Raylene knew something was different the moment she woke up.
The world was quieter than usual — that thick, muted silence that only happens when snow piles deep and heavy outside. The windows were fogged, the sky pale and swirling, and the roof made the soft groaning sounds of winter settling in.
Jedson stirred beside her, his hair a mess, his eyes half-open.
"…storm?" he mumbled.
Ray nodded, pulling the blanket to her chin. "Storm."
"Good," he said, stretching, "because my legs have filed an official complaint after that red hill yesterday."
She snorted. "I told you. Slow and steady."
He nudged her with his knee. "We were steady. Too steady for my muscles."
But neither of them moved to get out of bed. Their bodies were sore; their hearts were full. And the storm outside felt like permission — permission to rest, stay close, and savor the quiet.
Eventually they crawled out from under the covers and shuffled to the window.
The world was white.Wind carving shapes in the snow.Trees half buried.The cottage wrapped in winter's arms.
Ray sighed happily. "Cozy day?"
Jed nodded. "Cozy day."
---
They bundled into sweatpants and blankets and decided to make a long, slow-cooked meal — something warm and comforting.They had brought ingredients for a simple stew: potatoes, carrots, broth, onions, a bit of meat, and spices Ray insisted were non-negotiable.
But halfway through cooking, Ray froze.
"…Jed," she whispered.
Jed looked up from cutting vegetables. "What?"
"We forgot the tomatoes."
He blinked. "No we didn't."
She held up the recipe card. "Yes. We did."
They stared at each other.They stared at the storm outside the window.The wind howled like a dramatic reminder.
Jed groaned. "We're going to have to go outside, aren't we?"
Ray nodded solemnly. "Yes. The stew demands sacrifice."
---
Bundled in coats, hats, scarves, boots — basically disguised as walking blankets — they trudged to the tiny resort store. The wind slapped their faces. Snowflakes clung to their eyelashes. Rays of cold crept through their layers.
The store was warm, bright, and smelled like hot chocolate.
The cashier, a woman in her 50s with rosy cheeks, greeted them with a grin.
"Sure is snowy today, isn't it?"
Ray laughed breathlessly. "Is it always like this?"
"Oh, sometimes it's worse," the cashier said cheerfully.
Jed coughed. Ray elbowed him.
They grabbed the missing ingredient, plus hot chocolate packets because Ray insisted it was scientifically required for surviving winter, and paid far more than reasonable for a single tomato.
As they walked to the door, the cashier added,"Stay warm out there, lovebirds!"
Jed turned red.Ray practically shoved him out the door.
---
Back in the cottage, the warmth felt like a hug.Ray chopped.Jed stirred.The storm roared outside while their kitchen filled with the scent of stew and soft music.
They curled on the couch with bowls in hand, choosing a series almost randomly — something light, funny, easy to watch while cuddled up. Eventually Ray's legs ended up over Jed's, and Jed's arm ended up around her, and that was just… where they stayed.
Later they played board games.Raylen's competitive streak appeared like a tiny demon.Jedson's pride refused to lose gently.
Mischief sparked in Ray's eyes.
"What if," she said slowly, tapping the game board,"…we made this more interesting?"
Jed raised an eyebrow. "Raylene."
"Clothing poker," she declared.
He blinked. "I've never played that."
"I haven't either," she admitted with a grin, "which means I get to make the rules."
And she did.And, unsurprisingly, the rules were biased in her favor.And, also unsurprisingly, they both ended up losing — or winning, depending on interpretation.
The details faded into a blur of warm skin, soft laughter, gentle touches, and a fierce sense of closeness that had nothing to do with the storm outside.
Just the two of them.Finally here.Finally together.
---
Much later, as they rested tangled in blankets, the lights flickered once… twice… then went out entirely.
"Oh," Ray whispered.
"Looks like the snow's serious," Jed murmured.
They lit candles, the soft golden glow dancing along the wooden walls. The storm pressed against the windows, but inside everything felt safe, slow, intimate. Jed pulled her into his chest, wrapping the blanket around both of them until they were one warm shape.
Ray rested her hand over his heartbeat.
Jed bent his head, his voice a whisper barely above the storm:
"You're here. I still can't believe it."
Her breath caught.
She lifted her face slightly, enough to feel his words warm against her skin."Me neither," she whispered. "Every morning I wake up, it feels unreal."
He held her tighter — not out of fear she'd vanish, but from the weight of finally not needing to.
The power stayed out.The candles glowed low.The snow fell heavy.
Wrapped in each other's arms, they drifted into sleep —safe, warm, and full of the quiet certainty that they had survived the hardest parts of distance and found their way home.
Together.