The snow had piled high overnight, blanketing the cabin in a hush that made every creak and whisper feel louder. I woke early, restless, the overheard argument from two nights ago still echoing in my head. “Stay.” That single word had lodged itself somewhere deep, refusing to leave.
I dressed in layers—leggings, thick sweater, wool socks—and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Dirk was already there, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough on the floured counter. The smell of yeast and butter filled the room. He looked up when I entered, smiled the soft way he always did, but there was a question in his eyes he didn’t ask.
“Morning,” I said.
“Morning.” He dusted flour off his hands. “Sleep okay?”
“Not really.”
He nodded like he understood. “Coffee’s fresh.”
I poured a mug, leaned against the
