Epilogue 1 - Hannah
Six Months Later
The bell above the door of Wildwood Community Bank chimes for what feels like the hundredth time today, and I look up from the deposit I'm processing to see Mrs. Sophie coming in with her weekly check.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sophie," I say with a smile.
"Morning, dear." She approaches my window, then leans in. "So? How is he?"
I don't need to ask who she means. In the four months I've been working here, this has become our routine. Mrs. Sophie comes in, makes her deposit, and asks about Griffin like he's some kind of cryptid she's been tracking.
"He's good," I say, pulling up her account. "Picked me up last night for dinner at his place."
Her eyes light up. "He came into town? On a Thursday?"
"He's been trying to come down more often." I count out her cash, trying not to smile too wide at the memory of seeing his truck pull up outside my apartment building last night, right on time. "Says he wants to see me more than just weekends."
"Well, I'll be." Mrs. Sophie shakes her head in wonder. "You know, that man hasn't set foot in town more than once a month for near about eight years. Now Diane at the general store says she's seen him three times in the past two weeks."
"Diane needs to mind her business," I say, but there's no heat in it. I've learned that in a town this small, everyone knows everyone's business. It's part of the charm.
Also, part of the reason everyone seems fascinated by the fact that I'm dating Griffin Hale, the mysterious mountain man who built a cabin with his own hands and hasn't had a conversation longer than five words with most people in town.
"How did you do it?" she asks, accepting her receipt. "Get him to open up, I mean. Lord knows plenty of women have tried over the years."
I think about that first morning when he broke into my cabin, all gruff concern and terrible bedside manner. I think about the waterfall and the wood splitting and the way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of broken.
"I didn't do anything," I say honestly. "I just... showed up. And he decided I was worth the effort of trying."
She pats my hand across the counter. "Well, whatever you did, keep doing it. It's good to see him around town more. Good to see him living again instead of just surviving."
After she leaves, I finish out the rest of my shift thinking about how much has changed in six months.
I moved to Wildwood with a single suitcase and a lot of hope. Found this job within a week, turns out small-town banks are always looking for experienced tellers. Rented a tiny studio apartment above the hardware store that was cheap, clean and exactly what I needed.
And for two months, Griffin and I did the long-distance thing.
Well, the forty-minute-distance thing. He'd come down when he could manage it, which wasn't often at first. Once a week, usually for dinner or a quick visit before he had to head back up the mountain.
I'd drive up on weekends, spending Friday night through Sunday afternoon at his cabin, learning everything he could teach me about living off the grid.
It was hard. Not gonna lie. There were nights I cried in my apartment, wondering if this was sustainable, if we were fooling ourselves thinking this could work.
But then he'd show up at my door with wildflowers he picked on the mountain, or I'd wake up in his cabin to the smell of coffee and the sight of him cooking breakfast, and I'd remember why we were trying.
Two months in, he asked me to move in with him.
I said yes without hesitation.
Gave notice on my apartment, packed up my few belongings, and moved up the mountain permanently. Now I make the drive down to town five days a week for work, and he comes down at least twice a week to pick me up, take me to dinner, or just sit with me in my car talking before we head home.
It's not perfect. There are still hard days.
Days when his nightmares are bad and he shuts down, needing space I'm still learning to give.
Days when I miss having people around more than just him and Bear.
Days when the isolation of the mountain presses in and I have to remind myself why I chose this.
But then there are the good days. The great days.
Waking up next to him every morning. Coming home to a fire already built and dinner cooking.
Learning to hunt and fish and all the things he knows like breathing.
Falling asleep in his arms every night, safe and loved and exactly where I'm supposed to be.
The daily sex that keeps getting better and better.
"Hannah?" My coworker Sarah pulls me from my thoughts. "Your two o'clock is here."
I look up and freeze.
Griffin is standing in the bank lobby, looking massive and out of place and slightly uncomfortable in his flannel and jeans. But he's here. In the middle of the day. In the middle of the week.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, coming around the counter.
"Finished the woodshed early," he says gruffly. "Thought I'd come pick you up. Take you to lunch."
Around us, I can feel every single person in the bank staring. This is going to be all over town by dinner.
I don't care.
"I'd love that," I say, grabbing my coat. "Sarah, I'm taking my lunch break."
"Take your time," Sarah says, grinning.
Griffin takes my hand as we leave, and I hear the whispers starting before the door even closes behind us. But I don't care about that either.
Because this man, this gruff, difficult, beautiful man, drove forty minutes down a mountain he hates leaving, just to have lunch with me in the middle of a random Thursday.
And that's worth all the whispers in the world.