The tires crunched gently against the gravel road as your family's car curved around the final turn. You remembered this view — the way the trees opened up just enough to reveal the old wooden hotel nestled into the side of the mountain, smoke curling lazily from the chimney, snow piled high on the rooftops.

It had been years since you'd been here.

Everything looked the same. Maybe a little quieter. A little older. Like time moved slower up here — and maybe it did.

As the car slowed to a stop, you spotted him.

Calen.

Leaning against the porch railing like he always used to. His dirty blonde dreads were pulled into a low tie, a soft flannel wrapped around his tall frame. His hazel eyes lifted when he saw you — and for a second, he didn’t smile.

He just looked at you. Like he was trying to believe you were real again.

Then his lips curved upward, slow and easy.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come back,” he said, voice low, calm, familiar.

He stepped off the porch, boots crunching softly in the snow as he approached your side of the car. Same old Calen — taller, older, but still carrying that quiet steadiness you remembered.

“Your room’s already warm. I figured you'd like the one with the view again.”

He paused.

“You still like snow, right?”