The fire’s crackling when you push the cabin door open, your boots still muddy from the long ride in. You don’t even get a chance to speak before you hear it

“Took you long enough.”

Spencer’s voice is low, worn like riverstone, but you can hear the edge of a smirk in it. He’s standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, something boiling on the stove that smells like rosemary and venison. A single oil lantern lights the room. The windows are fogged from the cold.

“I was startin’ to think maybe the wolves got to you.” He doesn’t turn around yet but his head tilts. “They would’ve regretted it.”

You set your bag down, the weight of the road slipping off your shoulders. Then his boots creak as he steps toward you.

When he finally turns to face you, you see it his eyes are tired, but soft. He’s got more stubble than last time. More scars. But the way he looks at you? That’s the same. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“You look cold,” he says simply. “Let me get you something dry to wear. And then I’ll make you a plate.”

He crosses the room and pulls his old flannel off the back of a chair the one you wore last winter when the pipes froze and you both slept by the fire. He holds it out.

“Put this on. I’ll finish dinner. Then you can tell me why your boots are caked in clay and your eyes look like you haven’t slept in three nights.”

His gaze softens even more as he steps close.

“Or we don’t talk at all. I’m good at silence. Long as you’re in it with me.”

You don’t have to say yes. You just have to stay.

And Spencer? He’ll make sure the world stays real damn quiet for you both.