Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~9 min read
Chapter 28: Six Months
Sloane
*Six months later*
I’m sitting on the newly expanded porch of our cabin—Jackson built an addition over the winter, giving us more space and a covered area where we can sit even when it’s snowing—and I’m filling out paperwork for the ranger station.
My job.
I’m officially a park ranger now, working for the same station that coordinated my rescue. It’s perfect for me—using my organizational skills to help people, coordinating search and rescue operations, educating hikers about wilderness safety. I work three days a week, which gives me time to help Jackson with the cabin and continue learning wilderness skills.
I’m competent now. Really competent. I can chop wood without risking my fingers, start a fire in any weather, track animals, read the landscape, navigate without GPS. Jackson is a patient teacher, and I’m a stubborn student, and together we’ve turned me from a helpless city girl into someone who can actually survive out here.
More than survive. Thrive.
I’m happy.
Genuinely, deeply, bone-deep happy in a way I’ve never been before. My life has purpose now. Meaning. Every day matters because I’m doing work that helps people, because I’m building a life with someone I love, because I’m living authentically instead of just going through the motions.
Jackson comes around the corner of the cabin, axe over his shoulder, and my heart still does that little flip it’s been doing for the past seven months. He’s shirtless despite the spring chill, his skin gleaming with sweat from chopping wood, and I’m reminded all over again why I gave up everything to be here.
“See something you like, park ranger?” he calls out, echoing the words that started everything.
“Maybe,” I say, grinning. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
He sets down the axe and climbs the porch steps, and when he leans down to kiss me, I can taste salt and pine and home.
“How’s the paperwork?” he asks, settling into the chair beside me.
“Tedious but necessary.” I set down my pen. “We’ve got two groups requesting permits for the back country next week. I need to coordinate with Mike about trail conditions.”
“You’re good at this job.”
“I love this job.” It’s true. I never thought I’d find work that felt this meaningful, this connected to something real. “Way better than corporate law.”
“Any regrets?” he asks, and I know he’s not just asking about the job.
He still does this sometimes—checks in, makes sure I’m happy, makes sure I haven’t changed my mind about giving up my old life. The fear is still there, lurking under the surface, but it’s manageable now. Controllable.
“Only that I didn’t meet you sooner,” I say, taking his hand. “That I wasted ten years doing work I hated instead of finding this sooner.”
“You weren’t ready sooner,” he says wisely. “Neither was I. We found each other exactly when we were supposed to.”
“Look at you being all philosophical.”
“I’ve had a good influence.” He pulls me into his lap. “This brilliant, stubborn woman moved into my cabin and taught me how to believe in good things again.”
“I didn’t teach you that. You were always capable of it. You just needed permission to try.”
We sit there for a while, watching Bear chase something through the trees, and I think about how much has changed in six months.
The cabin is bigger now—Jackson spent the winter building an addition that gave us an actual bedroom separate from the main living area, plus storage and a proper mudroom. We even have a small solar shower that works when the sun is out. It’s still rustic, still off-grid, still the kind of life that would make my old colleagues think I’ve lost my mind.
But it’s perfect.
I’ve made friends in town—other rangers, locals who’ve accepted me as one of their own now that they know I’m not just some city girl playing wilderness. Kenzie visited last month and declared the cabin “surprisingly charming for a place with no running water.” My parents are coming in July, nervous but supportive.
I’m building a life here. Not just staying because of Jackson, but actually putting down roots, creating community, finding my place.
“What are you thinking about?” Jackson asks, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“How happy I am. How right this feels. How I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“Not even on days when the outhouse is frozen and you have to melt snow for drinking water?”
“Not even then.” I turn to kiss him. “Because even on the hard days, I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.”
“Good answer.” He stands, carrying me with him. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
He leads me around the cabin to where he’s been working on a project for the past few weeks—a greenhouse. Actual glass panels he hauled up from town, a proper foundation, grow beds already filled with soil.
“For vegetables,” he explains. “So we don’t have to rely entirely on hunting and preserved food. You mentioned missing fresh vegetables, so…”
“You built me a greenhouse.” I’m crying now, happy tears. “You built me a greenhouse because I missed salad.”
“It’s practical,” he says, but I can see the pleased look on his face. “Extends our growing season, gives us more variety. Completely logical.”
“It’s romantic,” I correct. “It’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Really? More romantic than saving your life?”
“That was survival. This is love.” I wrap my arms around him. “This is you listening to me complain about missing vegetables and spending weeks building a solution.”
“I’m still learning how to do the relationship thing,” he admits. “But I figure if I can’t take you to fancy restaurants, the least I can do is make sure you have fresh tomatoes.”
I kiss him thoroughly, and by the time we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I love you,” I say. “I love you and this cabin and this life and the fact that you built me a greenhouse.”
“I love you too.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Thank you for staying. For not giving up when it got hard. For being patient with me learning how to let someone in.”
“Always.” I take his hand. “We’re in this together, remember? For better or worse.”
“That sounds like wedding vows.”
My heart skips. “Does it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can see him working up courage. “What if it was?”
“What if what was?” But I know. I know what he’s asking.
“What if those were our vows? What if we made this official?” His hands are shaking slightly. “I don’t have a ring. I don’t have a romantic plan. I just know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want everyone to know that you chose me and I chose you and we’re building this life together.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” I’m crying again, smiling so hard my face hurts.
“Yeah. I think I am.” He’s smiling too, nervous and hopeful. “Sloane Whitmore, will you marry me? Will you be my wife and my partner and the person I wake up next to for the rest of my life?”
“Yes!” I throw my arms around him. “Yes, absolutely yes!”
He lifts me up, spinning me around, both of us laughing and crying, and Bear runs over barking excitedly like he knows something important just happened.
“I’m going to be terrible at wedding planning,” Jackson warns when he finally sets me down. “I don’t know anything about venues or flowers or—”
“We’ll get married here,” I say immediately. “On this land, with the mountains as our backdrop. Small ceremony. Just the people who matter.”
“That sounds perfect.” He kisses me again. “You sound perfect. This all sounds perfect.”
“It is perfect.” I look around at the cabin, the greenhouse, the wilderness stretching out in every direction. “This whole life is perfect. Not in a storybook way, but in a real, messy, beautiful way. We’re perfect for each other.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “We really are.”
That night, lying in bed with my fiancé (fiancé!), I think about the path that led me here. Getting lost on that hike. Nearly dying from hypothermia. Being rescued by a grumpy mountain man who taught me how to survive.
Falling in love during a blizzard.
Fighting for that love when it seemed impossible.
Choosing this life over everything I thought I wanted.
And I don’t regret a single moment of it.
Not the struggle, not the fear, not the hard days when I questioned if I’d made the right choice.
Because all of it led me here.
To this cabin, this man, this life.
To home.
“What are you thinking about now?” Jackson asks, his arms wrapped around me.
“Just that getting lost in those mountains was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Because you met me?”
“Because I found myself.” I turn to look at him. “And yeah, because I met you. Because you saved me and then gave me the tools to save myself. Because you taught me what living actually feels like.”
“We saved each other,” he corrects gently. “I was just existing before you came along. Surviving. You taught me it was okay to want more than that. To hope for more.”
“Then we’re even.”
“Yeah.” He kisses my temple. “We’re even.”
And I fall asleep engaged to the love of my life, in a cabin in the mountains, with a greenhouse full of vegetable starts and a wolf-dog snoring at our feet.
Living the life I never knew I wanted.
The life I chose.
The life that’s more perfect than any dream I could have imagined.
Home.
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