"I do."
"You know that, right?"
I looked toward the windows, where snow turned the dark glass soft. Beyond the porch light, the pines stood white at the edges, and the slope disappeared into winter shadow. Somewhere below the house, the dock and shoreline were tucked under cold and quiet until summer came back around.
"I know," I said. "I'm still catching up to how much I know it."
His hand tightened at my waist.
The front windows reflected the room back at us: the crooked half-lit tree, the mugs, the ribbon still coiled on the table, Zane standing behind me with his arm around my middle. In the reflection, I looked like a woman who belonged in the middle of the mess. Brown hair loose over one shoulder. Soft sweater sleeves pushed up. Green eyes a little too bright.
Five months ago, I'd walked through the P-Patch gate with court paperwork and shame trying to crawl out of my skin.
Now Birdie's pictures of frost on the raised beds landed on my phone with messages like the latest one:
BIRDIE:
Winter workday next Saturday. Voluntary help gets better snacks.
Gus had built new frames for the south row before the ground froze. Tyler had learned three actual tool names; the hand cultivator remained "the stabby rake," which Zane counted as progress.
The P-Patch had survived the summer. More than survived. The garden rested under snow with its beds repaired, its fence line quiet, and its future no longer being used as cheerful decoration for someone else's access plan.
Cascadia had survived too, though Monica would have objected to the drama of that phrasing. The West Ridge file had been rewritten without Zane's parcel, McCrae Land Brokerage was nowhere near anything tied to his land, and Monica'sversion of reassurance had been one dry sentence over a corrected packet: "You handled the conflict correctly, Daphne."
That was Monica's version of a parade.
Fletcher hadn't been part of one.
His name came up less now. When it did, Zane's face still closed, and I held his hand a little tighter. He hadn't forgiven his brother. He hadn't pretended betrayal became smaller because the project route died before it could do real damage.
I didn't push. I just covered his hand with mine and let the quiet stay where he needed it.
Zane's thumb moved once against my sweater. "Where'd you go?"
"P-Patch. Cascadia. Your brother. The usual cheerful holiday topics."
His jaw tightened at the last one.
I turned in his arms before he could step back into that old cold place alone. "I'm not trying to fix it."
"I know."
"I'm also not secretly inviting him to Christmas dinner because I saw that movie once and everyone needed therapy."
That got me the rough edge of a laugh. "Good."
"I like a peaceful holiday. I'm wild that way."
Zane brushed a loose piece of hair back from my cheek. "You came into my life with a court order."
"Yes, but I've grown."
"You slashed two tires."
"Again, personal growth."
His smile was small and real. "You're not inviting Fletcher."
