencies.
By the time he had the woodstove going, the old cast-iron beast in the living room that he’d kept meaning to replace with something more efficient, pale gray light was seeping through the windows.
The world outside looked like something from a Christmas card.
Snow everywhere, thick and pristine, transforming his ordinary yard into something magical.
The trees bowed under the weight, their branches creating intricate patterns against the white sky.
It would have been beautiful if it weren’t so dangerous.
Footsteps on the stairs made him turn. Lydia appeared, wrapped in one of his flannel robes that she must have found in the bathroom, her hair mussed from sleep, her eyes wide.
“The power—” she started.
“Out for miles, probably,” Ethan said, feeding another log into the stove. “Storm must have brought down lines. Could be out for hours or days, depending on how bad the damage is.”
He watched her process that, watched the flicker of worry cross her face before she buried it under practicality. “What do we need to do?”
“I’ve got the stove going. That’ll keep the main floor warm, at least. We should bring the kids down. It’ll be warmer near the fire.” He stood, wiping ash from his hands. “I’ve got a camp stove for cooking, plenty of canned goods. We’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” Lydia said, and he could hear her trying to convince herself. “Okay. I should … I’ll get the kids up. Make breakfast on the camp stove.”
“There’s no rush.” Ethan caught her hand before she could retreat upstairs. An impulse he didn’t examine too closely. “They’re fine. Let them sleep a little longer. We’ll need to conserve our energy.”
Lydia looked down at their joined hands, and Ethan realized what he’d done. He started to pull away, but she held on, just for a second, her fingers tightening around his.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For … for not panicking. For knowing what to do. For—” She stopped, seemed to reconsider. “Just thank you.”
Then she was gone, heading back upstairs, and Ethan was left standing by the woodstove with his hand still warm from her touch.
By mid-morning, the house had been transformed.
The power was still out, the snow had stopped falling, but inside Ethan’s living room, chaos reigned in the best possible way.
Lydia had taken every blanket and sheet she could find and constructed an elaborate fort using the furniture, the dining chairs, and what looked like half the clothesline from the laundry room.
The fort sprawled across the living room floor, its “roof” secured to the couch on one side and draped over the coffee table on the other, creating a multi-chambered kingdom that had Eli and Rosie squealing with delight.
Ethan stood in the doorway watching, something warm unfurling in his chest. This was what Sarah had wanted.
This exact thing. Children’s laughter echoing off the rafters, a house filled with life and noise and the beautiful chaos of family.
She’d planned it all out, down to the color scheme for each bedroom, the swing set in the backyard, the Sunday morning pancakes.
And here it was, happening without her. With someone else. With children who weren’t his and a woman who?—
A knock at the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
Ethan opened it to find Caleb Byrne on his porch, covered in snow, holding two grocery bags that looked heavy.
“Caleb. What are you—” Ethan glanced at the driveway where Caleb’s Ford sat, fresh snow already accumulating on the hood. “You drove through this?”
“Roads aren’t too bad yet if you’ve got four-wheel drive and know what you’re doing.” Caleb shifted the bags. “Figured you might need supplies. Power’s out all over town.”
“Come in.” Ethan stepped back, gesturing him inside. “Hell, you didn’t have to?—”
“I know.” Caleb stomped snow off his boots and stepped into the warm house. His eyes went immediately to the blanket fort, where Rosie’s blonde curls were just visible through one of the windows. “Looks like you’re managing okay.”
“Lydia’s keeping the kids occupied.” Ethan led him to the kitchen, where Lydia was attempting to boil water on the camp stove. A tricky proposition given the unpredictable heat. She looked up when they entered, surprise and pleasure crossing her face when she saw Caleb.
“Mr. Byrne! You drove through that snow?”
“Caleb, please.” He set the bags on the counter. “And yeah. Wanted to make sure you folks were okay. Brought some supplies. Coffee, since I’m guessing you’re running low. Hot chocolate for the kids. Some bread, peanut butter, other stuff that doesn’t need refrigeration.”
“You’re a saint,” Lydia said fervently, already digging through the bags. She pulled out the coffee with a sound of pure relief. “I was trying to figure out how to make it work with what we had, but this … thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” Caleb looked uncomfortable with her gratitude, and Ethan could commiserate with the feeling. “Just being neighborly.”
“You’re not our neighbor,” Ethan pointed out, but he was smiling. “You must be staying a good ten miles away?”
“Eight point three according to my navigation app,” Caleb said.
“I’m staying at Lakeside Lodge in one of the staff beds.
They are full up, but the owner heard about …
what I did … and insisted on putting me up.
” Caleb looked decidedly embarrassed about this, his cheeks reddening, before quickly shifting topics back.
“I measured the trip. Firefighter habits die hard, I guess. Former firefighter,” he corrected quickly.
“Former firefighter,” Ethan repeated, understanding dawning. It wasn’t a question. He’d suspected something like that from the way Caleb had run into the fire. And the man had a distinctive accent. “Boston?”
“Fifteen years.” Caleb’s face went carefully neutral. “Lieutenant. Retired.”
There was a story there. Ethan could see it in the way Caleb’s shoulder hitched slightly, the way his eyes went distant. But he didn’t push. Everyone had their ghosts. Lord knew Ethan had his.
“Well, we’re grateful you made the drive,” Lydia said, already working on the coffee. “Stay for lunch? I’m making soup. It’s not fancy, but?—”
“I’d like that,” Caleb said, and the surprised pleasure on his face suggested he hadn’t expected the invitation.
Lunch was canned soup heated on the camp stove and bread toasted over the open flames.
Simple, almost primitive, but somehow it tasted better than any meal Ethan had eaten in months.
Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the way Rosie kept sneaking looks at Caleb like he was some kind of superhero, her eyes wide with hero-worship every time he spoke.
Maybe it was the domestic coziness of it all, the five of them gathered around the woodstove while the storm raged outside.
Or maybe it was the way Lydia laughed at something Eli said, her whole face lighting up, and Ethan couldn’t look away.
“This is really good,” Caleb said, finishing his second bowl. “Haven’t had homemade soup in—” He stopped, seemed to reconsider. “In a long time.”
“It’s just canned,” Lydia said, but she looked pleased. “Nothing fancy.”
“Sometimes the simple stuff is the best,” Caleb replied. He glanced at Rosie, who was still watching him with adoring eyes. “What?”
“Are you a superhero?” Rosie asked seriously.
Caleb nearly choked on his soup. “What? No. I’m just … I’m just a guy.”
“You saved us from the fire,” Rosie insisted. “That’s what superheroes do.”