Chapter 9
NIA
The light woke her before the sound did.
Pale gold poured through the window, the kind of light that made everything look deceptively calm. The storm had passed. The silence was different now—no wind, no groan of the lodge’s timbers. Just stillness.
Nia blinked, momentarily unsure where she was. The scent of cedar smoke and coffee grounded her first; then she saw the soft quilt tangled around her legs, the faint imprint of candle wax on the table, and memory came rushing back.
Soren.
Her body ached in ways she hadn’t felt in years—satisfying, lazy, real. Her skin still carried the ghost of Soren’s touch, her mouth the memory of her name whispered like a secret.
The other side of the bed was empty, but warm.
Nia sat up slowly, pulling the blanket closer as she listened. Somewhere down the hallway, she could hear soft movement, a hum of an old radio, and the low, familiar rasp of Soren’s voice.
For a moment, she just sat there and let herself feel.
It was dangerous, that stillness. There were no distractions here—no hospital lights, no monitors beeping, no surgical team waiting for her command. Just quiet, sunlight, and the strange, terrifying comfort of having let someone see her without armor.
She ran a hand through her hair and looked toward the window. Outside, the world was a sheet of glittering white. The snow on the eaves was already beginning to slide in heavy, wet chunks, the start of the thaw.
Nia’s stomach knotted. The roads would open soon. The flights would resume.
This—whatever this was—would have to end.
She rose and found her sweater on the back of a chair, pulling it on like a shield. Her legs wobbled slightly, reminding her of the night before. When she stepped into the hall, the smell of coffee hit her like a memory she didn’t want to let go of.
Soren was in the small kitchen, barefoot, wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, humming softly as she poured coffee into mismatched mugs. Her hair was tousled and damp from a quick wash, a streak of sunlight catching the curve of her jaw.
It was a scene so normal, so ordinary, that it nearly broke Nia’s heart.
Soren turned, caught her in the doorway, and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Morning, Doc.”
Nia tried to answer with the same ease. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Soren said, handing her a mug. “The generator’s half-beating again. I’ll take a look later, but for now we’ve got fire, coffee, and relative peace. That’s a win.”
Nia accepted the mug, fingers brushing Soren’s for a fleeting second. “You always find something to fix.”
“Habit,” Soren said, then softened. “You look more beautiful than ever in the morning.”
Nia arched an eyebrow. “Flattery before caffeine? Bold.”
Soren grinned. “Observation, not flattery.”
The teasing came easily, but Nia’s heart wasn’t keeping pace with her words. She watched Soren move around the small kitchen, the way she made everything seem effortless—grounded, steady, real. It was the kind of ease Nia didn’t understand, and couldn’t stop wanting.
She sat at the counter, taking a sip of coffee. It was too strong, slightly burnt, and somehow perfect. “You’re not supposed to make me feel comfortable here,” she said, mostly to herself.
Soren leaned against the counter across from her, mug in hand. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is,” Nia said quietly. “For me.”
Soren’s brow furrowed. “Because?”
“Because it makes it harder to leave.”
The words slipped out before she could catch them. For a heartbeat, the air between them held still. Soren’s expression softened—not surprise, just quiet understanding.
She crossed the space between them, slow and unhurried, until she was close enough that Nia could smell the coffee and soap on her skin. She rested a hand against the edge of the counter beside Nia, not touching her, but near enough that Nia could feel the warmth radiating from her body.
“Then don’t think about leaving,” Soren said softly.
Nia forced a small, brittle smile. “You make it sound easy.”
Soren shrugged. “It could be,” she said.
Their eyes met, and for a long moment, Nia forgot about the world beyond the mountain—the hospital, the surgeries, Julia’s voice, the expectations. There was only this room, this woman, and the steady heartbeat of something that shouldn’t have been possible.
But the snow was melting. She could hear it—slow drips from the eaves, the sound of a world waking up.
And she knew that once the world woke, this little pocket of impossible warmth would vanish with it.
Nia took another sip of coffee, keeping her gaze on the window, afraid that if she looked at Soren too long, she might forget to go back at all.
By late morning, the lodge had come alive again.
Guests moved through the halls in soft murmurs, bundled in sweaters, voices bright with the kind of cautious optimism that came after surviving something bigger than themselves. The worst of the storm had passed.
Nia stood by the window of her room, cradling the second cup of coffee Soren had made her before slipping off to help Ellis with the backup generator. Outside, the plow trucks looked like toys against the endless white, crawling their slow path toward the mountain road.
Each scrape of metal against snow made her pulse quicken. Freedom. Return.
The world creeping closer again.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The faintest flicker of a signal.
For a moment she just stared at it, watching it pulse with light like something alive. Then she picked it up.
One new voicemail.
Two unread texts.
The first was from the hospital administrator.
“Dr. South, confirming your OR block Monday morning and staff meeting at ten. Hope the storm clears soon. You’re missed.”
The second—shorter, sharper—was from Julia.
“Saw the weather reports. I suppose you’re stuck. Hope you brought good reading material.”
No warmth. No concern. Just that same cool civility that had once felt like respect.
Nia’s thumb hovered over the screen before she locked it again, setting the phone facedown as if that could mute the noise building in her chest.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the carpet until the pattern blurred.
Back to Phoenix Ridge. Back to order, to rounds, to surgical schedules, to being the woman who always had the answers.
The thought should have steadied her. It didn’t.
Because for the first time in years, she wasn’t sure she wanted that life untouched.
