Chapter Eleven – Michael
Cookie? Michael’s bear asked in disbelief.
“Thanks.” Sarah gave him a bemused smile as she reached into the tin and took one of his homemade cookies. “Did you bake them yourself?”
Michael gave a short laugh. “No, one of my happy customers brings them every year when she comes to choose a tree.”
“That’s cute,” Sarah said as she bit into the soft cinnamon cookie, leaving a crumb on her lip that he longed to brush away.
With his lips.
Michael’s bear huffed with amusement as he watched Sarah eat the cookie. The crumb clung to her lower lip, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to reach across and brush it away.
“I should probably stoke the fire,” he said, needing something to do with his hands before they betrayed him. “It’ll be a while before the storm lets up.”
He moved to the stove and added another log, watching the flames lick at the fresh wood. Heat radiated outward, warming his face as he crouched there, giving himself a moment to regain his composure.
“Is this where you come during storms?” Sarah asked from behind him.
Michael nodded, rising to his feet. “It’s where we shelter when the weather turns. I built it with my dad when I was a teen.” He glanced around the simple space, seeing it through her eyes. “Not much, but it’s sturdy.”
“I like it,” she said, setting down her mug. “It feels...honest.”
The word struck him as perfect. This hut was honest—no pretense, just function and comfort stripped down to essentials.
Like you, his bear added.
Thanks, I think, Michael replied.
A comfortable silence settled between them as the fire crackled. Outside, the wind howled against the windows, but in here, they were cocooned in warmth and flickering light.
“Would you mind if I sat closer to the fire?” Sarah asked, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m still a bit chilled.”
“Of course,” Michael said. He grabbed an old wool blanket from the storage trunk and laid it on the floor near the stove. “This spot gets the best heat.”
Sarah slid from her chair to the blanket, tucking her legs beneath her. Michael hesitated, not wanting to crowd her.
“There’s room for two,” she said, patting the space beside her.
His bear practically purred as Michael settled a respectful distance away, close enough to feel her warmth but not so close that their shoulders touched.
“May I ask you something?” Sarah said, her face half-illuminated by the firelight.
“Anything,” Michael replied, meaning it more than she could know.
“How do you do it? Live so...contentedly out here by yourself?” She gestured vaguely at the window. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”
The question hit closer to home than she realized. Michael considered his answer carefully, watching the flames dance behind the glass door of the stove.
“I’m not exactly alone,” he said. “I have the town, family, friends, the farm.” His bear stirred at the half-truth.
“But yes, sometimes it gets quiet. Too quiet.” He paused, then admitted, “Especially at Christmas. Despite all the hustle and bustle of people coming to choose Christmas trees, when they’re gone, and it’s just me. ..”
Sarah nodded, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Emmy fills that space for me. But after she’s asleep...” She trailed off, not needing to finish.
“That’s when the house feels too quiet,” Michael completed the thought.
“Exactly.” She looked at him with surprise, as if he’d read her mind.
Their gazes held for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. Michael cleared his throat and reached for the mugs.
“More coffee?” he offered.
“Please.”
As he refilled their cups, he noticed her shiver slightly despite the fire’s warmth.
“Still cold?” he asked.
“A bit,” she admitted. “My feet never really warmed up.”
Michael set the mugs down and moved to the trunk again. “I’ve got extra socks. Clean ones,” he added with a small smile.
She laughed, and he cracked a wide grin, liking the sound. “Extra socks would be amazing.”
He handed her a pair of thick wool socks, watching as she pulled them over her own. They were comically large on her, and something about the sight of her feet swimming in his socks made his bear rumble with satisfaction.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.” She wiggled her toes inside the oversized wool. “Thank you.”
When Michael settled back beside her, he found himself sitting closer than before. Their shoulders almost touched now, and he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo...something citrusy with floral notes that evoked a sense of summer.
“You know,” Sarah said, cradling her mug, “this isn’t at all how I expected to spend my morning.”
“Trapped in a cabin during a blizzard?” Michael chuckled.
“Talking,” she clarified. “Really talking. It’s been a while since I’ve done that with anyone besides my mom or Emmy.”
The admission warmed him more than the fire. “I’m glad to be the one you talk to,” he said. “Even if it took a snowstorm to make it happen.”
