The smell of cinnamon and brewing tea drifted through the small kitchen as Annalise stood by the counter, staring out the window. Snow had started falling again—not as violently as the storm before, but softly, like the town was breathing instead of bracing. She wrapped her hands around a mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers while her thoughts wandered back to Liam.
The conversation from the night before replayed in fragments.
You should have told me.
I would have understood.
She exhaled slowly. Understanding didn't erase hurt. She knew that. And yet, he hadn't walked away. That alone felt like a fragile miracle.
A knock at the door startled her.
"Annalise? You awake in there, or did winter finally defeat you?"
She smiled despite herself. That voice—familiar, teasing—belonged to Mara, her childhood best friend.
She opened the door to find Mara bundled in a thick coat, curls poking out from beneath a knitted hat, cheeks flushed from the cold.
"You look exactly the same," Mara said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "Just taller, sadder, and way more mysterious."
"Nice to see you too," Annalise laughed, pulling her into a hug.
The warmth of the embrace caught her off guard. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this—friendship that didn't require explanation.
Mara pulled back, studying her face. "You're really back," she said softly. "I wasn't sure I'd ever get to say that."
Neither was I, Annalise thought.
They sat at the small kitchen table, mugs steaming between them, conversation flowing in that easy, familiar way only years of shared history could create. Mara talked about her life—marriage, a toddler who never slept, a job at the town council office. Annalise listened, smiling, nodding, feeling like she was catching up on a life she'd paused but never truly left.
"So," Mara said eventually, lowering her voice, "I ran into Liam yesterday."
Annalise's fingers tightened slightly around her mug. "You did?"
"Oh, please," Mara said with a knowing look. "Everyone's run into Liam since you got back. It's like the town is holding its breath."
Annalise looked down. "What did he say?"
"That you're back," Mara replied. "And that he's trying not to mess things up."
Annalise swallowed. "That sounds like him."
Mara leaned forward, her tone softening. "You hurt him, you know. But you hurt yourself too. Don't forget that."
"I know," Annalise whispered. "I never meant to."
"Intent doesn't erase impact," Mara said gently. "But effort counts. And you're here now."
That word echoed in Annalise's chest. Here.
Later that afternoon, the town seemed livelier than it had been all week. The café buzzed with conversation, the bakery windows fogged from warmth and laughter, and the sound of a bell chimed every time someone stepped inside.
Annalise pushed open the café door and immediately spotted Liam sitting at a corner table with Ethan, his childhood friend. Ethan noticed her first and nudged Liam, who looked up—and froze.
Their eyes met.
The moment stretched, thick with awareness.
Then Ethan grinned. "Well, I'll leave you two to… whatever this is," he said, standing. "Try not to set the place on fire with unresolved feelings."
Annalise groaned. "I forgot how subtle this town isn't."
Liam smiled faintly. "You get used to it. Or you don't."
She slid into the seat across from him, the table suddenly feeling very small. "How are you?"
He shrugged. "Working through things. You?"
"Same."
Silence settled—not uncomfortable, but careful.
"My sister's coming to town tomorrow," Liam said after a moment. "She wants to meet you."
Annalise blinked. "Me?"
"She always liked you," he said. "Never understood why you left."
The familiar sting returned, but she nodded. "I'd like to meet her."
Something eased in his expression. "Good."
That evening, Annalise found herself at her parents' old house for the first time in ten years. The porch creaked beneath her feet as she stepped inside, memories flooding every corner. Her mother's voice called out from the kitchen, sharp with surprise and emotion.
"Annalise?"
They stared at each other for a long moment before her mother crossed the room and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"You came back," her mother whispered.
"Yes," Annalise replied, voice thick. "I did."
Dinner was filled with cautious conversation—updates, apologies that lingered unspoken, glances heavy with shared history. Her father asked about her work. Her mother asked if she was happy.
"I'm… figuring it out," Annalise said honestly.
Later, alone in her old bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and let the weight of everything settle. This town. These people. Liam.
Leaving had been painful. Staying might be harder.
But it also felt real.
That night, she ran into Liam again—outside the inn, snow falling softly around them.
"You look exhausted," he said.
"So do you."
He chuckled quietly. "Fair."
They stood there, breath fogging the air, neither quite ready to leave.
"My sister asked if I ever stopped loving you," he said suddenly.
Annalise's heart skipped. "What did you say?"
"I said… no," he admitted. "I just stopped knowing what to do with it."
She stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't want to be a question mark anymore, Liam."
He met her gaze, eyes steady. "Then don't be."
For the first time since her return, Annalise felt something settle—not certainty, not resolution, but belonging. Family and friends surrounded them, not as pressure, but as reminders of what connection looked like when it was real and imperfect.
And maybe, just maybe, love didn't need to be rushed to be right.