Chapter 7 Chapter 7
I woke from what had to be the deepest sleep of my life and found Jake sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, staring at me with far too much patience for that early in the morning. Every muscle in my body protested when I shifted beneath the blankets, a lingering reminder of yesterday's ski lesson and my spectacular collision with Josh.
“Oh no,” I whispered. “What do you want?”
Jake's mouth curved. “We have plans.”
I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head. “Too early.”
Mike immediately ripped it away. “Up, sweetheart. Breakfast is getting cold.”
“That's terrifying,” I muttered, blinking toward the doorway as Josh walked in carrying a plate stacked with pancakes, bacon, and enough fruit to feed three people.
“I brought breakfast,” he said, setting it across my lap before he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “How sore are you?”
“On a scale from one to ten?” I reached for a piece of bacon. “About forty.”
Drew appeared behind him with coffee and the calm expression of someone who had already been awake long enough to make sure no one burned down the kitchen. He handed me the mug before checking my eyes in the morning light. “Any headache or dizziness?”
“No. Just muscles I didn't know existed.”
The tension in Josh's shoulders eased, and I tried not to smile at how closely all of them still watched me. Three weeks ago, that attention would have felt like a cage. Now I understood the difference between being controlled and being cared for, even if I still had to remind them that recovery did not make me breakable.
Patrick leaned against the door frame, already dressed, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. “Eat first. Then Jake can explain why he woke up the entire cabin at seven.”
“It is almost nine,” Jake said.
“Still criminal,” Mike replied as he stole a piece of bacon from my plate.
I slapped his hand away, but Jake had already started bouncing on the mattress. “Engagement night was kind of a blur, and then you were recovering. We came back here for skiing, so I think today should be ours. No family, no lawyers, and no wedding planning. Just us.”
Warmth spread through my chest as I looked from him to the others. They had given me time when I asked for it. They had let the proposal settle without turning my yes into a deadline, and somehow that made this small celebration feel more important than any crowded party could have.
“What exactly does an engagement celebration require?” I asked.
Jake grinned. “Decorations, food, movies, and everyone telling me my ideas are brilliant.”
“Three out of four isn't bad,” Mike said.
An hour later, the living room looked like a craft store had collided with the cabin. Jake insisted the string of photographs he had printed belonged on the mantel, while Mike argued that the tiny lights would look better around the windows. Drew quietly fixed the tape every time something fell. Patrick read the directions for a paper banner no one had asked him to assemble, and Josh lifted me so I could fasten the last corner above the fireplace.
“I can stand on a chair,” I reminded him as he set me down.
His hands lingered at my waist. “I know. I wanted to hold you.”
That stole the argument right out of me. Jake made a pleased sound behind us until Josh turned and threatened to hang him from the mantel with the extra ribbon.
When everything was finished, I stepped back and studied the photographs. Some were chaotic group pictures, while others caught quieter moments I had not known anyone noticed. Drew was asleep with his head in my lap. Mike taught me to play cards. Patrick watching me across a crowded room. Jake was laughing while I tried to steal his hat. Josh holding my hand beneath a restaurant table.
My throat tightened. “You kept all of these?”
Jake's excitement softened. “Only the ones you were okay with. If you want any taken down, I will.”
I reached for his hand. “No. I want them here.”
One picture near the center showed all six of us after the proposal. The angle was crooked and Mike's face was half hidden behind Drew's shoulder, but my hand was lifted toward the camera and the five bands caught the light. I remembered how badly I had shaken when they placed them on my finger, not because I wanted to run, but because happiness that large still felt dangerous. In the photograph, Josh watched me instead of the camera, and Patrick stood behind us with one hand resting against the couch. Jake had printed the messy version instead of trying to make us look perfect.
“That one's my favorite,” I admitted.
Mike leaned over the back of the couch to see which one I meant. “Even with half my face missing?”
“Especially because half your face is missing.”
He clutched his chest as if I had wounded him, and Drew laughed beneath his breath. The tightness in my throat eased without anyone asking me to explain it.
The movie he chose had almost no plot, but he laughed so hard that none of us cared. Josh pulled me into his lap beneath a blanket, Drew sat close enough for our legs to touch, and Mike stretched across the rug like he belonged in a calendar. Patrick claimed the chair nearest the fireplace, where he could see every window and all of us at once.
Halfway through, Mike nudged my foot. “Are you okay? You're quiet.”
“I'm happy,” I said softly, letting the truth settle before fear could make me take it back.
Josh kissed my temple. “Good.”
By evening, the cabin smelled like cinnamon, garlic, and roasting chicken. Mike and Drew handled dinner while Josh kept me from stealing bites. Patrick opened the wine, and Jake nearly set fire to a napkin while lighting the candles. Even with one blackened corner hidden beneath his plate, the table looked perfect.
After dinner, Josh pulled me toward the window, where snow drifted lazily through the darkness. His knuckles brushed my cheek as the others gathered behind us.
“Baby girl, this is the first celebration that's only about the life you're choosing,” he said. “I hope you know you deserve it.”
I looked at the five narrow bands on my finger, then at the men reflected with me in the glass. “I do,” I whispered. “I'm starting to.”
The others moved closer until I was surrounded by warmth, familiar voices, and hands that touched without trapping me. Somewhere between dessert and Jake demanding another terrible movie, I realized this wasn't just another stay at the cabin or a delayed party we had nearly forgotten to have.
It was proof that I could build new memories without erasing what came before. It was loud, imperfect, and safe.
It was home, and I had five reasons why.
