Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~8 min read
The storm warning comes on a Tuesday.
Beck shows up with supplies.
“Big one coming. Supposed to last three days. I’m staying.”
Not asking. Informing.
“You don’t have to—”
“I do. Your cabin’s older than mine. If something fails, you’ll need help. I’m staying.”
There’s no arguing with that tone.
Also, Iris doesn’t want to argue.
Three days trapped with Beck?
Terrifying.
And exactly what she wants.
“Okay. Stay.”
He brings in firewood. Food. Emergency supplies.
Prepares like he’s done this a hundred times.
Because he has.
Iris helps. Learning his system.
They work well together.
That’s becoming clear.
Different skills. Same goal.
Complementary.
The storm hits that afternoon.
Wind screaming. Snow horizontal. Visibility zero.
The cabin shakes.
Iris watches through the window.
“It’s like the world’s ending.”
“Just Montana winter. You get used to it.”
“Do you?”
“Eventually.”
Beck’s checking systems. Generator. Water. Heat.
Everything’s functioning.
“We’re good for three days. Maybe more if we ration.”
“Ration what?”
“Firewood. Food. Patience.”
He’s smiling.
Iris relaxes slightly.
If Beck’s not worried, she won’t be either.
They fall into routine quickly.
Beck cooks dinner. Venison stew again. He’s perfected it.
Iris sets the table. Pours wine.
They eat by the fire.
The storm raging outside.
Safe and warm inside.
It feels domestic.
Couple-like.
Iris tries not to read too much into it.
Fails.
“Tell me about your life before Montana,” Beck says. “The whole story. Not just the highlights.”
So she does.
Tells him about Portland. Difficult childhood. Absent father. Indifferent stepfather. Mother who meant well but didn’t understand.
About escaping to college. Building her blog. Creating a life on her terms.
About relationships that never quite worked. Grant and the others. Always holding back. Never fully committing.
“Why not?” Beck asks.
“Fear, mostly. That if I gave everything, it wouldn’t be enough. That I’d lose myself. That I’d end up like my mother. Compromised and resentful.”
“So you kept things casual.”
“Always. Safer that way.”
“Is it? Safer?”
“I thought so. Now I’m not sure.”
Beck understands.
She can see it in his expression.
“I did the opposite,” he says. “Gave everything to Anna. Completely. No holding back. And when I lost her, I lost myself too.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No. Loving her fully was worth the pain. I just… haven’t been able to do it again.”
“Until now?”
The question hangs.
Beck looks at her.
“I’m trying. That’s all I can promise.”
“That’s enough.”
They read after dinner.
Iris with Margaret’s journals. Beck with a worn paperback.
Sitting on opposite ends of the couch.
Comfortable silence.
The fire crackling. Wind howling. Snow piling up outside.
Cozy.
That’s the word.
Iris feels cozy.
When’s the last time she felt this?
She can’t remember.
Seattle was busy. Stimulating. Exciting.
But not cozy.
Never peaceful.
Here, with Beck, she feels both.
And it’s addictive.
Bedtime is awkward.
“You take the loft,” Iris offers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not taking your bed.”
“You’re the guest.”
“I’m the one who invited himself. Couch is fine.”
They stare at each other.
Stubborn.
“The bed’s big enough for both of us,” Iris says. “If you’re comfortable with that.”
Beck hesitates.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Lie.
She’s not comfortable. She’s terrified.
Sleeping next to Beck?
Her self-control is already strained.
But it’s practical.
The couch is small. Uncomfortable.
Three days is a long time.
“Okay,” Beck agrees. “But I’m staying on my side.”
“Obviously.”
Obviously.
They change in separate areas.
Brush teeth. Prepare for bed.
Like a married couple.
The thought makes Iris’s chest tight.
She climbs into bed first.
Stays far to one side.
Beck joins her.
Carefully. Maintaining distance.
The bed suddenly feels very small.
“Goodnight,” Iris says.
“Goodnight.”
They lie in the dark.
Not touching.
Barely breathing.
This is torture.
Sweet, excruciating torture.
Iris wakes in the night.
Storm still raging.
And she’s cold.
The fire must have burned down.
She shivers.
Beck stirs.
“You okay?”
“Just cold.”
“Come here.”
He pulls her close.
Body heat. Practical.
Survival.
That’s all this is.
Iris settles against him.
His chest warm. Arms solid.
This is nice.
More than nice.
Perfect.
She falls asleep like that.
Safe.
Warm.
Exactly where she wants to be.
Morning.
They wake tangled together.
Iris’s head on Beck’s chest.
His arm around her waist.
For a moment, neither moves.
Just exists in the warmth.
The comfort.
Then reality intrudes.
They pull apart.
Awkward.
