14. Fireside Wake-Up
Fireside Wake-Up
Levi
The sound of that tree crashing down was like thunder splitting the world in half.
I'd been standing in my kitchen, watching the snow intensify through the window, debating whether I should check on Cassie.
Then came the crash—deep and violent—and for a breathless moment, it felt like the world had exhaled wrong.
The windows rattled in their frames. My coffee sloshed over the rim of my mug.
And in the sudden, terrible silence that followed, I knew with bone-deep certainty that something had gone very, very wrong.
Running through the trees between us, my fear tripled the closer I got.
The sight of that massive pine lying across her cottage nearly stopped my heart.
For one horrible moment, I'd thought she was inside—thought I was too late, thought I'd lost her before I'd ever really had her.
But the panic shifted into something sharper, more focused, and I ran harder toward the cottage.
When I found her sitting in the snow, looking dazed and fragile in a way that made my chest ache, it was both relief and terror rolled into one. She was alive, conscious, talking—but she was also soaked through, probably hypothermic, and definitely in shock.
Now, sitting on my couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and color slowly returning to her cheeks, she looked more like herself. But I couldn't shake the image of her lying in that snow, or the sound of her voice when she'd said “I think I'm okay” like she wasn't entirely sure.
“I should call Doc Miller,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Have him take a look at you.”
Cassie shook her head, pulling the blanket tighter. “I'm fine, Levi. Really. Just cold and a little shaken up.”
“You were hit by a tree branch and thrown into the snow,” I said, already punching in the number. “Humor me.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. Maybe she could hear the edge of fear in my voice—the fear I was trying to keep under control, the way my hands were still shaking slightly from the adrenaline.
Doc Miller answered on the third ring, sounding remarkably alert for someone who'd probably been settling in for a long winter evening. “Levi? Everything all right?”
“Tree came down on Cassie's cottage,” I said, watching her face as I spoke. “She was outside when it happened. A branch caught her, knocked her down. She seems okay, but...”
“But you want me to check her over anyway,” Doc finished. “Smart man. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Roads are ugly, but I've got chains on the truck.”
“Thanks, Doc. Be careful out there.”
I hung up and looked at Cassie, who was studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. “He's coming,” I said. “And before you say anything, it's not negotiable.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I wasn't going to argue.”
“Good. Because I was prepared to get very stubborn about it.”
She laughed—a soft, surprised sound that did something wonderful to the tight knot in my chest. “I believe you.”
I settled back on the couch, arm around her, and a fire raging in the fireplace. The fire was crackling steadily, and the storm continued to hammer down, but inside, we were warm and separate from all of that chaos.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?”
“Tea sounds perfect,” she said. “But I can—”
“You can sit right there and let me take care of you,” I interrupted gently. “You read my mind.”
She settled back into the couch cushions with a sigh that sounded almost relieved. “Okay. Just this once.”
I made her tea—chamomile, because it seemed like the kind of thing that might help with shock—and found myself moving around my kitchen with more awareness than usual.
This wasn’t the first time Cassie had been inside my house, but I found myself seeing it through her eyes.
The mismatched furniture I'd inherited from my grandfather.
The stack of books on the coffee table. The framed photo of my SEAL unit that I'd never quite known what to do with.
When I came back with the tea, she was looking around with genuine curiosity, taking in the details of my space the way she did everything—with attention and appreciation.
“I like it,” she said, accepting the mug with both hands. “It feels like you.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Very good,” she said, smiling. “Solid. Real.”
I felt heat creep up my neck and was grateful for the dim lighting. “Thanks.”
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the fire. I kept stealing glances at her, checking for signs of delayed shock or injury, but she seemed to be growing steadier by the minute. The tea was helping, and the warmth, and maybe just being here.
“I can't believe it's gone,” she said quietly, staring into her mug. “I mean, I know it's not completely gone, but...”
“We'll figure it out,” I said. “Bob's got insurance on the property, and your renters’ insurance should cover your belongings. And the structure... well, we'll see what the damage looks like when we can actually get a good look.”
She nodded, but I could see her mind working, probably calculating costs and timelines and all the complicated logistics of dealing with disaster.
“Hey,” I said, reaching over to touch her hand. “One thing at a time. Tonight, you're safe and warm. We’ll let tomorrow deal with itself. We'll start making lists and phone calls. But tonight, just be here.”
Her fingers curled around mine, palm to palm, and she squeezed gently. “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't...”
“But I did,” I said firmly. “And I always will. That's not something you need to worry about.”
The words came out more intense than I'd intended, and I saw something shift in her expression—surprise, maybe. Like she was hearing something in my voice that I hadn't meant to reveal. I never wanted to pressure her.
Before either of us could explore that moment further, there was a knock at the door—three sharp raps that cut through the storm's noise.
“That'll be Doc,” I said, getting up to answer it.
Doc Miller stood on my porch looking like a snow-covered mountain man, his medical bag in one hand and a thermos in the other. He stomped his boots and shook off his coat before stepping inside, bringing a swirl of cold air and snowflakes with him.
“Heck of a night,” he said by way of greeting. “Where's my patient?”
“Right here,” Cassie said, raising her hand slightly from the couch. “And I'm really fine.”
Doc fixed her with a look that had probably cowed generations of Everwood residents. “Let me be the judge of that, young lady.”
