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Sage stared at the growing stack. Opened her mouth.
Cal was already reaching for his wallet.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Hallie’s hand came down on the counter like a gavel. She pointed one authoritative finger at him. “You put that away right now, Cal Meridian, I mean it.”
“Hallie—”
"Don't you Hallie me. You know what you did." She was already folding the duster with crisp, authoritative efficiency. "That was an investment and you know it and I know it and we are never going to discuss it, but you are absolutely not paying in my store, not today, not ever, and that's final."
"It was a business decision," Cal said in a way that suggested he had said it before. "This is your store, Hallie."
"And it's still standing because of you, so put the wallet away or I will take it away from you and I will do it in front of this girl and it will be embarrassing for everyone."
Cal put the wallet away.
Hallie shot Sage a look of warm conspiracy. "Men," she said.
"Men," Sage whispered, stunned, before she could think about it.
Hallie grinned, clearly delighted, and pushed the full tote bag across the counter. Then she reached out, pulled Sage into a quick, fierce hug—that smelled like vanilla, cedar, and unconditional welcome—and held her for a moment.
“You come back and see me, honey. Anytime. No excuse needed.”
Sage looked up at her—at that kind, no-nonsense face full of frank warmth—and felt her throat tighten.
“Yeah,” she managed. “Okay.”
As she started to pull away, Hallie gently held her a second longer and said, soft and certain, “You’re beautiful, Sage. I hope you know that, baby.”
Oh shit. Not again.
Sage blinked hard, dropping her head against Hallie’s shoulder as the older woman hugged her once more, brief and tight.
A moment later the bell chimed brightly behind them as they stepped back out into the cold. Cal held the door, of course—quiet, automatic, like breathing. Sage walked through without comment, which she decided counted as significant personal growth.
She stopped on the wooden sidewalk, tote bag hanging from her fingers, and just… looked.
Main Street stretched out under strings of warm white lights, smoke curling from chimneys, the river glinting at the far end like a silver ribbon. The mountains loomed above it all—patient, enormous, unchanging. Snow crunched softly under boots. The air smelled like pine, woodsmoke, and distant cinnamon rolls.
She felt Cal stop beside her.
Didn’t look at him. Couldn’t quite yet.
Who the fuck is this guy, she thought.
It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it. Probably wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time the question felt less like threat assessment and more like something she genuinely wanted to know.
“So,” she said, voice a little rough. “What else do you need to do?”
“Doctor’s appointment,” he answered.
She turned to look at him. He was watching the street with that same even, unhurried calm.
“For you?” she asked. “You look healthy to me.”
He met her eyes—steady pewter that saw way too much—and gave a small, suspiciously casual shrug.
Sage studied him for a long moment. Then she looked back at the mountains, the river, the town that felt like it had decided to keep existing on purpose.
