Page 40 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
“Didn’t picture this for you,” Hale says, not unkindly.
“Me either,” I admit.
“You look… different.”
“Happy?” I offer.
He smirks. “Soft.”
I snort. “Tell anyone and I’ll deny it.”
“Wouldn’t believe you,” he says. He sobers, glancing through the window at Ellie. “You did good.”
“So did you.” I nod toward Wren. “Better than good.”
We stand in clean cold for a minute, men who have seen too much not needing to talk about any of it. Then Hale claps my shoulder and we head back in, where the air tastes like sugar and forgiveness.
Ellie’s waiting by the tree-that-isn’t, our bowl of ornaments subbing in like always. She picks up the gold ring ornament I glued back together last week—the broken one they left on the snow. I thought she’d throw it out. She didn’t. She hung it anyway, whole again and shining.
“Ready?” she asks.
“For what?”
She holds up a small brass key on a ribbon. It’s not the one to the cabin—I gave her that months ago, slipped it into her palm like a vow. This is the key to her place in town. Our place, now—paint on the walls we picked together, shelves I built for too many books, a dog bed for Ranger.Homejust means more rooms.
“Hanging it,” she says softly. “Tradition.”
I take the ribbon and lift it onto a branch of garland above the mantle. It spins once, catching firelight.
“Looks right,” I say.
“So do you,” she answers, and the way she says it makes my chest ache in a way that isn’t pain.
Behind us, Greta laughs at something Nate mutters under his breath, then shoves a to-go box into his hands like it’s a test he better pass. He tucks it under his arm like it’s classified. Wren catches my eye and taps her watch theatrically. Hale shrugs, the universal sign forwe’re leaving on time and somehow late.They gather their coats, and there are hugs at the door that would’ve made the old me uncomfortable. The new me knows better.
“Text when you’re home,” Ellie tells Wren.
“I always do,” Wren says, kissing her cheek. Hale nods at me, the whole message in the smallest move:I’ve got mine. You’ve got yours. Protected.
They disappear into the slow-falling dark. Nate lingers a beat longer, leaning on the frame.
“Greta’s off at two tomorrow,” I say, because subtlety is wasted on him anyway.
He gives me that lazy almost-smile. “Yeah? Guess I’m hungry around 1:55.”
“Bring flowers,” Ellie adds.
“She’ll roast me alive,” he says.
“She’ll love it,” Ellie counters.
He tips an imaginary hat, then crunches down the steps, whistling something that sounds suspiciously like optimism.
And then it’s quiet. Just the crackle of the fire, the soft tick of cooling iron, Ranger doing a lazy circuit before flopping on his bed like he built it himself.
Ellie slides into my lap as if the space was designed for her. Maybe it was. I wrap her in the blanket and my arms, and we watch the snow.
“You happy?” she asks, chin tucked on my shoulder.