He was thorough—checking her pupils, her reflexes, asking questions about pain and dizziness and nausea. He examined the spot on her chest where the branch had hit her, probing gently for broken ribs or internal injuries.
“You're going to have a beautiful bruise,” he told her, “but nothing’s broken. No signs of concussion either, which is frankly a miracle given what Levi described.”
“So, she's okay?” I asked, probably sounding more worried than I should have.
Doc looked between us with a knowing expression that comes from delivering half the babies in town and patching up the other half when they inevitably hurt themselves doing stupid things.
“She's fine,” he said. “But I want someone keeping an eye on her tonight. Shock can be tricky, and hypothermia sometimes has delayed effects. Make sure she stays warm, gets plenty of fluids, and wakes you up if she feels dizzy or nauseous.”
“I can stay at the inn,” Cassie said quickly. “I don't want to impose—”
“You're staying here,” I said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Guest room's already made up, and Doc just said you need someone keeping an eye on you.”
“The boy's right,” Doc said, packing up his bag. “Besides, you're better off right here.”
Cassie looked like she wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have convinced her to save her energy for bigger battles.
After Doc left—driving away into the storm with confidence that came from forty years of making house calls in Montana winters—I found myself alone with Cassie again, but the dynamic had shifted somehow.
The medical emergency was over, which meant we were left with the reality of her staying the night.
In my house.
In the guest room that was separated from my bedroom by about ten feet of hallway and a couple of months of careful boundaries I'd been maintaining.
“I should probably try to get some sleep,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “It's been... quite a day.”
“Of course,” I said, standing up quickly. “I'll show you where everything is.”
The guest room was simple but comfortable—a double bed with a quilt my mother’s quilting group had made, a dresser, a small bookshelf stocked with paperbacks.
I'd put fresh sheets on the bed just last week, thinking about Cassie and her first big storm.
I hadn't actually expected the woman I was falling in love with, rendered homeless by an act of nature, to be sleeping 15 feet away.
“There are extra blankets in the closet,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward in my own house. “And towels in the bathroom. If you need anything—anything at all—just holler.”
“Thank you,” There was something in her voice that made me look at her more closely. “Not just for tonight. For everything. For coming to find me, for taking care of me, for...all of it.”
“Cassie,” I started, but she stepped closer, and whatever I'd been planning to say disappeared entirely.
She was looking up at me with those green eyes that had haunted my dreams for months, and there was something different in them now. Something open, vulnerable, and maybe a little afraid. Of the moment, perhaps. Of the choice she was about to make.
“I could have died tonight,” she said quietly. “If that tree had fallen five seconds later, when I’d gotten inside, or if the branch had hit me differently...”
“But it didn't,” I said, reaching up to touch her face. “You're here. You're fine.”
“Because of you,” she whispered. “You saved me.”
I shook my head. “You saved yourself. You got out of the way, you survived the impact, you—”
She kissed me.
Just like that, soft and sudden and so exactly what I'd been dreaming about. It was so unexpected that I wondered if I had fallen asleep on the couch next to her.
But no—this was real. Cassie was real, warm and alive in my arms, her lips moving against mine with a sweetness that made my knees weak. I could taste the chamomile tea, could smell the faint scent of pine mixed with wood smoke and winter air.
When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“I've wanted to do that for months,” she whispered.
“Yeah?” I managed, my voice rough and deep.
“Yeah. But I was scared. Of messing things up, of not being ready, of...I don't know. Everything.”
I lifted my hand to cup her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. “And now?”
She smiled, and it was like watching the sun come up. “Now I'm still scared. But I'm more scared of not taking the chance.”
I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring it. She melted against me, her hands fisting in my shirt, and I had to remind myself that she'd been through a lot tonight, that she was vulnerable and staying in my guest room.
“We should probably...” I started, though every instinct I had was screaming at me not to let go of her.
“Yeah,” she agreed, but she didn't step back. “We should.”
We stood there for another long moment, neither of us moving, both of us apparently terrible at taking our own advice.
“Cassie,” my voice came out soft.
“Mmm?”
“I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad you're here. And whatever happens tomorrow—we'll handle it together. Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes bright with something that might have been tears or might have been joy. “Okay.”
“Good.” I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Now get some sleep. Doctor's orders.”
She laughed, stepping back finally but keeping her eyes on mine. “Goodnight, Levi.”
“Goodnight, Cassie.”
I watched her disappear into the guest room, listened to the soft sounds of her feet on the floor. Then I went to my own room and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the silence.
Everything had changed tonight. Not just because of the tree or the cottage, but because of that kiss. Because of the way she'd looked at me when she said she was scared of not taking the chance.
I'd been waiting for her to choose—to choose Everwood, to choose staying, to choose me. Maybe that kiss was her way of saying she was ready to stop running from whatever this was between us.
Outside, the blizzard continued to paint the world white, but inside my house, with Cassie in the next room, everything felt different. Right.
The snow had taken down more than just trees and power lines. I hoped it had blown away the last of her doubts, the final barriers between us.
I drifted off to sleep with that thought, and for the first time in months, my dreams were full of possibilities instead of what-ifs.
When I woke, it would be to sunlight streaming through windows and the sound of Cassie in my home and snow blanketing the ground. When I woke, it would be to the beginning of everything I'd been hoping for.