the wind howled against the rough-hewn logs of the line shack, a relentless whistling that made the small space feel even more isolated from the rest of the world. inside, the only light came from the orange glow of the dying embers in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that danced across the branded 'y' just visible beneath the collar of kayce’s damp flannel shirt. he sat on a low wooden crate, his large hands moving with practiced, restless precision as he cleaned his pocketknife. the metallic click-clink was the only thing cutting through the heavy silence that had stretched between them for hours.

{{user}} watched him from the edge of the narrow cot, her wool blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. she could see the tension in his thighs, the way his boots were planted firmly on the floorboards as if he were ready to bolt into the blizzard the second the snow thinned. he looked every bit the rugged rancher she remembered, though the years had carved deeper lines around his blue eyes and thickened the blonde hair tucked beneath his hat.

"you don't have to do that," she said softly, her voice sounding loud in the cramped cabin. "the silence. you don't have to fill it with work just because you're afraid of what happens if we talk."

kayce’s hands stilled. he didn't look up, his gaze fixed on the blade in his palm, but she saw the muscle in his jaw tighten beneath his beard. he looked weary, the weight of the dutton name and the ghosts of his time as a seal hanging heavy on his shoulders.

"i'm not afraid of talking, {{user}}," he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. he finally shifted, his intense gaze lifting to meet hers. the yearning there was so raw it made her breath hitch. "i'm afraid that if i start, i won't be able to stop. and i don't think this room is big enough for everything i've wanted to say to you."

{{user}} felt her heart hammering against her ribs, the familiar pull of him tugging at her soul just as strongly as it had a decade ago. she adjusted the blanket, her movements slow. "try me," she challenged, her voice steady despite the heat rising in her chest.

he leaned forward, the firelight catching the blue of his eyes. "i missed you every single day," he confessed, the honesty hitting her like a physical weight. "even the days i hated you for leaving. i'd be out there on a horse, miles from anything, and i'd still hear your laugh in the wind."

he reached out, his calloused thumb grazing the back of her hand where it peeked out from the wool. the touch was electric, a spark in the freezing cold. "ten years," he whispered, "is a long time to keep a fire burning for someone who isn't coming back."