Chapter Six #3
I showed her the weather app anyway. Watched her read it, watched her expression shift from sleepy contentment to something that looked like grief.
"Roads will be clear by this afternoon," I said quietly.
"You need to get back." It wasn't a question.
"I do. Dad's called six times—they're probably worried sick. And I need to check the herd, make sure the equipment survived, see what damage the storm did." I paused. "But I don't want to leave you."
"I don't want you to leave either." She bit her lip, eyes shining. "But I need to get back to Bozeman too. Start job hunting. Figure out my next steps."
We sat there in the bright sunlight, reality settling over us like the snow outside.
"Hey." I cupped her face, made her look at me. "This doesn't end today."
"Promise?"
"Promise. I'm calling you tonight once I check on everything at home. And this weekend, if the roads are good, I'm driving to Bozeman to see you."
"Really?"
"Really. I meant what I said last night, Tinsley. I'm not waiting weeks to see you again. Not letting this fade just because we're not in the same place."
She threw her arms around me, burying her face in my neck. I held her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair—vanilla and something else, something just her.
"I'll start looking for jobs in Livingston this week," she said against my skin. "And clinical hour placements. I can do this."
"Take your time. Do it right." I pulled back to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere."
We got dressed slowly—her in fresh clothes she pulled from her suitcase, me in yesterday's jeans and henley that smelled like wood smoke and her. Neither of us wanted to rush this, but the morning had its own momentum now.
Downstairs, I started coffee while she pulled out eggs and bacon. We moved around each other easy as breathing, the rhythm we'd found over two days still there. But everything felt weighted now. Every touch, every glance, heavy with the knowledge that in a few hours, we'd be saying goodbye.
"What do you want?" Tinsley asked, hand hovering over the carton of eggs.
"Whatever you're having is fine."
"That's not helpful, cowboy." But she was smiling a little. "Scrambled? Fried? Omelet?"
"Scrambled. And I'll handle the bacon."
We cooked together—me frying bacon while she scrambled eggs, both of us stealing glances when we thought the other wasn't looking. Twinkle sat at our feet, watching the bacon with intense focus, tail sweeping the floor.
"No bacon for puppies," Tinsley said sternly.
Twinkle's tail wagged harder. Tinsley sighed.
"She's got your number."
"Probably." She cracked an egg into the bowl. "She's going to be completely spoiled."
Breakfast was simple but perfect—mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon crispy, toast with butter and jam. We sat at the table by the windows, sunlight streaming in, mountains stark white against brilliant blue sky.
Beautiful. Postcard perfect.
I'd rather have the storm back.
"I should call RoyAnn," I said, pulling out my phone. "Let her know what happened."
"Now?"
"Might as well get it done."
RoyAnn answered on the second ring. "Turner Johnson, is that you? Your mother's been beside herself!"
"Yes ma'am, it's me." I said. "I'm fine—got caught in the storm up near Paradise Valley, been snowed in at a cabin. Cell service just came back."
"Oh thank heavens. Carol will be so relieved." A pause. "But what about my puppy?"
"That's actually why I'm calling, ma'am.
" I glanced at Twinkle, who was nibbling a small piece of bacon from my hand.
"The puppy's safe and healthy. But I'd like to keep this one, if that's alright with you, as we’ve kind of bonded in the past couple days.
Mom bred three females in this litter—I can deliver one of the sisters to you next week, and I won't charge you a penny for the trouble. "
Silence. Then: "You want to keep her? Turner, you've never wanted one of your mother's dogs."
"I know, ma'am. But this one's special. And I've got someone to help take care of her now."
"Oh." Her voice warmed. "Oh, Turner. That's wonderful. Of course you can keep her. I'll take one of the sisters—I'm sure they're all lovely."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'll coordinate with Mom about delivery."
"You do that. And Turner? I'm happy for you."
I hung up and looked at Tinsley. "It's official. Twinkle's ours."
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "One thing settled, at least."
We finished breakfast in near silence. When the dishes were done—washed and dried and put away together one last time—there was nothing left to delay the inevitable.
"I should pack," Tinsley said quietly.
"Yeah. Me too."
We went upstairs together. She folded clothes carefully, placing them in her suitcase. I gathered Twinkle's supplies—formula, blankets, toys. The puppy seemed to sense something was happening, sticking close to both of us, whining softly.
"She knows," Tinsley said, scratching behind Twinkle's ears. "Smart girl."
I loaded everything into my truck while Tinsley did a final check of the cabin. Made sure we hadn't left anything behind, that the place looked the way we'd found it. When she came outside, bundled in her coat, eyes red-rimmed, something in my chest cracked clean through.
"Come here." I pulled her into my arms, holding her as tight as I dared. "I promise, this doesn't end today."
"I know." Her voice was muffled against my jacket. "But it still hurts."
"I know."
I just held her for a long moment. Memorized the feel of her in my arms, the smell of her hair, the way she fit against me like she was made for this.
Finally, she pulled back. "You should go. Your parents have been worried."
"Yeah." But I didn't move.
She reached up, cupped my face in both hands. "Call me tonight?"
"The second I'm done checking on everything. Promise."
"And this weekend—"
"I'll be in Bozeman Saturday morning. We can get breakfast, spend the day together. Whatever you want."
"I want you." She smiled through tears. "But I'll settle for breakfast."
I kissed her—long and deep and full of everything I couldn't figure out how to say. When I finally pulled away, we were both shaking.
"That's not changing just because there's distance between us," I said.
"Good." She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. "Now go before I lose it completely."
I opened the truck door. Twinkle hopped into her carrier on the passenger seat, settling in with a huff. I climbed behind the wheel, started the engine.
Looked at Tinsley standing in the snow—hair loose around her shoulders, the edge of her red sweater peeking out from under her coat, beautiful and heartbroken and mine.
"See you Saturday," I said.
"You better." She managed a real smile.
I put the truck in gear, forced myself to drive away slow. Watched her in the rearview mirror until the cabin disappeared around a bend in the road. My knuckles ached from gripping the wheel.
Twinkle whimpered from her carrier.
"I know, girl," I said, voice rough. "I miss her too."
But this wasn't goodbye. This was just the beginning.
And somehow—despite the ache in my chest and the distance growing between us—I knew we were going to be okay.
We had to be.
Because I'd found something worth fighting for, worth driving ninety minutes every weekend for, worth rearranging my whole life around.
I'd found my forever.
And I wasn't letting go.