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“You always drive like you’re one with the truck,” I teased, watching him navigate a narrow stretch.
He shot me a grin. “Talos instinct,” he said. “We’re all about harmony with our surroundings.”
The town came into view, its buildings clustered like children around a campfire. People milled about, shaking off winter’s hibernation as they greeted each other with enthusiasm that echoed across the thawing landscape.
We parked and unloaded our goods near the market square, where vendors had already set up their stalls. The air buzzed with conversation and laughter—a symphony of human connection we hadn’t realized we’d missed until now.
“Arlet! Hayze!” called a voice from across the square. It was Bill, waving us over with a wide smile. “Survived your first winter, I see!”
“We did indeed,” I responded as we approached. “And we’ve come bearing gifts.”
Bill’s eyes lit up as he saw our offerings—jars of preserves and smoked meats alongside Hayze’s handcrafted woodwork.
“These will sell like hotcakes,” Bill said, clapping Hayze on the back. “You’ve got quite the skill there.”
Hayze nodded modestly. “Thanks to Arlet’s expertise in smoking meats and canning fruits.”
We spent hours at the market, bartering and chatting with folks eager to share their own stories of survival. While we loved the sense of community, with each person contributing something unique to this tapestry of life in Prince Rupert, we kept our distance.
As midday approached, we grabbed a bite at a local eatery that boasted the best seafood chowder in town. The bell above the door jingled as we entered, and a warm aroma enveloped us.
“Table for two?” asked the waitress, her eyes crinkling with kindness.
“That would be great,” I said. She led us to a cozy booth by the window.
Hayze and I settled in, our conversation flowing easily between bites of chowder and fresh bread.
“This is nice,” I said between spoonfuls. “Being among people again.”
He nodded in agreement. “It is. But I have to admit...” He paused for effect, his gaze holding mine with gentle intensity. “I didn’t mind having you all to myself for those months.”
Heat rose to my cheeks at his words—a warmth that had nothing to do with the chowder or the bustling atmosphere around us.
“You will not get any argument from me about that,” I replied with a smile that reflected my own deep contentment.
We lingered over our meal, savoring each moment as if it were as precious as those first days of spring—full of promise and fresh growth. As we finished up and prepared to head back into the throng of market-goers, Hayze reached across the table and squeezed my hand reassuringly.
“Ready for another round?” he asked with an impish glint in his eye.
I squeezed back, affirming without words that no matter what lay ahead, we were ready—together.
CHAPTER 26
Arlet
The cabin quivered with the new life, its wooden bones groaning in harmony with the wind that danced around the eaves. I cradled Charlie, our miracle, to my chest, his tiny fingers curling around mine. The soft rhythm of his breathing was a symphony in the quiet room. His skin shimmered like the last rays of sunset, and when he opened his eyes, Hayze’s gaze stared back at me.
“Look at him, Hayze,” I whispered. “He’s perfect.”
Hayze knelt beside us, his bronze skin somehow softer in the glow of our son’s presence. “Charlie,” he said, testing the name on his tongue like it was a sacred incantation. “Charlie Bronze.”
Our little cabin had become a cocoon, shielding us from the world outside, from past lives and threats long gone. It was just us and the vast Canadian wilderness, our days measured by sunrises and sunsets rather than the hands of a clock.
Hayze took Charlie into his arms, and I watched as a fierce love ignited in his eyes. It was love mixed with wonder—the kind thatknew no boundaries or limitations. He pressed a kiss to Charlie’s forehead, a silent promise from father to son.
“He’s got your spirit,” Hayze murmured.
“And your heart,” I replied.
