Chapter 2 Mia's Pov

The light looked closer than it was.

I learned that the hard way as I saw that no matter how I walked, I was nowhere near it. 

I pushed forward, one leg at a time, snow swallowing my boots like it wanted to keep me. The wind kept slamming into my shoulders, trying to turn me around. The flashlight beam shook because my hands shook. Every time I lifted my knees, the snow grabbed at me again in a heavy, wet and relentless way. 

“Okay,” I breathed to myself. “Keep moving.”

I had no choice but to fucking keep moving. 

My scarf was damp from my breath. It clung to my mouth. My cheeks felt numb. My eyelashes had little crusts of ice on them which would have been funny in any other context. 

I could almost hear myself telling my best friend back in Boston, 'You should see me right now. I look like a frozen raccoon with a mortgage.’

Except there was no one to tell. Not here. Not with no signal. Not with nothing but trees and white blur and that one stubborn yellow glow.

The ground dipped, then rose. I slipped, my boot sliding on something hard beneath the snow. Ice. I flailed for balance and caught myself on my knees.

Pain shot through my legs immediately.

I gasped.

Cold seeped through my jeans instantly, like the snow had been waiting for that moment.

“Great,” I muttered, teeth chattering. “This is great.”

I got up fast, because the longer I stayed down, the more the cold tried to convince my body to quit. My knees burned. My gloves were damp now. The wind howled again and it was a sound so loud it felt like it pressed against my eardrums.

I forced my eyes up.

The light.

It was clearer now. And it was coming from a cabin. A real one. There was the outline of a porch, a roof and a railing. There was a window glowing warm and steady like a heartbeat.

My chest loosened a fraction in relief. 

“Please,” I whispered. “Please let someone be home.”

I stumbled up the last stretch of path. It did not feel like a path anymore. It felt like a suggestion because snow covered everything, even the steps. When I reached the porch, my boots slipped again and I grabbed the railing with both hands.

The wood felt rough under my gloves. I could feel the grooves through the fabric.

A wind gust shoved snow under the porch roof and into my face. I turned my head away, squinting hard, then lifted my flashlight.

There was a door that was made of thick dark wood. It was the kind of door that belonged to someone who cared about keeping things out.

I knocked.

Once. Twice.

There was nothing in response.

My stomach dropped so fast I almost threw up.

“No,” I said. My voice came out small and strange. “No, no, no. God, please, no.”

I knocked again, harder this time. The sound was swallowed by the wind. I could not tell if it even reached the inside.

“Hello,” I shouted. “Please. Please.”

I knocked again. My knuckles ached from the force.

My fingers felt clumsy. My body felt heavy.

Yet I knocked again in a manner that was frantic now.

“Please,” I said, and my voice cracked. “I need help.”

There was movement behind the frosted glass pane near the top of the door. Then a shadow. Then another shadow. 

Thank you, Jesus. 

The lock clicked a few seconds later and the door opened a few inches.

Warm air rushed out and hit my face like a hand. My eyes stung instantly.

A man filled the doorway, broad shoulders, tall enough that the porch light turned his face into angles and shadows. He wore a dark sweater, sleeves pushed up, and he looked like he had been carved out of something harder than winter.

His eyes were blue. Not the soft blue of a summer sky but the sharp blue of ice under the sun.

He stared at me like I was a threat.

And I hated the fact that my first coherent thought was, Oh.

Not oh, thank God. Not oh, I’m safe.

Just oh.

Because he was unfairly attractive and my brain chose the worst moment to notice.

“Who are you,” he said.

His voice was low. Controlled. Not rude but not welcoming either.

I opened my mouth and nothing came out at first. My throat felt tight from cold, from fear, from humiliation. I tried again.

“I’m sorry,” I managed. “I…I rented the cabin down the road. The power went out. My phone has no service. I didn’t know what else to do.”

He did not move. He kept his hand on the door like he was ready to shut it.

Snow blew in around my legs, swirling onto the porch, slipping past the crack into the warmth behind him.

His gaze flicked down, took in my wet hair, my shaking hands, my knees dusted white and the flashlight clenched too hard.

Then his eyes lifted again and he held my stare like he was measuring something.

Just then, behind his leg, a small face appeared.

A little girl peeked out with wide hazel eyes, cheeks pink and curly light-brown hair escaping from a loose ponytail. She hugged a stuffed reindeer so tight its antlers pressed into her chin.

She…she was the most beautiful little girl I had ever seen. 

She stared at me like I was something she had never seen before.

Like a stranger. A story. A ghost.

The man’s body shifted subtly, like he tried to block her view without making it obvious.

“Lily,” he said with a softer tone to her. “Go back.”

The little girl called Lily did not move. Rather, she tightened her grip on the reindeer.

I swallowed hard just then as I realized he was trying to protect me from her as if I was a threat. 

“I’m not trying to… I’m not dangerous,” I said, and the words sounded ridiculous as soon as they left my mouth. I looked down at myself who was snow-covered and shivering like a raccoon that had fought a blizzard and lost. “I’m just… I’m freezing.”

The man’s jaw flexed in response.

