Chapter 10
Tessa woke to the soft sound of voices drifting down the hallway. She blinked at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented by the familiarity of her childhood bedroom. The pale winter sunlight filtered through the curtains. She sat up and stretched.
Fourteen days. She’d been back in Sweet River Falls for two whole weeks now.
The realization startled her. Somehow, the time had slipped by in a rhythm that felt both foreign and strangely comfortable.
Each morning, she checked her father’s vitals and medications.
Each afternoon, she found herself either helping with small tasks around town or reading in the quiet of the living room. And each evening...
Each evening, she and Beckett ended up by the fireplace, talking until the embers died down.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, surprised at how easily she’d fallen into this pattern.
In Denver, her life had been a constant rush of emergencies and overtime shifts, collapsing into bed only to wake and do it all again.
Here, time moved differently. The pace was slower, but somehow she felt more awake than she had in years.
She found her father and Beckett at the kitchen table, the paper spread between them.
“Morning,” she said, heading for the coffee pot.
Her father looked up, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “There you are. Been wondering when you’d join the land of the living.”
The comment might have stung a week ago, but she’d begun to recognize the gruff affection beneath her father’s words. “It’s barely eight o’clock, Dad.”
“Eight-fifteen,” he corrected, tapping his watch. “Beckett’s already fixed the loose step on the back porch and cleared the walkway.”
“Sorry, I missed all the excitement,” she said, but without the edge that would have colored her words when she first arrived.
Beckett glanced up from the paper, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry. I saved some excitement for you. The kitchen sink is still dripping. And we need a five-letter word for happy.” He motioned to the crossword puzzle in the paper.
“Jolly.”
Her father shook his head.
“Merry.”
“That works.” Her father scribbled the answer on the puzzle.
She found herself smiling as she poured her coffee. This too had become part of their routine, the gentle teasing and the way Beckett deflected her father’s occasional sharpness.
Later, Beckett went out to run errands, and she cleaned up the cottage, then settled down to read her book. Beckett came back to the cabin, stamping the snow off his boots. “Coming down hard now. Main Street is emptying out. People are heading home. Kind of pretty out, though.”
Her father got up and looked out the window. “Looks like at least seven or eight more inches since this morning. It’s perfect for walking the River Walk.”
She frowned. “You want to walk the River Walk? Dad, I don’t think that’s a good idea yet. Your blood pressure—”
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “Not me. You two. You and Beckett.”
The suggestion hung in the air. She glanced at Beckett, whose expression remained carefully neutral.
“I used to take you when you were little,” her father continued, his voice softening with memory. “After a fresh snow. You’d run ahead, making those little footprints all over the pristine white.”
Something caught in her throat. She remembered those walks, her mother bundling her in a red coat and matching mittens, her father lifting her onto his shoulders when her legs grew tired.
“I don’t know, Dad. I should probably stay here with you.”
Her father fixed her with a look. “I’m not an invalid, Tessa. Doc says I’m making good progress. Besides, Ronnie’s coming over to play cards. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Ronnie from the B&B? I met his wife, Lucy, when we were working on the food baskets. But since when do you play cards with Ronnie?”
“Since I got tired of losing to Beckett,” her father said with a wry smile. “Go on. Fresh air will do you good.”
She looked at Beckett again. “What do you think?”
“I think the River Walk is beautiful after a fresh snow.”
A half-hour later, bundled in a coat and scarf, she walked beside Beckett. He had been right. It appeared most people had cleared out of town and headed back to their homes to wait out the storm. Annie had even closed Bookish Cafe early.
They walked along the path that wound behind Main Street. The River Walk had changed since her childhood, with new benches and decorative lights strung through the trees, but the rushing water of Sweet River remained the same, partially frozen at the edges, flowing strong in the center.
Their boots crunched in the untouched snow. She breathed deeply, the cold air sharp in her lungs.
“Dad was right. This is perfect.”
He nodded, his breath forming clouds in the air. “I come here a lot. To think.”
“What do you think about?” The question slipped out before she could consider it.
He was quiet for a long moment, and she wondered if she’d crossed some invisible line. But then he spoke, his voice low and steady.
“Everything. The past. The future. How different they look from what I expected.”
She nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. “I never expected to be back here. I was so sure I’d built the perfect life in Denver.”
“And had you?”
The question was gentle, but it hit her hard. Had she? The long shifts, the empty apartment, and the growing sense of disconnect from her patients and colleagues...
“I thought I had.” She shrugged. “Until I didn’t.”
They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the rushing water beside them. Ahead, the path curved around a stand of pines, their branches heavy with white.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
He nodded.
“How did you... I mean, after everything that happened to you, how did you find your way back?”
He considered her question carefully. “In prison, I had a lot of time to think. Too much, sometimes. I was angry at first. At my friend, at the system, and at myself most of all.”
“What changed?”
“There was a woodworking program taught by an old man named Joe. He’d been a master carpenter before he retired. Volunteered at the prison twice a week.”
They reached a bench overlooking a small bend in the river. Beckett brushed away the snow and gestured for her to sit. The wood was cold beneath her, but the view was worth it, the mountains rising beyond the town, majestic and eternal.
“Joe taught me how to see the potential in a piece of wood. How to be patient and to work with the grain instead of against it. He used to say that every mistake was just an opportunity to create something different than what you planned.”
“Sounds like a wise man.”
“He was. He also told me that forgiveness wasn’t about the other person. It was about freeing yourself.” He paused and looked out at the river. “That was harder to learn than the woodworking.”
Snowflakes drifted down around them. One landed on her eyelash, and she blinked it away. “Have you? Forgiven yourself?”
“Some days. Other days, I still wonder what my life would have been if I’d made different choices. If I hadn’t gotten in that car.”
