Updated Jan 14, 2026 • ~8 min read
POV: Hailey
Six Weeks Later, Mid-December
“So you’re spending Christmas in Montana. With the mountain man.” Victoria said it like an accusation.
“With Reid, yes. And with Morgan and Parker. It’s—it’s been planned for weeks.”
“And you can’t change it? The Harrison wedding is Christmas Eve. High-profile client. Major opportunity.”
“You have three other planners who can handle it. Amanda would love the exposure—”
“I don’t want Amanda. I want you. You’re my Creative Director now. Act like it.”
I held the phone away from my ear, counted to five, tried not to scream.
Six weeks as Creative Director and I’d learned: the promotion was a trap.
More work. More pressure. More performing. Less time. Less life. Less—
Less everything except stress and obligation and the constant feeling that I wasn’t enough.
“Victoria, I’m taking the time off. I put in for it two months ago. It’s approved. I’m going.”
“Fine. But we’re discussing your commitment when you’re back.”
She hung up.
I sat in my tiny apartment, surrounded by work I’d brought home, and thought:
I hate this.
The promotion I’d wanted for years. The validation I’d chased. The proof I was worth keeping.
I hated it.
Because it wasn’t real. Wasn’t meaningful. Wasn’t—
Wasn’t home.
My phone buzzed. Reid: You okay? Feel like you’re stressed.
How did he know? We’d talked this morning but I’d performed my usual “everything’s fine” routine.
Me: Victoria’s being difficult about Christmas. But I’m still coming. Nothing’s stopping me from coming home.
I stared at what I’d written.
Home.
I’d called Pine Ridge home.
When had that happened?
Reid: Good. Because I miss you. And Rose has been planning Christmas dinner for three weeks. She’ll be devastated if you don’t come eat her cookies.
Me: Just for the cookies?
Reid: The cookies and maybe me. But mostly cookies.
Me: Liar. You miss me.
Reid: Every day. Every hour. Every minute. It’s disgusting how much I miss you.
Me: Same. Three more days and I’m there. Three more days and we have TWO WHOLE WEEKS together.
Reid: Best Christmas gift ever.
Me: You’re such a sap now. What happened to my grumpy mountain man?
Reid: You happened. You made me sappy. I blame you entirely.
Me: Good. I like you sappy.
Reid: I like you period. Now finish your work so you can get here faster. I’m counting down.
Me: Me too. Love you.
Reid: Love you too.
I stared at my laptop—at the work Victoria expected finished before I left—and made a decision.
I was going. Tomorrow. Work could wait.
Victoria could wait.
This job that made me miserable could wait.
Because Reid was right. I’d been counting down. Six weeks since his surprise visit. Six weeks of phone calls and texts and missing him desperately. Six weeks of realizing—
Realizing Seattle wasn’t home anymore.
Reid was home. Pine Ridge was home. The life I’d built there—in four days during a storm—felt more real than three years in Seattle.
That should have been terrifying.
Instead it was—clarifying.
I left Thursday morning instead of Friday night. Drove through two states thinking about home and Reid and the impossible choice building in my chest.
Stay in Seattle with the job that was killing me slowly?
Or risk everything for a small-town life with a man I’d known three months?
Ridiculous. Impulsive. Crazy.
But also—maybe the sanest thing I’d considered in years.
I pulled into Pine Ridge at 6 PM, went straight to Reid’s cabin instead of the inn. Couldn’t wait. Needed to see him now.
His truck was there. Lights on. Smoke from the chimney.
Home.
I knocked, heard his footsteps, saw his face when he opened the door—
Shock. Joy. Love. Everything.
“You’re early,” he said.
“I couldn’t wait.”
He pulled me inside, kissed me like I’d been gone years instead of weeks, and I felt everything settle.
This. This was right. This was home. This was—
This was where I belonged.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said between kisses. “I missed you so much. Six weeks is too long. We can’t do six weeks again.”
“Agreed. Never again. I vote for—for zero weeks apart. Just—together. Always.”
