Morning came dressed in silence and diamond light. Dylan woke slowly, aware first of warmth, then of Aidan’s arm still around her, then of the absolute quiet that meant the storm had passed. She turned in his embrace, finding him already awake, watching her with an expression that made her chest ache.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi yourself.” He didn’t move to kiss her, though she could see he wanted to. “Storm’s over.”
“I can hear that.”
“They’ll be coming for us soon.”
“I know.”
“The whole town will think?—”
“I know that too.” She reached up, tracing his jaw with one finger. “I don’t care what they think. I care what we know.”
“And what do we know?”
“That we chose each other. That we’ll keep choosing each other. That your grandfather was right—love is about the reaching for it together.”
A distant sound made them both turn—the rhythmic thrum of helicopter rotors growing closer.
“Search and rescue,” Aidan said. “Right on time.”
They dressed quickly, packing up the cabin with the efficiency of people raised to leave places better than they found them. The ring went into Aidan’s pocket, its weight a promise neither of them needed to speak aloud.
The helicopter appeared over the ridge in a glory of morning sun on metal, Wyatt visible in the door with his serious search-and-rescue expression that dissolved into a grin the moment he saw they were safe.
As they climbed aboard, Dylan looked back at the cabin—that small shelter that had held them through the storm, that had given them space to finally say what needed saying. The mountain rose behind it, Eagle’s Point crowned with new snow that sparkled like the ring hidden in Aidan’s pocket.
“Interesting night?” Wyatt asked with brotherly innocence that fooled no one.
“Shut up and fly,” Aidan said, but he was smiling, his hand finding Dylan’s as the helicopter lifted them toward home.
Below, the valley spread out like a promise—Laurel Valley dressed in winter white, smoke rising from chimneys, the town preparing for another day of gentle gossip and communal care.
Dylan squeezed Aidan’s hand, feeling the future unspool before them like a road through mountains—sometimes steep, sometimes treacherous, but always leading home.
To each other.
To the life they’d build together.
To love that could weather any storm.
Chapter Twelve
The helicopter descended through morning light that turned the snow-covered valley into something from a snow globe—pristine, perfect, impossibly bright after the storm’s darkness. Dylan could see the crowd gathered in the town square, their faces turned skyward with the universal expression of small towns when their own go missing—relief mixed with rabid curiosity about what happened while they were gone.
“Brace yourself,” Wyatt said over the headset, but his grin suggested he was enjoying this far too much. “Mom mobilized half the town when you didn’t check in last night. She’s got breakfast waiting at The Lampstand for what looks like everyone we’ve ever met.”
The landing zone had been cleared in the park, and as they touched down, Dylan could see the full scope of what awaited them. Anne O’Hara stood at the front like a general who’d won her war, her face shifting from maternal concern to something that looked dangerously close to satisfaction. Behind her, Sophie and Raven flanked her, their expressions suggesting they’d already written several versions of what had happened in that cabin.
The moment the rotors began to slow, Anne was moving, reaching them before they’d even properly disembarked.
“Thank God,” she breathed, pulling Aidan into a hug that could have cracked ribs, then surprising Dylan by embracing her with equal fervor. “When the storm came in so fast, and then you didn’t answer your phones?—”
“We’re fine, Mom,” Aidan said, his arm settling around Dylan’s shoulders with a naturalness that sent whispers rippling through the crowd. “The hunting cabin saved us.”
“The cabin,” Anne repeated, and something in her tone made Dylan look at her sharply. The older woman’s blue eyes held a gleam that had probably been responsible for five marriages and counting. “Of course. Your grandfather always said that cabin would serve its purpose when the time was right.”
