Epilogue Kate
Bennett waited for me at the trailhead with his skis already on, his breath clouding in the cold December air.
The sun slanted through the pines, sharp and bright, making the snow glitter like somebody had scattered diamonds across the trail.
I clipped into my own skis, the motion automatic after years of practice, and settled my poles into the snow beside me.
He smiled when I looked up. Just a smile, open and easy, the kind that made my chest go warm even though the air was cold enough to burn my lungs.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, adjusting the wool scarf I'd finished last week.
The yarn was a deep blue, soft against my neck, and my gloves matched it.
I'd knit them both in the shop's back room while the early snow had fallen outside the shop windows, my hands moving through the familiar pattern without needing to think about it.
We pushed off together.
The rhythm came easy, the glide and pole and glide that my legs remembered even after all the years I'd given up racing.
Bennett skied beside me, matching my pace the way he had every time we'd come out here this winter.
We'd been on this trail twice a week since the season opened, just the two of us and the mountains and the quiet that felt like a gift.
The wool hat I'd made in October sat snug on my head, keeping my ears warm, and in my pocket I carried the mittens my friend had asked me to test for the shop's winter line.
It didn't come second anymore.
I glanced down at my gloves, at the careful cables running up the backs and the ribbing at the wrists that I'd had to redo twice before I got it right. Bennett had made time for me. I could see it in the way he showed up, in the way he kept his place beside me on the trail.
I felt my wedding ring under the glove as I planted my pole. The ring sat on my finger now like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there.
"The board finally hired someone," I said.
Bennett glanced over at me, his skis cutting smooth lines through the fresh snow. "I heard. Gerald called me yesterday to tell me she starts in January."
"Good." I meant it. I wanted the wool. I wanted full days in the shop's back room with my hands busy and my head clear. The board's new hire meant I could have that, and Bennett had been the one to tell Gerald it was time. From January on, every week would hold them.
We skied through a stand of aspen, the trees stripped bare and white against the blue sky, their branches reaching up like bones.
The trail wound between them, wide enough for two people side by side, and I felt the warmth of Bennett's presence even though he wasn't close enough to touch.
He was here. He'd made time for this, for me. It was just what we did, together.
"I called the village council about the east meadow," Bennett said.
I looked at him, surprised. We'd talked about the meadow back in March, the day we'd skied this trail together for the first time. I'd told him the council's plan to pave it over for parking would flood the village when the snow melted. But I hadn't known he'd followed through.
"And?" I asked.
"They're keeping it." His voice was steady, matter-of-fact, like he was reporting on the weather instead of telling me he'd listened to something I'd worried about and done something about it without being asked.
"I told them what you said about the drainage.
They're putting the parking expansion on the west side instead. "
My throat went tight. I didn't say thank you. I didn't tell him I was surprised or that I hadn't expected him to follow through. I just nodded and kept skiing, the snow soft under my skis and the sun warm on my face despite the cold.
The air smelled like pine and snow, clean and sharp, and I breathed it in deep. God, I'd missed this. Not just the skiing, though I'd missed that too, but the being here with Bennett, doing something together. Just us. Just the trail and the mountains and the rhythm of our skis moving in sync.
We skied for another ten minutes without talking. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was just us, together, doing the thing I'd wanted to do with him.
"I saw the new pattern you're working on," Bennett said. "The one with the snowflakes on the cuffs."
I felt my cheeks warm, and it wasn't from the cold. "My friend showed you?"
"I stopped by the shop yesterday." He adjusted his pole, his gaze still on the trail ahead. "She said you've been working on it for three weeks. It's beautiful, Kate."
"It's taking forever," I said. My voice came out embarrassed, flustered, like I'd been caught doing something I shouldn't. "The increases are tricky, and I keep having to pull out rows when the tension's wrong. I'm probably overthinking it."
"It's still beautiful." He said it like it was a fact, like there was no argument to be had, and then he looked over at me with something in his expression that made my pulse kick up beneath my skin. "It's yours."
God. I flushed all the way to my hairline, my hands tightening on my poles. He saw my work as mine. He talked about it like it mattered, like it was something worth his time and attention.
The trail curved ahead, winding deeper into the trees, and I followed it without thinking.
Bennett stayed beside me, his breathing steady and even, and I listened to the sound of our skis cutting through the snow in rhythm with each other.
