Chapter 5
FIVE
ERICA
By early February, winter has fully claimed Alaska.
I know winter. I grew up in Minnesota. I understand snowbanks and ice storms and the particular sound your tires make when they hit packed snow just wrong.
But this is different.
The cold here feels sharper, cleaner, made by centuries of tectonic plates colliding and glaciers freezing instead of blighted by salt and traffic.
I love it.
The cabin creaks softly as the wind pushes against it, the sound familiar now, comforting instead of ominous.
I pad across the wooden floor in thick socks, mug warming my hands, and glance out the window toward the trees dusted in white.
The light is pale and slow, like the day itself is stretching awake.
I didn’t expect this part.
I didn’t expect to feel settled.
The cabin isn’t mine, not really, but it feels like it knows me now.
I’ve added soft things where I could—throw blankets draped over the arm of the couch, a lamp with warmer light in the corner where I write, a thrifted rug layered over the worn wood floor.
Nothing permanent. Nothing Boone would come home to and feel like a guest in his own space.
Still, it’s different.
So am I.
I set my coffee down on the small table by the couch and sink to the floor, tugging a length of string from the side table drawer.
Immediately, Georgie launches herself off the windowsill like a furry missile, skidding across the floor and pouncing on it with murderous enthusiasm.
She’s grown.
A lot.
Gone is the timid shelter cat Boone brought home a few months before he left.
In her place is a sleek, confident little menace with a fluffy tail and an impressive vertical leap. She bats at the string, flops dramatically onto her side, then springs up again like she’s personally offended I dared to stop moving it.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her, smiling with a heart full of love.
She chirps back and pounces again.
I drag the string across the rug, letting her chase it until she collapses in a heap against my legs, sides heaving. I lean back against the couch and scoop her into my lap. She protests for half a second before curling in, purring like she’s powered by a small engine.
My laptop sits open on the table nearby, a spreadsheet pulled up on the screen.
Numbers.
Actual, honest-to-God numbers.
I’ve written three books since Boone left. Not slowly, not cautiously. I wrote like I was running from something, like if I stopped I might lose momentum or nerve or both. And it worked. Sales climbed. Reviews followed. My backlist ticked upward in a way that felt sustainable instead of lucky.
For the first time, I’m not just hoping this could be my life.
I’m watching it happen.
I scratch Georgie under the chin and she stretches, paws kneading my sweater.
“I know,” I murmur. “I’m shocked too.”
The phone buzzes beside me.
I glance down without thinking.
And freeze.
Boone.
His name on my screen feels like a punch to the chest.
My heart slams so hard I’m sure Georgie can feel it. She lifts her head, blinking up at me, mildly offended by the interruption.
I stare at the notification, suddenly very aware of how quiet the cabin is.
Hey. I’m sorry this took so long. I think this didn’t go through earlier.
Earlier?
My fingers shake as I unlock the phone.
I’m coming back. Landed in Anchorage this morning. I should be there in about an hour.
An hour.
I sit bolt upright, nearly dumping Georgie onto the floor. She rights herself with dignity and glares at me.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
An hour ago?
This message is dated last week.
My chest tightens as the implications settle in.
He’s already here.
I type, delete, type again.
You’re back?
Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to blindside you, but I didn’t realize the message hadn’t sent.
Blindside is one word for it.
I glance around the cabin, suddenly seeing everything through new eyes. The blankets. The lamp. The stack of books on the coffee table. My coat hanging by the door.
My life.
Here.
I swallow hard.
Okay, I type. Safe travels.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
We’ll talk when I get there.
I set the phone down like it might burn me.
Georgie hops back into my lap, blissfully unaware of the emotional landmine that just detonated. I bury my face in her fur and inhale, grounding myself.
I knew this day was coming.
I just didn’t think it would hit like this.
His truck pulls up exactly an hour later.
I watch from the window as he gets out, shoulders dusted with snow, looking around like he’s trying to orient himself to a place that feels both familiar and strange. My stomach flips.
Georgie beats me to the door, chirping and skidding across the floor like she’s greeting a long-lost hero.
“Traitor,” I mutter fondly.
I open the door.
Boone looks up.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
He looks… the same. Different. Thinner, maybe. Tired in a way that suggests purpose instead of weariness. His eyes catch on me and soften, something unreadable passing across his face before he schools it into something careful.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
Awkward hangs between us like a third presence.
Then Georgie launches herself at his legs.
“There she is,” Boone says, crouching. “Hey there, Georgie-girl.”
He sings it to the tune of a song I’ve also sung to her countless times before.
Though she usually has stranger danger when it comes to newcomers, she doesn’t hold back now. She rubs against him shamelessly, purring at a volume that feels personal.
I cross my arms. “She’s forgotten me already.”
He smiles faintly. “Unlikely. She just has a big heart.”
For reasons I refuse to unpack, that makes my throat tight.
He straightens, glancing around the cabin. “You, uh. You made it cozy.”
I shrug. “I hope that’s okay. Nothing permanent.”
“I like it,” he says immediately. Then, softer, “It feels lived in.”
I nod, unsure what to do with that.
“I should apologize,” he says. “For the timing. For the confusion. For… a lot of things.”
I take a breath. “I should apologize too. For not knowing how to act when you left.”
“That was on me.”
“Maybe.”
We stand there, two people circling something fragile.
“There’s plenty of room,” he says finally, gesturing vaguely. “Two bedrooms. I meant what I said. You don’t have to go anywhere.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I admit. “But I didn’t know how you’d feel about?—”
He looks around again. “I like it. I like what you’ve done. And I like that you’ve been writing.”
My heart stutters.
“You know about that?”
“Knox talks,” he says dryly. “And I check the charts.”
I laugh, surprised.
“I’m glad,” he adds. “Truly.”
Silence settles again, but this time it’s less sharp.
“Maybe,” he says carefully, “we start with being… friends?”
The word lands gently, like he’s offering it instead of insisting.
I nod slowly. “Friends.”
Georgie hops onto the couch and curls up, purring loudly, as if sealing the agreement.
I watch Boone watch her, something fond and wistful in his expression, and feel the familiar tug in my chest.
Friends.
For now.
I hope I’m strong enough for that.