Updated Jan 14, 2026 • ~11 min read
POV: Reid
I woke to sunlight.
Actual sunlight. Streaming through the windows. No gray. No white-out conditions. Just—light.
The storm had broken.
I should’ve felt relieved. Should’ve been glad to have my solitude back. Should’ve—
Should’ve wanted her gone.
I didn’t.
Hailey was still asleep, curled in her sleeping bag, hair falling across her face, one hand tucked under her cheek. She looked peaceful. Young. Beautiful.
When had I started thinking she was beautiful?
Last night, maybe. When she’d held me while I broke apart. When she’d said “I’m not leaving” like it was a promise. When she’d seen the worst of me—the guilt, the trauma, the belief that I was fundamentally broken—and hadn’t run.
Or maybe before that. Maybe it had been building since she’d organized the food supplies with such careful precision. Since she’d helped stack firewood even though she was clearly freezing. Since she’d looked at me with those hazel eyes and said “You’re not trying.”
Since she’d been aggressively, determinedly real in a world where everyone else performed.
Damn it.
I was attracted to the relentlessly optimistic event planner I’d tried to shut out four days ago.
This was a problem.
A big problem.
Because in a few hours, roads would be clear. She’d leave. I’d go back to my cabin. We’d return to our separate lives—her in Seattle chasing promotions, me in Pine Ridge hiding from mine.
Last night had been—what? Cabin fever? Forced proximity? Two lonely people finding temporary comfort in shared damage?
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Because she was leaving and I was staying and we were from different worlds and—
And I needed to stop thinking about the way she’d felt in my arms. The way she’d smelled like vanilla and something uniquely her. The way her voice had been fierce when she’d said “You deserve someone who stays.”
I needed coffee.
I got up carefully, trying not to wake her, and moved to the kitchen. The cabin was cold—fire had burned down overnight—but not unbearably so. Sun meant warmth. Sun meant the roads would clear fast.
Sun meant this was ending.
I started coffee, stared out the window at the transformed landscape. Beautiful. Pristine. The kind of morning that made you believe in fresh starts.
“Morning.”
I turned. Hailey was sitting up, sleeping bag pooled around her waist, hair a disaster, eyes still sleepy. No performance smile. Just—her. Real her.
God, she was beautiful.
“Morning,” I managed. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
“You’re my hero.” She stood, stretched, and I tried not to notice the way her shirt rode up, revealing a strip of skin. Tried not to think about—
Stop it, I told myself. She’s leaving in a few hours. Don’t make this complicated.
Too late. It was already complicated.
She came to stand beside me at the window, close enough that I could smell her—vanilla and something citrus and sleep.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“Yeah.”
“Hard to believe this was trying to kill us yesterday.”
“Nature’s like that. Beautiful and deadly.”
She looked at me with a small smile. “Sounds familiar.”
Was she—was she flirting? Or was I reading into things because I wanted her to be flirting?
I poured coffee, handed her a mug. Our fingers brushed. Electricity sparked.
She felt it too—I saw her eyes widen slightly, saw her pull back just a bit too quickly.
“Thanks,” she said, wrapping both hands around the mug.
We stood in awkward silence, both staring out the window, both hyperaware of each other in a way we hadn’t been yesterday.
Yesterday we’d been broken people comforting each other. Today we were—
What? Attracted strangers? Friends? Something undefined and complicated?
“So,” she said finally. “Roads should be clear soon.”
“Yeah. I’ll drive you back to town. Should be passable by noon.”
“That’s good. I need to—I need to coordinate with vendors. Check on Morgan. Make sure the wedding’s still on track for next Saturday.”
“Right. Your promotion.”
“Yeah. My—” She stopped. “It seems less important now. The promotion. Like—like maybe I was chasing it for the wrong reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
She turned to face me, leaning against the counter. “I thought it would prove something. That I was worth keeping. That I’d made it. That no one could send me back because I’d climbed high enough to be untouchable. But that’s—that’s not how it works, is it? No amount of success makes you immune to being left. To being—”
“To being chosen?” I finished quietly.
“Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “You can be at the top of your career and still be left. You proved that. Successful architect, big projects, everything going right—and your fiancée still left when things got hard.”
“Vanessa didn’t leave because I wasn’t successful enough. She left because I wasn’t handling the trauma well enough. Because I was too much.”
“She left because she couldn’t handle your humanity. That’s different.”
Was it? I’d spent three years believing I’d failed her. Failed everyone. But maybe—
Maybe some people just couldn’t stay when things got complicated. When you stopped being the easy, successful, uncomplicated version they’d fallen for. When you needed them to be strong because you couldn’t be.
Maybe that was on them. Not on me.
The thought was new. Uncomfortable. But maybe—maybe true.
“Can I ask you something?” Hailey said.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Last night. When you told me everything. About Derek and the collapse and Vanessa. Did it help? Talking about it?”
I thought about it. Really thought about it.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It helped. I haven’t—I haven’t talked about it. Not really. Rose and Wade know the basics but not—not how it felt. Not the guilt. Not the—the sound of it. The nightmares. The—”
“The trauma,” she finished.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“Thank you for listening. For not—for not making me feel like I was too much.”
Her smile was soft. Real. “You’re not too much, Reid. You’re just right.”