He glanced over his shoulder as if he was checking something inside.

Then he looked back at me again.

“How far is your cabin,” he asked.

“Maybe… ten minutes walking,” I said, then corrected quickly. “Ten minutes driving. I don’t know. I just followed the light.”

His eyes narrowed in response.

“You walked here,” he said.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I did.”

He stared at me like I was either brave or stupid. I could not tell which.

Another gust of wind shoved snow into the doorway.

The man’s expression changed, just slightly, like something inside him made a decision against his will.

He opened the door wider.

“Come in,” he said.

Emotions hit me so hard my knees almost buckled again but this time it was from gratitude and relief.

“Thank you,” I breathed, stepping inside.

The warmth wrapped around me instantly. It felt like sinking into a bath. My fingers tingled, painful and alive again. My lungs expanded like they had been held tight for too long.

The cabin smelled like woodsmoke and soap. Something faintly sweet too, maybe cinnamon.

I stood just inside the doorway, dripping snow onto a woven mat. My boots left wet prints on the floor.

The man shut the door behind me and slid the lock back into place, the sound loud in the quiet.

Lily watched me from a few feet away, still clutching her reindeer, her eyes round and curious.

“You can take your boots off,” the man said.

His tone stayed flat but with a practical tone. It was like he was giving instructions to keep order.

“Oh,” I said while blinking at him. “Right. Sorry.”

My hands fumbled at the laces. My gloves were bulky and my fingers were stiff. So I tried and failed, then huffed a laugh that sounded too rough for my liking.

“This is humiliating,” I muttered.

The man’s gaze flicked to my face.

“What,” he asked.

I shook my head, cheeks heating.

“Nothing. I just… I can’t feel my fingers.”

He crouched down without a word, his hands moving fast and confident. He pulled my laces loose in seconds.

I froze. Not from the cold but rom the simple closeness. From the sight of his hands on my boots. From how quickly he took control of a situation without making it feel like he was doing it for praise.

His hands looked strong. A small cut marked one knuckle, healed halfway, like work had demanded a price.

I stared at the cut too long.

He glanced up, caught me looking.

I jerked my gaze away, mortified.

“Thank you,” I said again.

He stood and that height hit me all over again. He was not just tall. He was tall in a way that made the room adjust around him. Like he belonged here and everything else had to fit.

He nodded once.

Lily took a hesitant step closer just then. 

“Daddy,” she whispered.

The word landed in my chest. Not because it was surprisingbut because it was so soft. So ordinary. Like a reminder that this was a home, not just a shelter.

The man’s expression softened a fraction as he turned towards his daughter. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s fine.”

The girl looked at me again.

“You’re snowy,” she said.

I barked a laugh that was half hysterical, half amused. “I am. I’m very snowy.”

She lifted her reindeer slightly, like it was offering me comfort.

“Rudy keeps me warm,” she said seriously. “He’s magic.”

My throat tightened and I shook my head slightly because I did not know why that made me want to cry.

“That’s good,” I said while I tried to keep my voice light. “I could use some magic right now.”

The man moved toward the kitchen. “Sit,” he said over his shoulder. “By the fire.”

I turned and saw the fireplace already burning, flames licking at thick logs as he did so. A plaid blanket lay on the couch and a pair of tiny boots sat near the hearth, neatly placed.

Unlike mine, the cabin did not feel like a rental. It felt lived-in. Loved-in.

I walked toward the fire and held my hands out, palms facing the heat. The tingling turned into burning. It hurt but it was the good kind. The kind that meant your body had not given up.

The man filled a kettle at the sink. I heard water run, then stop. He moved with quiet efficiency like he had done this routine a thousand times.

Lily hovered a few feet away, still watching me.

“What’s your name,” she asked.

“Mia,” I said then asked even though I already knew. “What’s yours?”

She lifted her chin. “Lily.”

“Hi, Lily,” I said. “Your reindeer is very handsome.”

Lily’s eyes lit up. “He’s brave.”

“I can tell,” I said.

Lily glanced toward the man in the kitchen. “My daddy is brave too.”

The man’s shoulders tightened but he did not turn around as I thought he would.

Lily did not notice. She kept staring at me.

“Are you lost,” she asked.

I swallowed.

“A little,” I said.

The man spoke then, still facing the counter. “She’s not lost. She’s stranded.”

“Stranded,” Lily repeated, tasting the word. “Like on an island.”

I almost smiled.

“Like on an island,” I agreed.

The kettle began to hiss. The man set mugs on the counter. One had a chipped rim and another had a small painted pine tree. The third had a cartoon bear.

He paused, then slid the bear mug slightly toward Lily without looking at her, like it was an unspoken habit.

Lily padded over and picked it up with both hands.

The man turned then towards meand my breath snagged again.

The firelight reached his face now, warming the planes of his cheekbones, catching the rough shadow of stubble on his jaw. His eyes looked even bluer in this light, less harsh but still guarded.

He carried a mug toward me. The pine tree one.

“Tea,” he said.

I took it with both hands, grateful for the heat seeping into my gloves. “Thank you.”