“Sorry,” Iris mumbles.
“Don’t be. You were cold.”
“Right. Cold.”
They get up.
Avoid eye contact.
This is fine.
Everything’s fine.
Except it’s not.
Because Iris wants more.
More touching. More closeness. More everything.
And she’s pretty sure Beck does too.
Day two of the storm.
They’re more relaxed.
Cook together. Clean together. Exist together.
Beck teaches her card games.
She teaches him to appreciate reality TV. Badly downloaded episodes on her laptop.
“This is terrible,” he says.
“It’s amazing. Watch.”
He watches.
Gets invested despite himself.
“Wait, she’s choosing him? After what he did?”
“Right? Drama.”
“This is ridiculous.”
But he keeps watching.
And Iris keeps smiling.
That night, they don’t discuss sleeping arrangements.
Just go to bed.
Together.
Like it’s normal.
And maybe it is.
Their new normal.
They lie in the dark.
Talking quietly.
About everything. Nothing.
Beck tells her about growing up in Wyoming. Small town. Big family. Leaving for college. Finding search and rescue.
Iris tells him about building her blog. The pressure. The performance. The emptiness underneath.
“Do you want to go back?” Beck asks. “To that life?”
“I don’t know. Parts of it. The work. The creativity. The connection with followers. But not the performance. Not the constant pressure to be ‘on.'”
“Could you do it differently? From here?”
From here.
The assumption that she might stay.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Could that work?”
“People work remotely. Why not you?”
“It’s not just work. It’s my whole life. Friends. Apartment. Identity.”
“Identity can change.”
“Can it?”
“You’re not the same person who arrived a month ago.”
He’s right.
She’s different.
Stronger. Calmer. More herself.
“Are you glad I stayed?” she asks.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“Even though I’m disrupting your hermit lifestyle?”
“Especially because of that.”
He shifts closer.
They’re facing each other now.
Inches apart.
“Iris—”
“Don’t. Don’t pull away this time.”
“I’m not. I’m just… scared.”
“Me too.”
“Of what?”
“That this is real. That it matters. That I’ll screw it up.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you. That’s enough.”
He kisses her.
Finally.
Soft. Tentative. Testing.
Iris kisses back.
Not tentative.
Certain.
This. She wants this.
Beck pulls her closer.
Deepens the kiss.
And everything else fades.
The storm. The fear. The complications.
Just this.
Just them.
Finally.
They break apart.
Breathing hard.
“We should stop,” Beck says.
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
She kisses him again.
And this time, he doesn’t hold back.
Hands in her hair. Mouth on hers.
Years of loneliness melting.
Iris has never felt like this.
Wanted. Needed. Seen.
Not performing. Not pretending.
Just being.
With someone who knows her.
The real her.
And wants her anyway.
They make love.
Slow. Careful. Reverent.
Like something precious.
Because it is.
First time for both of them.
In different ways.
Beck’s first time since Anna.
Iris’s first time feeling this much.
It’s overwhelming.
Perfect.
Terrifying.
And absolutely right.
After.
They lie tangled together.
Sweaty. Sated. Stunned.
“That was—” Iris starts.
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
Beck pulls her closer.
“More than okay. Terrified. But okay.”
“Terrified of what?”
“How much I feel. How much I want this. You. All of it.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s dangerous. I swore I wouldn’t do this again. Care this much. Risk this much. But here we are.”
“Here we are.”
Iris kisses his shoulder.
“I’m scared too. But I’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I.”
They fall asleep like that.
Wrapped around each other.
Hearts racing.
Both knowing everything just changed.
For better or worse.
Time will tell.
Day three.
The storm breaks.
Sun streams through windows.
Blinding after days of darkness.
They wake slowly.
Realize what they’ve done.
Where they are.
“Morning,” Beck says.
“Morning.”
Awkward.
But also… not?
They had sex.
Changed everything.
And the world didn’t end.
“How are you feeling?” Iris asks.
“Honestly? Happy. Scared. But mostly happy.”
“Same.”
They get up.
Make coffee.
Move around each other easily.
Nothing’s different.
Everything’s different.
Beck has to go.
Check his cabin. Make sure everything survived.
“I’ll be back tonight,” he says. “If that’s okay.”
“More than okay.”
He kisses her.
Soft. Sweet. Promising.
“This is real, right? Not just cabin fever?”
“It’s real.”
“Good. Because I’m all in. If you are.”
“I’m all in.”
He leaves.
And Iris stands in the cabin.
Sun shining. Snow sparkling.
World remade.
She’s all in.
With Beck.
With Montana.
With this life she never planned.
And for the first time in forever, she’s not scared.
She’s hopeful.
Excited.
Ready.
For whatever comes next.
Together.
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