The guest room door clicked shut behind me, but the sound didn’t feel final. It felt like the start of something I wasn’t ready for.
I stood there for a long minute, dripping melted snow onto the wide-plank floor, breath fogging in the chilly air. The room was simple but warm—king bed with thick flannel sheets, a stone fireplace already crackling, a dresser that looked hand-hewn. On top of it sat a stack of clothes and a towel, neatly folded, like someone had anticipated exactly this moment.
I peeled off my soaked coat, sweater, leggings—everything clinging and cold—and wrapped myself in the towel. My skin prickled as the warmth of the fire licked over me. I rifled through the clothes they’d left.
A black hoodie—huge, soft, smelling faintly of cedar and clean laundry.
Gray sweatpants w