He nodded again and sat in an armchair opposite the couch, close enough that I could feel his presence, far enough that he kept a line.

Lily climbed onto the couch, legs tucked under her, Rudy pressed to her chest.

For a moment, none of us spoke.

The fire popped. A log shifted. Wind pressed against the windows.

The man’s cabin felt like a pocket of warmth in a violent world.

My throat burned with the effort of not falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I didn’t mean to barge in. I just …my cabin went dark and I panicked. So I came here.”

The man watched me over the rim of his mug.

“Most people would wait it out,” he said.

“I know,” I said and my voice went tight. “I know. But there’s no service and no… no way to call anyone. And it got cold fast.”

He studied me for a beat too long.

“What cabin,” he asked.

I gave him the name on the rental listing. “It’s the one with the blue door. The small one.”

His jaw tightened again as he thought about my description.

“That one loses power every time the wind gets like this,” he said.

Anger sparked in my chest in a hot and sharp manner. “That would have been helpful information on the listing.”

A corner of Lily’s mouth twitched just then, like she was trying not to smile.

The man’s expression did not change. “People lie,” he said.

Something about the way he said it, flat and certain, hit like a bruise.

I held my mug tighter. “Yeah,” I said roughly. “They do.”

There was silence again. Then Lily moved her body forward and pointed at my knees.

“You hurt,” she said.

I glanced down. The snow had melted into wet patches and my jeans was stuck to my skin. My knees throbbed.

“I fell,” I admitted.

Lily’s eyes widened. “Did it hurt a lot.”

“A little,” I said. “But I’m okay.”

The man’s gaze flicked down to where I had been hurt. “Stand,” he said.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Stand up,” he repeated in a sharper tone.

I pushed to my feet slowly, wincing as I did so. The room swayed for a second and I swallowed hard.

The man crossed the room in three strides. He crouched in front of me, his hands hovering near my knees without touching.

“Can you bend,” he asked.

“I… yeah,” I said while confused as to what was happening.

I bent my knees slightly. Pain shot up my legs.

I hissed.

His eyes narrowed. “Bruised. Maybe scraped.”

He didn't say anything else. Rather, he straightened and walked to a cupboard opposite me. Then he pulled out a small first aid kit, came back, set it on the coffee table, and opened it with quick movements.

Lily watched like this was normal.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat on the edge of the couch, tea mug shaking slightly in my hands.

He knelt and gently rolled up the fabric at my knee. His fingers brushed my skin.

Heat flashed through me immediately in a crazy and unwelcome manner.

I stiffened in response.

He noticed and his gaze flicked up in a sharp manner. 

“You’re fine,” he said as if he could command my body to obey.

“Right,” I said, too fast. “Sorry.”

He dabbed my knee with antiseptic and I inhaled sharply as it stung me.

“Ow,” I said.

Lily winced in sympathy. “Daddy, be gentle.”

The man did not look at her. He just kept working, careful despite his rough movements.

“I am gentle,” he finally said to his daughter with a soft tone.

He covered the scrape with a small bandage, then did the same for the other knee.

Finally, his hands moved away and the loss of contact felt like a strange disappointment which annoyed me.

I was cold, scared, exhausted, and my brain still had time to notice the way his fingers had been warm on my skin. 

Get it together, Mia.

He stood and packed the kit away.

“Thank you,” I said and this time the words held more weight.

He nodded once more, then looked toward the window as the wind slammed again and the glass shuddered.

The man’s gaze sharpened like he was listening to something beneath the storm.

Lily hugged Rudy tighter.

“Is it getting worse,” I asked.

The man’s eyes stayed on the window. “Yes.”

I swallowed. “Do you think the power will come back?”

He did not answer immediately.

The fire crackled louder and the cabin felt smaller like the storm was pressing in.

Then he said, “Maybe.”

That “maybe” did not feel like word of comfort to me and I had to swallow hard. 

“What's your name,” I managed to ask because I couldn't think of what else to say or do. 

“Ethan,” he answered abruptly. “What's yours?”

“Mia,” Lily answered quickly before I could. And I turned to smile at her in gratitude even as I thought about the man’s name. 

Ethan? Hmm. It seemed to fit him perfectly and completely.

Just then, the lights in the cabin flickered suddenly.

Once. Twice.

I froze, my body instantly alert. Ethan's jaw tightened as he looked up at it. 

Lily’s eyes went wide. “Daddy.”

“It’s okay,” Ethan said but his hand had already moved toward the lantern on the side table, like he had prepared for this exact moment.

The lights flickered again. The overhead light dimmed. Then everything went dark.

The fire still burned, but the cabin lost its electric hum. The quiet that followed felt so thick I could almost feel it on my skin.

In the dim orange glow, Ethan's face looked harder. Older. More tired.

Lily clutched her reindeer and scooted closer to me on the couch, her small body pressed against my side like instinct.

I sat there, stunned, with a child leaning into me and a stranger standing a few feet away, watching the storm like it was an enemy he knew well.

And I realized with a startling clarity that I was not just here for a few minutes.

I was trapped here.

With him.

With her.

And with the storm chewing the world outside.