She smiled at that, her shoulder finally touching his as she shifted slightly. The contact was electric, even through layers of clothing.
“Tell me about the tree farm,” she said. “What’s your favorite part?”
Michael felt himself relax into the conversation. He told her about the first seedlings he’d planted on his own, the satisfaction of watching them grow year after year. He described the quiet mornings when mist hung between the rows, and the way the pines smelled different after rain.
She listened intently, asking questions that showed she was really listening to him. In turn, he learned about her design work. How she’d transitioned from corporate branding to freelance after Emmy was born, finding more joy in crafting materials for small businesses with stories to tell.
The storm continued to rage outside, but neither of them checked the time.
They traded stories and questions, each revelation bringing them a step closer.
When Sarah laughed at his description of James’s failed attempt to operate the tree netter, her whole body leaned into his, and he didn’t pull away.
Eventually, their conversation drifted into comfortable silence. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting a soft orange light across the cabin. Michael added another log, watching as the flames licked at the fresh wood.
“Listen,” Sarah said suddenly, tilting her head.
Michael paused, focusing his attention outward. The howling had stopped. The relentless pounding of snow against the windows had ceased.
“I think the storm’s over,” he said, moving to the window.
Outside, the world had transformed. Everything was coated in pristine white, creating a landscape that looked almost magical in its stillness.
“Come see,” Michael said, his voice low with wonder. Even after all his years in Bear Creek, the first moments after a storm never failed to move him.
Sarah joined him at the window, her shoulder pressing against his arm as she peered out. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Want to see it properly?” Michael asked. “There’s nothing quite like the first steps after a storm.”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes.”
They bundled up quickly, Sarah wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck while Michael checked that the fire was safely banked. He opened the door carefully, revealing a world transformed.
The snow had drifted against the side of the cabin, forming a pristine wall nearly three feet high. Michael stepped out first, his boots crunching through the fresh powder as he created a path.
“It’s deep,” he warned, turning back to offer his hand.
Sarah took it without hesitation, her gloved fingers wrapping around his. He helped her navigate through the doorway and into the snow, steadying her as her feet sank into the powder.
The air was crystalline, so cold it almost hurt to breathe. The pine trees stood like sentinels, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally slipped free in soft plops.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Sarah said, her voice hushed as if speaking too loudly might shatter the perfect stillness.
They walked a few steps from the cabin, their breaths forming clouds in the frigid air. The snow was deeper than Michael had realized, nearly to his knees in places. Sarah struggled slightly, her shorter legs making each step an effort.
“There’s a drift ahead,” Michael said, pointing to where the wind had sculpted the snow into a waist-high wall. “We can go around, or...” He hesitated, then offered, “I could carry you over.”
Sarah looked at him, snowflakes catching in her dark hair. “Carry me?”
“If you’re comfortable with that,” he added quickly. “It would be easier.”
She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
“May I?” he asked, moving closer.
“Yes.”
Michael bent and lifted her carefully, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. She was lighter than he expected, or perhaps it was just that his bear’s strength made the weight insignificant. Her arms went around his neck, her face suddenly very close to his.
He carried her through the deepest part of the drift, conscious of every point where their bodies connected. Her breath was warm against his neck, her trust in him absolute in that moment. His bear hummed with satisfaction.
“Thank you,” she said as he set her down on the other side, her hands lingering on his shoulders.
They stood close, neither stepping away. Michael felt something shift between them.
“Sarah,” he murmured.
“Yes?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Michael leaned down, his heart thundering in his chest. He could feel her breath, warm and sweet, as their faces drew closer. His eyes began to close...
A harsh rumbling sound shattered the silence. The orange beacon of a snowplow flashed through the trees, accompanied by the distinctive diesel growl of James’s truck.
Michael stepped back slightly, not wanting to make Sarah uncomfortable. The moment hadn’t broken completely—he could still feel the tension between them—but the privacy was gone.
James’s snowplow came into view, cutting a clean path through the drifts. The window rolled down, and James leaned out, his grin visible even in the darkness.
“I thought I’d come rescue you!” he called.
As if we needed rescuing, his bear growled.
His bear was right. He didn’t need James to rescue him. Because Sarah had already done just that.