Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~6 min read
The storm breaks on day five.
Iris wakes to sunlight. Actual sunlight.
The world outside is white and sparkling. Beautiful.
Still snowed in. But at least it’s not actively snowing.
Progress.
Her phone buzzes. Signal’s back.
Messages flood in.
Skye: ARE YOU ALIVE???
Grant: This is why you should have let me come with you.
Her followers: WHERE ARE YOU? We need content!
Iris types responses. Reassuring everyone she’s fine.
But she doesn’t mention Beck.
Doesn’t mention how she’s needed rescue multiple times.
Doesn’t mention that she’s starting to not hate it here.
That feels too complicated to explain.
Beck shows up mid-morning.
Doesn’t knock. Just walks in with tools.
“Water pump needs maintenance. Roof has a weak spot. And you need to learn basic repairs.”
“Good morning to you too.”
He grunts.
She’s learning that’s his version of pleasantries.
“I can’t keep fixing things for you. You need to learn.”
“I’m willing to learn.”
“Good. Let’s start with the pump.”
He leads her to the crawl space under the cabin.
It’s cramped. Dark. Slightly terrifying.
“This is the pump. Pulls water from the well. Needs to be bled monthly or it seizes.”
He shows her the process. Patient. Thorough.
Iris tries to pay attention.
But she’s distracted by his hands. Large. Capable. Scarred.
Hands that know how to fix things. Build things.
Hands that look like they could—
Focus, Iris.
“You try,” Beck says.
She does. Fumbles. Gets it wrong.
He guides her hands. Shows her again.
His touch is brief. Professional.
But Iris feels it everywhere.
“Better,” he says. “Again.”
This time, she gets it right.
Small victory.
They move to the roof.
Beck climbs up easily. Iris follows less gracefully.
The view from up here is breathtaking.
Mountains in every direction. Forest stretching endlessly.
“This is what Margaret loved,” Beck says. “The perspective. Seeing how big the world is. How small our problems are in comparison.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
They patch the weak spot together.
Beck explaining each step. Iris trying not to mess up.
“You’re not bad at this,” he admits.
“Was that another compliment?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
But he’s almost smiling.
She’s keeping score. That’s three almost-smiles this week.
Progress.
That afternoon, a bear appears.
Iris is taking out trash when she sees it.
Massive. Brown. Terrifying.
Standing between her and the cabin.
She freezes.
Every nature documentary she’s ever ignored comes flooding back.
Don’t run. Make yourself big. Back away slowly.
Or is that mountain lions?
The bear sniffs the trash bag.
Iris stands very still.
Barely breathing.
The bear looks at her.
Iris considers her life choices.
Coming to Montana. Definitely a mistake.
Then Beck appears.
From nowhere. Like he materializes from trees.
“Hey! Get out of here!”
He bangs pots together. Makes noise.
The bear startles. Lumbers away into the forest.
Beck turns to Iris.
“You okay?”
She nods. Can’t speak yet.
“You did good. Didn’t run. Didn’t scream. That was smart.”
“I was too terrified to move.”
“Same result.”
He takes the trash bag. Secures it in a bear-proof container.
“You need one of these. Bears smell garbage from miles away.”
“Noted. Buy bear-proof container. Add to list of things I didn’t know I needed.”
“Montana survival. Lesson three.”
“What were lessons one and two?”
“Don’t freeze to death. Don’t die of thirst.”
“Those were lessons? I thought those were just Tuesday.”
Beck actually laughs.
It’s brief. Surprised. Like he didn’t expect it.
But it’s a real laugh.
Iris counts it as a major victory.
That evening, Beck stays for dinner.
Iris cooks. Pasta with the vegetables he brought.
It’s not fancy. But it’s edible.
They eat by the fire.
“Tell me about Anna,” Iris says.
Beck stiffens.
“Sorry. If that’s too personal—”
“No. It’s fine. Just… no one asks about her anymore.”
“You don’t have to—”
“She was a climber. Photographer. Loved the mountains more than anyone I’ve ever met. We were planning to get married in the summer.”
“What happened?”
“Avalanche. February five years ago. We were backcountry skiing. I told her the conditions were bad. She wanted to go anyway. Said I worried too much.”
His voice is flat. Emotionless.
The kind of flat that means feeling too much underneath.
“She was ahead of me when it happened. I saw the whole thing. Watched her disappear under the snow. I was search-and-rescue. Trained for exactly this situation. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t find her in time.”
“Beck—”
“They found her body three days later. I quit SAR the next week. Moved up here. Stopped… living. Just existing.”
Iris doesn’t know what to say.
What do you say to that level of pain?
“I’m sorry” feels inadequate.
But it’s all she has.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Still. That’s… I can’t imagine.”
“I hope you never have to.”
They sit in silence.
The fire crackles. Wind moves through trees outside.
Finally, Beck speaks.
“Margaret helped. After Anna died. She didn’t try to fix me. Didn’t offer platitudes. Just… existed nearby. Let me grieve without expectations. That meant everything.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was. You would have liked her. She would have liked you.”
“You think?”
“You’re both stubborn as hell. Both running from something. Both pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
“I’m not running from anything.”
Beck gives her a look.
“You moved to Seattle from where?”
“Portland. But that was for college—”
“And your family?”
“We’re not close.”
“Why not?”
“That’s complicated.”
“Most family things are.”
Iris considers deflecting.
But Beck just shared his deepest pain.
She owes him honesty.
“My dad left when I was eight. My mom remarried when I was ten. My stepdad was… not great. Not abusive. Just indifferent. I raised myself. Got out as soon as I could. Haven’t looked back.”
“That’s running.”
“That’s surviving.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
He’s not wrong.
“Is that what you’re doing? Surviving?”
“I’m trying. Some days are easier than others.”
“Today?”
“Today was okay. Good, even.”
He looks at her when he says it.
And Iris feels something shift.
Something dangerous.
Something she should probably ignore.
But doesn’t want to.
Beck leaves before it gets too late.
But he lingers at the door.
“You did good today. Learning the repairs. Handling the bear. You’re adapting.”
“High praise from the mountain man.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. Again.”
He shakes his head. But he’s smiling.
A real smile this time.
Not almost. Actually.
And Iris’s heart does something stupid.
Flutters. Jumps. Responds.
No.
Absolutely not.
She’s not developing feelings for the grumpy hermit.
That would be ridiculous.
She’s leaving as soon as roads clear.
This is temporary.
He’s temporary.
She needs to remember that.
Even as he walks away into the dark.
Even as she watches him go.
Even as she already looks forward to seeing him tomorrow.
This is just isolation. Proximity. Stockholm syndrome.
Not real feelings.
Definitely not real feelings.
She tells herself that.
Almost believes it.
Almost.
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