Her chest tightened with something that felt dangerously like panic.
The hospital was her refuge, her fortress—clean, sterile, predictable. But after these days of snow and warmth and Soren’s hands—God, those hands—returning to that world suddenly felt like stepping into a vacuum.
A soft knock broke her spiral.
She turned. The door opened a few inches, and Soren’s face appeared in the gap. Her hair was dusted with snow, cheeks flushed from the cold, tool belt slung low on her hips. “Hey,” she said, voice gentle. “You disappeared on me.”
Nia straightened, smoothing her sweater, forcing her composure back into place. “I needed to make some calls.”
Soren stepped inside, reading more than Nia wanted her to. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” Too fast.
Soren’s gaze flicked to the phone on the nightstand. “Work?”
Nia hesitated, then nodded. “They’re expecting me back. The flights should start tomorrow if the plows clear the road tonight.”
“Right.” Soren’s tone was neutral, but her jaw flexed slightly. “Guess that’s good news.”
“It is.”
The silence that followed was thick. The air between them shifted, cooling in ways Nia couldn’t name.
Soren leaned against the doorframe, hands in her pockets. “You look like you just remembered the real world exists.”
“I did.” Nia tried to smile, but it faltered halfway. “And I need to go back to it.”
“Sure,” Soren said softly. “If that’s what you want.”
Nia stood, too quickly. “It’s not about what I want. It’s just what is.”
Soren’s eyes found hers, steady, unreadable. “That’s not the same thing.”
Nia’s throat closed around words she couldn’t say. She wanted to tell her she didn’t do spontaneous. That she didn’t know how to make room for someone like Soren in a life built on control. That she was terrified of what it meant that she even wanted to.
Instead, she said nothing.
Soren nodded once, as if that silence told her everything. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” she said quietly, and slipped out before Nia could stop her.
The door clicked shut.
Nia sank back onto the bed, fingers pressed to her temples, staring at the faint light spilling under the door.
The world outside was thawing, but inside her, everything felt frozen again.
By afternoon, the sound of engines rolled up the mountain—low, rhythmic, relentless. Snowplows. The whole lodge seemed to exhale at once. Guests began packing bags, voices rising with relief. The world was open again.
Nia stood at the window, watching the road carve its way out of white. She should have felt the same relief. Instead, she just felt… hollow.
Her suitcase sat open on the bed, half-packed. She’d folded her clothes with clinical precision—each crease exact, every motion practiced. It was muscle memory, the kind of control she could still cling to. But her hands kept hesitating, pausing over the last few items.
A knock sounded at the door. Not tentative this time—just two firm taps.
She didn’t turn. “It’s open.”
Soren stepped inside, the smell of cold air following her. She’d changed out of her work gear into jeans and a dark sweater, hair still damp from snow. Her cheeks were pink, her expression unreadable.
“Ellis says the main road’s clear to the highway,” Soren said. “You’ll be able to get down to the airport by morning.”
“I saw.” Nia’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “That’s good news.”
Soren nodded slowly. “Yeah. Guess so.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched until it felt fragile, like one wrong word would break it completely.
Soren leaned against the doorframe, hands in her pockets. “You’re really leaving tomorrow.”
Nia turned, meeting her gaze. “I have to.”
“Have to,” Soren repeated, quiet but sharp. “Right.”
She crossed the small room, stopping just short of touching distance. Her eyes were darker than Nia remembered—storm-dark, the kind that held both calm and danger. “You could stay a few more days. The roads aren’t perfect, the flights might not all be running…”
“Soren.” Nia’s tone was soft but firm. “You know I can’t.”
Soren smiled then, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I figured. Doctors don’t take detours.”
“That’s not fair. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be.”
“I know.” Soren exhaled, the sound more like a sigh than laughter. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just—” She stopped herself, shook her head. “Never mind.”
Nia’s heart squeezed painfully. “Say it.”
Soren’s gaze flicked up to hers. “You walked in here like a storm, you know that? All sharp edges and cold air. And now that I’ve seen what’s underneath, I don’t really want to watch you walk back out.”
Nia swallowed, her throat tight. “You’ll forget me.”
Soren gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Not a chance.”
That laugh broke something in Nia. Before she could think, she stepped closer, hands trembling as they reached for Soren’s sweater. “This was never supposed to be more than—”
“I know,” Soren murmured. “But it is.”
The distance between them vanished. Nia pressed her forehead against Soren’s chest, breathing in the scent of soap and woodsmoke and something that felt like home.
Soren’s arms came around her instantly, strong and sure, holding her the way no one ever had—like she wasn’t a responsibility, but a person.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Nia whispered.
“Then don’t,” Soren said. “Just… be here. For a minute.”
So she did. She let herself feel it—the weight of Soren’s arms, the steady beat of her heart, the warmth that made the rest of the world blur.
When she finally pulled back, tears burned at the edges of her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “If things were different…”
Soren gave a small, rueful smile. “They never are, though, are they?”
Nia shook her head, forcing herself to take a step back, then another. “Goodbye, Soren.”
Soren didn’t move. “Don’t make it sound final, Doc.”
Nia tried to smile, but it broke halfway through. “Maybe it isn’t.”
And then she turned away, before she could change her mind.
The door closed softly behind her, leaving the faint echo of Soren’s voice and the scent of smoke and pine lingering in the air.
Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds, turning the snow to glitter. The storm had ended—but inside Nia, something far more dangerous had just begun.