The vulnerability in his admission touched something in her. Here was someone who understood what it meant to question the path you’d taken and wonder about the roads not traveled.
“I think about my past every day,” he added quietly. “Not just the bad parts, but all of it. The good choices, the bad ones. The people who helped me, and the ones who didn’t. It’s all part of who I am now.”
She nodded, watching the snowflakes disappear into the rushing water. “I used to be so sure about who I was. Tessa Grant, ER nurse. Responsible. Reliable. Always the one who could handle the crisis.”
“And now?”
She pulled her scarf tighter. “Now I’m not sure who I am without work and responsibility. I’ve built my whole identity around being needed and being the capable one. And then suddenly...”
“Suddenly what?”
She hadn’t told anyone about the panic attacks. To her co-workers, she’d cited exhaustion, burnout, and the standard excuses that wouldn’t raise too many questions. But sitting here with Beckett, with the snow falling around them and no expectations pressing down, the truth felt less frightening.
“I started having panic attacks.” The words came out in a rush. “At work. The first one happened during a trauma case. Multiple car accident, three critical patients. The kind of situation I’d handled dozens of times before.”
She stared at her gloved hands. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Had to hide in the supply closet until it passed. After that, they kept happening. My hands would shake when I tried to insert IVs. I’d forget basic protocols I’d known for years.”
Saying it aloud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before, even to herself. “I’m not sure I can go back to ER work. And if I can’t do that... I don’t know who I am.”
The confession hung between them, as real as the snowflakes drifting down. She waited for the judgment, the platitudes, and the well-meaning advice she’d expected from anyone she told.
Instead, he simply nodded. “I understand that. When everything you thought defined you is suddenly gone, it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff.”
“Exactly,” she whispered, relief washing through her at being understood.
“But maybe…” He paused and looked at her. “There’s freedom in that too. In being able to redefine yourself.”
She considered his words. “Is that what you did?”
“I’m still doing it. Every day. Some days are better than others.”
A cardinal landed on a branch nearby, dislodging a small shower of snow. They both watched as it flitted away, leaving the branch bobbing gently.
“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?” he asked.
She nodded, touched by his willingness to share with her.
“When I first got out, I was terrified of open spaces. Sounds strange, I know, but after fifteen years of walls and fences and limited horizons... suddenly having all that space, all those choices, it was overwhelming.”
“What did you do?”
“I found one small thing I could manage each day. Making my bed. Walking to the end of the block and back. Cooking a meal from scratch.” He smiled slightly. “Gradually, the world got bigger, and I got braver.”
She thought about her own fears, how overwhelming the hospital had become, how even the thought of returning made her heart race. “One small thing at a time,” she repeated.
“It’s not a cure, but it helps.”
They sat in companionable silence as the snow continued to fall, dusting their shoulders and hair.
She found herself studying Beckett’s profile, the strong line of his jaw, and the thoughtfulness in his eyes.
How strange that this man, whom she’d initially resented as an intruder in her father’s house, now felt like the person who best understood her.
“We should head back,” she said eventually. “Before Dad sends out a search party.”
He stood and offered his hand. She took it, surprised by the warmth that spread through her gloved fingers at his touch. He helped her up, and for a moment, they stood close enough that she could see the individual snowflakes landing on his shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For listening. For understanding. For not trying to fix me.”
Something shifted in his expression, a softening around the eyes. “You don’t need fixing, Tessa.”
The walk back was quieter, but the silence felt comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding rather than awkwardness.
The snow fell heavier now, transforming Sweet River Falls into a winter wonderland.
Christmas lights twinkled from shop windows, and the scent of pine and smoke from the chimneys filled the air.
As they approached her father’s house, she realized she felt lighter somehow, as if sharing her fears had diminished their power.
The panic that had been her constant companion in Denver seemed distant here, replaced by something she couldn’t quite name.
Not happiness exactly, but perhaps the possibility of it.
Through the window of the cabin, she could see her father laughing at something, cards spread on the table between him and Ronnie. The sight warmed her more than she expected.
“They seem to be having fun,” she observed.
He nodded. “Your dad and Ronnie seem to really enjoy their card nights.”
They stood at the edge of the yard, snow gathering on their shoulders, neither quite ready to go inside and break the spell of understanding that had formed between them.
“Do you think you’ll stay in Sweet River Falls?” she asked suddenly. “After your program ends?”
He brushed snow from his sleeve, considering. “I’d like to. It feels like somewhere I could belong.” He looked at her. “What about you? Will you go back to Denver?”
The question caught her off guard. A week ago, she would have answered without hesitation. Of course, she would go back. Her life was there, her career, her apartment. But now...
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. Now I’m not so sure.”
He nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Sometimes the hardest paths to see are the ones right in front of us.”
A gust of wind swirled snow around them, and she shivered despite her layers.
“We should go in. You’re cold.”
“Just a minute more.” She wanted to hold onto this moment, this connection, for just a little longer. “It’s beautiful out here.”
And it was. The snow-covered yard, the lights glowing from within the house, and the mountains rising beyond the town, solid and reassuring. For the first time since arriving in Sweet River Falls, she felt something like peace settle over her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
She turned to him. “That I’m glad I came home.” She surprised herself with the truth of it. “Even if I didn’t want to at first.”
Something warm flickered in his eyes. “I’m glad you did too.”
For a moment, she thought he might reach for her hand again, and part of her hoped he would. Instead, he gestured toward the house. “Shall we?”
As they walked up the steps to the front door, their footprints side by side in the fresh snow, she realized she had found something unexpected. She had found a connection with someone who saw her clearly, flaws and fears and all, and still wanted to walk beside her.