The words hit somewhere in my chest. Warm. Dangerous.
I needed to move. Do something. Stop standing this close to her while she looked at me like that.
“I should check the road conditions,” I said abruptly. “See when we can head out.”
If she was hurt by the retreat, she didn’t show it. Just nodded and took her coffee to the window.
I grabbed my phone—finally some signal returning—and checked weather reports. Roads would be clear by 2 PM. Plows were out. Life resuming.
Four more hours. Then she’d be gone.
Four more hours to pretend this hadn’t changed everything.
By noon, the cabin was cleaned up. Supplies repacked. Sleeping bags rolled. All evidence of our forced cohabitation erased except for the memories.
Except for the way I now knew how she organized things when she was anxious. The way she hummed while doing dishes. The way her smile changed when it was real versus performed. The way she felt in my arms when she—
Stop, I told myself for the thousandth time.
“Ready?” I asked.
She looked around the cabin one last time, something wistful in her expression. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
We loaded into my truck. The drive down the mountain was slow—roads were clear but still icy—and quiet. Both of us lost in thought. Both of us avoiding what was coming.
Goodbye. That’s what was coming.
She’d go back to her life. I’d go back to mine. This would become a story we’d tell—remember that blizzard when I got trapped with a stranger?—and eventually it would fade. Become less important. Less—
Less everything.
“Reid?” she said as we neared town.
“Yeah?”
“Can I—can I keep in touch? After I go back to Seattle? Would that be okay?”
My heart did something complicated. “Why?”
“Because I—” She stopped. Started again. “Because I don’t want to lose this. Whatever this is. Friendship. Connection. Understanding. I don’t—I don’t have many people who get the broken thing. Who understand what it’s like to—to carry damage you can’t put down. And you do. You get it. So I—I’d like to keep you. If that’s okay.”
Keep you.
Like I was something worth choosing. Worth maintaining. Worth—
Worth effort.
“Yeah,” I said, voice rough. “That’s okay.”
Her smile was sunlight. “Good. Because I’m texting you cat memes. That’s non-negotiable.”
“I don’t like cat memes.”
“You will. I’m very persistent.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She laughed—real laughter, unguarded—and something in my chest cracked open. Something that had been frozen for three years.
Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it.
I was falling for her.
For the relentlessly optimistic event planner who organized food supplies and stacked firewood and held me while I broke and told me I wasn’t broken.
For Hailey Brooks who performed happiness but showed me real fear. Who was scared of being returned but stayed anyway. Who—
Who saw me. Really saw me. And didn’t run.
I was so screwed.
We pulled up to Candace’s inn. Morgan rushed out immediately, pulling Hailey into a fierce hug.
“Oh my god, I was so worried! Are you okay? Were you safe? Did Reid take care of you?”
“I’m fine. We’re fine. It was—” Hailey glanced at me. “It was fine.”
Such a lie. It had been anything but fine. It had been terrifying and intense and transformative and—
And I didn’t know how to describe what had happened in that cabin. Didn’t know if there were words for the way four days of forced proximity had changed everything.
“Thank you,” Morgan said to me. “For keeping her safe.”
“She kept herself safe,” I said. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
Hailey’s smile was pleased. Shy. Real.
“I should go,” I said before I did something stupid like ask her to stay. “Let you two catch up.”
“Reid—” Hailey started.
“Text me,” I said. “The cat memes. Whatever. Just—text me.”
“I will. I promise.”
I nodded and got back in my truck before I could change my mind. Before I could say all the things building in my chest.
Before I could kiss her goodbye and make this even more complicated than it already was.
I drove away, watching her in the rearview mirror until she disappeared.
Four days. We’d spent four days together. And somehow in that time, she’d cracked open something I’d thought was permanently closed.
Hope. Possibility. The belief that maybe—maybe I wasn’t as broken as I’d thought. That maybe isolation wasn’t the answer. That maybe—
Maybe I could try again. Build again. Be again.
Because of her.
Because she’d seen the worst of me and stayed anyway.
Because she’d told me I deserved someone who wouldn’t leave.
Because she’d made me believe it might be true.
My phone buzzed as I reached my cabin.
A text from an unknown number: [Cat wearing a hat] Miss you already, mountain man. Thanks for everything. -H
I stared at the stupid cat meme and felt something impossible:
Happiness. Real happiness. The kind I hadn’t felt in three years.
I saved her number. Sent back: Cat memes are still terrible.
Her response was immediate: You’ll come around. I’m very persuasive.
I’ve noticed.
Get used to it. You’re stuck with me now.
Stuck with her.
I should’ve hated that idea. Should’ve wanted my solitude back. Should’ve—
Should’ve wanted a lot of things I didn’t want.
Because the truth was:
I liked being stuck with Hailey Brooks.
I liked her texts and her cat memes and her relentless optimism and her real fear underneath.
I liked—
I liked her.
And that was terrifying.
But maybe—maybe it was worth being terrified.
Maybe she was worth trying for.
Maybe—
Maybe I was ready to stop hiding.
Or at least—ready to think about stopping.
That was something.
That was a start.
And as I looked at my cabin—empty, quiet, lonely—I realized:
I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
I wanted—
I wanted her.
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