He pulled back slightly, studying my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just—I’m happy. Really happy. For the first time in weeks I’m—” My voice caught. “I’m home.”
His expression softened. Understood. “Yeah. You are. Welcome home, Hailey.”
I cried then. Relief and joy and exhaustion and—
And the realization that this small cabin on a mountain felt more like home than anywhere I’d ever lived.
He held me while I broke, like he had during the storm, and whispered: “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“I hate my job,” I said into his chest. “I hate Seattle. I hate—I hate performing all the time. I hate being Creative Director. I hate—”
“Hey. Breathe. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I worked for years for this promotion and now I have it and I hate it. What does that say about me? That I’m—that I’m ungrateful? Spoiled? That—”
“That you chased the wrong thing,” he said gently. “That you thought the promotion would fix something it can’t fix. That’s not ungrateful. That’s—that’s human.”
“What do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
I pulled back, looked at him—at this man who’d become everything in three months—and said the truth:
“I want to stay here. I want—I want to quit my job and move to Pine Ridge and be with you and figure out what I actually want instead of what I think I’m supposed to want. I want—I want to stop performing and start living. I want—”
“You want to come home,” he finished.
“Yeah. But that’s crazy, right? We’ve known each other three months. People don’t just quit their jobs and move across states for someone they’ve known three months. That’s—that’s impulsive and reckless and—”
“And brave,” Reid said. “And honest. And exactly what you should do if it’s what you really want.”
“You think I should quit my job?”
“I think you should do what makes you happy. And if Seattle isn’t making you happy—if that job is killing you—then yeah. Quit. Move here. Figure out what you actually want. Build—build something real instead of performing success.”
“But what would I do here? There’s no event planning in Pine Ridge.”
“So do something else. Or do event planning remotely. Destination weddings. You could—you could build your own business. On your terms. Planning events you actually care about instead of whatever Victoria assigns.”
I stared at him. That idea—building my own business—had never occurred to me.
But it was brilliant.
“I could do that,” I said slowly. “I could—I could start small. Plan Morgan-sized weddings. Intimate events. Meaningful ones. Not—not corporate galas and society weddings. Just—real celebrations for real people.”
“Exactly.”
“And I could live here. With you. We could—we could build a life together. For real. Not long-distance. Not temporary. Just—us.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes. God, yes. But Reid—” I stopped. “Are you sure? That’s a lot. Me moving here. Us living together. Building a life. That’s—that’s big.”
“I’m sure. I’ve been sure since you left. I’ve spent six weeks missing you and realizing—realizing isolation isn’t what I want anymore. You’re what I want. This—us together—that’s what I want. So if you want to move here, if you want to build a life here—yes. A thousand times yes.”
“Even though we’ve only known each other three months?”
“I knew I loved you after four days. Three months is plenty of time to know I want forever.”
Forever. He’d said forever.
“I love you,” I said. “I love you so much. And I want—I want forever too. I want to come home. For real. Permanently. I want—I want this.”
He kissed me again—soft and sweet and promise-filled.
“Then do it. Quit your job. Move here. Build your business. Build—build our life. Together. However that looks. Wherever that goes. Just—together.”
“Together,” I repeated. Testing the word. The promise. The future.
It felt right. More right than anything had felt in years.
“I’ll give notice after Christmas,” I decided. “Two weeks. Then I’ll—I’ll come home. For real. Forever.”
“Best Christmas present ever,” he said.
“Better than Rose’s cookies?”
“So much better than Rose’s cookies.”
I laughed—real laughter, unguarded—and felt something I hadn’t felt in months:
Hope. Real hope. For a future that wasn’t about performing or proving or perfecting.
A future that was just—living. With Reid. In Pine Ridge. Building something real.
That was worth quitting for.
Worth risking everything for.
Worth—
Worth coming home for.
Finally.
Completely.
Forever.
This was home.
He was home.
And I was done pretending anywhere else could be.
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