Chapter 5
Rosemary
The storm's gone quiet.
Sunlight pours through the small window in soft gold stripes, catching on the dust motes and the curls of smoke from the dying fire.
Rhett’s arm is heavy across my waist, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck.
His skin is warm, rough with calluses earned from years of working with his hands.
I should stay still, soak in this moment, memorize every detail before reality crashes back in.
But my heart's already racing ahead, wondering what comes next. Wondering if there even is a next, or if last night was just a beautiful anomaly. Just two people seeking warmth in a storm.
Last night feels like a fever dream—heat and whispers and the sound of the wind fading into nothing as we burned the rest of the world away. I've never felt so safe and wild at the same time, so completely seen and wanted.
He shifts, murmuring something low and rough with sleep. Then his lips press against my shoulder, the simple gesture sending another tremor through me. "Morning," he rasps.
"Morning," I whisper back, not trusting my voice.
"You sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in a long time." It's the truth. Despite the unfamiliar bed, despite everything, I slept the deep, dreamless sleep of someone who's finally found where they're supposed to be.
He smiles against my skin, and for a heartbeat, it feels easy. Like we've been waking up together forever. Like this is just another morning in a long string of mornings to come.
Then reality slides in like cold air through the cracks in the windowpane.
I have a festival to save. Decorations to hang. A giant Christmas tree still to haul down the mountain. The town will be wondering where I am, if I'm okay, if I've frozen somewhere on a back road.
And he... he doesn't look like a man who leaves his mountain for anything. Last night he told me as much. He's let go of everything except these trees, this cabin, this self-imposed exile.
"I should probably check the road," I say, even though what I mean is I should probably not fall in love with you. Too late for that, though. Way too late.
He sits up, the sheets falling away to reveal the broad expanse of his back, muscles shifting as he reaches for his flannel. "I'll drive you down once it's clear."
The distance in his tone stings more than I expect. Like he's already pulling away, already rebuilding the walls I thought we'd broken through last night. I pull the blanket tighter around myself, trying not to let him see how much it hurts.
"Thanks," I manage, aiming for cheerful and landing somewhere near brittle. "For... you know. Not letting me freeze to death."
His mouth curves, almost teasing, but there's something guarded in his eyes. "Had to keep you alive. Town still needs that festival of yours."
I laugh, but it's thin, shaky. "Yeah. The show must go on."
He stands, pulling on his jeans, and I force myself to look away. To get dressed. To pretend last night didn't rearrange everything inside me.
While he checks the truck outside, I dress in silence—yesterday's clothes that smell like smoke and feel like a costume now. My reflection in the small mirror looks different somehow. Softer around the edges, and brighter.
A woman who's just discovered how dangerous hope can be.
When he comes back in, stomping snow from his boots, his expression is unreadable. "Road's passable. Your car's gonna need a tow, but I can get you down in the truck. Then I’ll come back for the Christmas tree."
"Okay." The word catches in my throat. "That's... okay."
We don't talk much as he loads a few things into the truck. The silence feels heavy, weighted with all the things neither of us is saying. I want to ask if last night meant anything to him. Want to ask if he feels this too—this terrible, wonderful pull that makes leaving feel impossible.
But I don't. Because maybe I don't want to know the answer.
By the time we bump down the mountain road in his pickup, the snow's melting in watery sunlight, dripping from branches like tears. I keep my eyes on the pines, trying not to think about the way his hand brushed mine on the gearshift, or how last night felt like something real, something lasting.
The town appears below us, picture-perfect in the morning light. Church steeples and shop awnings and the square where my festival will be. My life, waiting exactly where I left it.
At the edge of town, he pulls over, engine idling. Through the windshield, I can see people already moving around, hanging garland, testing lights. Life going on like the world didn't shift on its axis last night.
"You sure you're good from here?" Rhett asks, and I hate that he won't look at me.
I nod, throat tight. "Yeah. Thanks for the rescue, Mountain Man."
I reach for the door handle, but his hand catches my wrist—gentle, just like last night. When I turn back, he's finally looking at me, and what I see in his eyes makes my breath catch.
"Rosemary." My name sounds different in his mouth. Precious. "Last night—"
"Was perfect," I finish, because I can't bear to hear him say it was a mistake. "It was perfect, Rhett. And now it's over. I get it."
"Do you?" His thumb traces circles on my pulse point. "Because I don't think I do."
Before I can respond, before I can ask him what he means, a car horn honks behind us. The mayor, pulling up with an anxious expression. Reality, demanding its due.
Rhett releases my wrist slowly, reluctantly. "Go save your festival, Miss Festive."
I force a smile, even as my heart cracks. "What about the tree?"
"I'll bring it down." He tips his hat—half grin, half goodbye. "Promise."
Then he's pulling away, taillights disappearing around the bend, and I'm left standing on the side of the road with melting snow at my feet and the taste of heartbreak on my tongue.
The mayor pulls up beside me, window rolling down. "Rosemary! We've been trying to call you. Are you okay? Where's your car?"
"Long story," I say, climbing into his heated sedan. "But I'm fine. And we're getting our tree."
As we drive toward town, I keep my eyes forward. I don't let myself look back at the mountain, at the cabin I can't see from here but can feel in every atom of my being.
And I definitely don't let myself cry.