Like we were supposed to be here. Like this was where we'd always been heading.
My legs burned in the good way, the way that meant I was using muscles I hadn't used enough, and the cold air bit at my face. I didn't mind. I felt alive out here and Bennett was beside me, and that was everything.
"I love you," Bennett said.
I looked over at him, startled. The sun was behind him, turning his hair to gold and shadowing his face, but I could see the way he was looking at me. Like I mattered. Like I was the only thing on this mountain that did.
"I love you too," I said.
The words came easy. I loved him.
We skied around another bend, the trail opening up ahead of us.
I saw the cabin before Bennett said anything, a small building tucked into the trees at the trail's end.
It wasn't the storm cabin up the north trail, the one I'd led the rescue team to in the storm.
This one was smaller, newer, with smoke curling from a stone chimney and windows that caught the afternoon light like they were holding it.
I stopped skiing. "What is that?"
Bennett stopped beside me, his skis parallel to mine. "A cabin."
"I can see that." I stared at it, my heart doing something stupid and fluttery in my chest. "I didn't know it was here."
"You wouldn't have." He was looking at me now, not the cabin, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a touch, warm and sure. "I got it ready. For us."
My breath caught. I wanted to ask him when, or why, or how long he'd been planning this without telling me. But the answer was right there in front of me, solid and real and waiting. He'd done this. Without being asked.
"Bennett," I said, and my voice came out too quiet, too rough.
He reached over and took my hand, his glove warm against mine even through the layers of wool. "Come on."
We skied the last stretch together, our hands linked, and stopped at the cabin's door.
Bennett unclipped his skis first, leaning them carefully against the wall, then helped me with mine, his hands steady and sure on the bindings.
He opened the door and gestured me inside, and I went, my legs unsteady from more than just the skiing.
The cabin was warm. A fire burned in the stone fireplace, crackling and bright, and the room smelled like wood smoke and pine and something else I couldn't name, something that felt like home.
There was a bed against the far wall, covered in quilts that looked handmade, the kind with careful stitching and colors that didn't quite match but worked together anyway.
A small table sat by the window with two chairs pulled up to it, and a wool blanket I recognized from the shop was folded over the back of one.
It was simple. It was perfect. It was ours.
I turned to look at Bennett. He'd closed the door behind us, shutting out the cold and the mountains and everything except the two of us and the fire, and he was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Hopeful, maybe. Nervous. Like he was waiting for me to tell him whether he'd done this right.
"You got this ready for us," I said.
"Yeah."
I crossed the room to him, my legs unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with skiing.
He opened his arms and I walked into them, pressing my face against his chest and feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath my cheek.
He smelled like cold air and wool and Bennett, familiar and solid, and I wrapped my arms around him and held on.
His hands came up to my back, holding me close, one palm warm between my shoulder blades. "I wanted you to have this. A place that's ours."
I didn't say I was surprised. I didn't tell him this was more than I'd expected. I just held him, and let him hold me, and felt the warmth of the fire at my back and the solid presence of him against me.
He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his hand coming up to cup my face.
His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, gentle, and I felt my pulse kick up hard beneath my skin.
God, he was close. Close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that I could see the way his gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there.
"Kate," he said, and his voice had gone rough, low in a way that made my stomach flip.
I rose up on my toes and kissed him.
He kissed me back, his mouth warm and sure against mine, and I felt the kick of it all the way down to my toes. His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, and I let him. I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted the marriage we had now.
We moved toward the bed without breaking apart, his hands on my waist and mine tangled in his hair.
The quilts were soft beneath me when we sank down onto them together, and Bennett's weight was warm and solid above me, familiar in a way that made my throat go tight.
I stopped thinking about anything except the feel of him and the firelight dancing on the walls and the knowledge that we were here, together, in the place he'd made ready for us without being asked.
His mouth found the curve of my neck, and I shivered, my hands tightening on his shoulders. "Bennett."
"I love you," he said again, the words spoken against my skin like a promise, like something he needed me to hear.
"I love you too."
The fire crackled in the hearth, warm and steady, and the afternoon light coming through the windows turned everything soft and gold.
We stayed there, close and loving and tangled up in each other, and the world outside the cabin fell away until it was just us and the quiet and the warmth of the fire burning low.
THE END