Chapter 9
Faith
The storm has passed.
Morning sunlight pours through the cabin windows, spilling gold across the floorboards, making dust motes dance in the air. It smells like coffee, cedar, and something I'll always think of as him—woodsmoke and winter and warmth.
Beau's already up, stoking the fire even though the room is plenty warm. He's wearing a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still tousled from sleep and my hands.
When he turns and sees me standing in the doorway wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, the slow smile that spreads across his face steals my breath.
"Morning, sunshine."
My heart does a ridiculous little flutter. "You're chipper for someone who claims to hate mornings."
"Guess I'm full of surprises." He crosses the room and hands me a mug of hot coffee. Rough fingers brush mine, linger. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like someone who found the world's coziest cabin," I say, then lower my voice. "And the warmest company."
Color rises in his cheeks—actual color—and I can't help teasing, "Don't tell me the big bad mountain man blushes."
He steps closer, crowding my space in the best possible way, backing me against the doorframe. "Only when the prettiest woman I've ever seen walks out wearing my shirt and looking thoroughly kissed."
My chest tightens with something that feels dangerously like falling.
I've known him barely two days, but the connection between us feels older—like something written in the wood grain of this cabin long before I arrived.
Like the mountain knew we needed each other and conspired to bring us together.
"Do you ever come down to the festival?" I ask, trying to sound casual even as my fingers play with the open collar of his shirt. "You should see the kids open your toys. Their faces light up like—"
He shakes his head, expression clouding slightly. "Never felt like I belonged there."
"Then maybe it's time you do." I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his, feeling the calluses, the strength, the gentleness. "You make the magic, Beau. You deserve to see it."
He studies me for a long moment, eyes searching mine. I can see the war happening behind them—years of isolation battling against something new and fragile. Hope, maybe. The possibility of something more.
"You really think so?"
"I know so." I squeeze his hand. "Besides, I'll be there. You won't be alone."
Something settles in him then, like the click of a lock finally finding its key. Like a decision being made. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead… gentle, reverent, full of promise.
"Then I'll go," he murmurs against my skin. "As long as you're there with me."
I tilt my face up, capture his lips with mine. The kiss is slow and sweet, tasting of coffee and new beginnings. When we break apart, we're both smiling.
"We should probably load up those toys," I say reluctantly. "Now that the storm has passed, the road will be cleared soon, and the festival's tomorrow night."
"Yeah." But he doesn't move, just stands there holding me, like he's memorizing the moment. "Faith?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For barging into my cabin. For not being scared off by my grumpy ass. For reminding me that Christmas isn't just about what you've lost—it's about what you might find."
My throat goes tight with emotion. "You know this doesn't end when the road’s clear, right? You're not getting rid of me that easily."
His arms tighten around me. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go."
We stand there in the doorway, wrapped in each other and morning light, while outside the world glitters with fresh snow and endless possibility.