The air inside the lakeside kitchen smelled of hot cinnamon, dark espresso, and sweet butter.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, the morning light broke over the mountains in shades of soft pearl and pale gold. High above the calm, dark water of the lake, heavy gray clouds hung low, dusting the pine needles and granite rocks with the very first snow of the season.
Evelyn stood at the wooden counter in a thick charcoal knit sweater, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder in soft waves. She was carefully slicing a warm loaf of cinnamon raisin bread, her eyes occasionally wandering to the glass door to watch the tiny white snowflakes swirl down through the quiet air.
She felt a deep, steady stillness inside her chest—a stillness she had once believed was impossible for someone
