(A Week Later)
"Rhett, wake up." Neva whispers, her lips brushing his ear.
When he doesn't stir, she leans closer and lightly pinches his cheeks.
"Rhett," she tries again, this time with a pout, "it's snowing."
Still no response.
With an exasperated huff, she peels the quilt off his body and gives him a firmer shake—just as Rhett suddenly pulls her down with a mischievous laugh, catching her off guard.
She squeaks, toppling into him, their chests colliding. Her breath hitches as she finds herself nose-to-nose with a grinning, sleep-mussed Rhett.
"Rhett!" she protests, blushing.
But he only grins wider.
Neva leans in and plants a kiss on his lips, smiling against him. Her ears ring with the jagged thump of his heartbeat, wild beneath her palms. He wraps his arms around her, his fingers threading gently through her hair.
"It's the first snow," she whispers into the crook of his neck, voice hushed, sacred.
Rhett kisses her hair, breathing in her soft, floral scent.
"Stay a little longer," he murmurs.
Neva hums, her lashes fluttering shut, surrendering to the warmth of his arms and the hush of falling snow beyond the glass.
After half an hour later of cuddling under the warm, velvet duvet, she finally succeeds in dragging him out of bed.
---
Outside their cozy apartment building—home to just a handful of tenants—Neva steps into the snowy morning, boots crunching against the powdery white.
The world glows. Flakes drift softly from the sky, catching in her lashes, her hair. Rhett watches her from a distant, the joy on her face softening, thawing the cold inside him. A smile tugs at his lips.
She spins, arms outstretched, grinning like a child.
He watches as the flakes fall around her, his eyes mellows, entranced, and he realizes—he's losing himself, falling for her harder, deeper than ever.
She's a miracle.
The best thing to ever happen to him.
And then, bowing like a prince in a fairytale, he extends his hand. "May I have the honor of dancing with my love?"
Neva blushes, cheeks blooming like winter roses. She places her hand in his without a word.
His grin deepens.
The lovers twirl and sway in the drifting snow, laughing like children, holding each other as if nothing else in the world matters anymore.
Their footprints weave delicate patterns across the white, while their silhouettes dance the morning away—lost in their own little winter wonderland.
Eventually, Rhett scoops her up bridal-style, carrying her against his chest.
"You'll catch a cold," he mutters, half-chiding.
But his smile betrays him, warm and tender, even as she pouts in mock protest.
He doesn't want to let her go.
---
After warming up and washing off the chill, Rhett wanders into the kitchen, the scent of garlic and herbs greeting him first.
Neva stands at the counter, humming softly, wrapped in an oversized sweater, her damp hair twisted in a towel.
He approaches quietly—then, without warning, wraps his arms around her waist.
She startles slightly, then melts into his embrace. "I'm not done cooking, Rhett," she says softly, glancing back at him.
She rubs her nose against his playfully. He chuckles softly.
"You can sit over there," she adds, gesturing to the dining table.
"I don't like being apart from you," he murmurs, kissing the nape of her neck.
"It tickles!" Neva laughs, bending forward as he giggles behind her.
"Angel," Rhett begins, voice softer now. "I need to tell you something."
Something in his voice makes her pause, knife hovering over the chopping board. "What is it?"
"Remember, I said that day in the woods… that I've kept things from you?"
She gently stirs the pot of stew. "I figured you'd tell me eventually. There's no pressure, Rhett. Take your time."
He sighs. "I'm not who you think I am."
She freezes, brow furrowed.
She lowers the flame on the stove. "What do you mean?"
He gently turns her to face him, holding her hands between his.
"I'm an agent. For EIS."
Neva's face falls. "What?" her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"It's not," he replies quietly. "I wouldn't joke about this."
"You said you owned that car workshop—how?" Neva trails off, frowning.
"I do. It's... mostly a cover." Rhett says, slowly, carefully.
She pulls her hands away slowly.
An anxious silence falls around them.
"You lied to me," she says quietly.
"I didn't mean to. I just… didn't want to lose this. You." He swallows hard. "There's another assignment. I'll be gone a week. Maybe more."
Her lips press into a tight line as she walks to the couch, towel falling from her hair.
She sits, staring ahead.
Rhett follows, kneels in front of her.
"I knew I'd tell you eventually. I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner."
Her eyes glisten with tears. "You're brutal."
"If I'd told you from the beginning… would it have changed anything?"
"I don't know," she whispers. "But your job… it's dangerous, isn't it?"
He hesitates. Then nods. "Sometimes."
She looks away, her voice cracking. "You're so cruel, Rhett…"
A lump forms in his throat. He reaches for her hand again, gripping it gently.
She doesn't pull away.
"I'm sorry. But I promise… it won't hurt us. I'll protect this, Angel. I'll protect you."
"For how long?" she asks. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Six years." He exhales.
"I never went to college. My father was an agent. I guess I followed his path. I… got a kick out of it, back then."
She doesn't smile. Doesn't even blink.
"You're not leaving me, are you?" he asks suddenly, panic lacing his voice. "Please… please don't leave me."
He pulls her into his arms, trembling now.
The thought of even a future without her terrifies him.
Her presence calms him. Anchors him.
She's his home.
No—he can't live without her.
And in that quiet—churning moment, something shifts inside him.
Maybe… he could quit. Maybe the life he's known—the blood, the secrets—could be traded for something gentler.
Maybe he could stay.
Her tears fall silently. One lands on his arm.
"When are you leaving?" she asks, voice hushed.
"In two days," he murmurs, gentle, careful.
She nods slowly, lips trembling. "Just don't leave me widowed, Rhett. Always come back."
He lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. "You'll always find me home, Angel. Safe in your arms."
"I want our beautiful future," she whispers.
"You'll have it," he murmurs.
"Can you… make it to Christmas?"
"I think so." He pauses. "I promise."
"You don't have to promise," she says with a soft smile. "I'll pray for you."
Rhett draws back, eyes wide. "You'll… pray for me?"
She nods. "Of course. That's the greatest, and only thing I can truly do for you."
He stares at her, and something fierce and tender wells up inside him.
No weapon, no armor, could shield him more than this—her faith. Her love.
Neva—his greatest strength.
She's his proof that some things are still pure—that faith, and hope are not just stories, not illusions. And maybe... just maybe, there really is a divine hand in all of this.
Maybe he wasn't walking this road alone.