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She kept inventing reasons. One more cup of coffee, had Sage tried the grapefruit yet, wait—Annie, what’s your address again, I forgot to write it down. Sage, I’m sending you something next week—do not let the man with the scruff open the box, it’s for you.
When they finally got her out onto the wide wrap-around porch, she stopped again.
The massive cedar beams overhead were dusted with a fine layer of fresh snow, and the air carried that clean, sharp bite of Montana winter—crisp pine, woodsmoke from the cabin’s massive stone chimneys, and the soft promise of more flakes to come. The mountains loomed behind the estate like silent guardians, their snow-heavy peaks half-hidden by low, pearl-gray clouds that bruised the sky. A few lazy snowflakes had already begun to drift down, melting the instant they touched the heated porch planks or landed in Isabelle’s dark hair.
Cal had given up facilitating twenty minutes ago. He leaned against the thick railing now, arms crossed, wearing that patient, amused expression, close enough to Sage that their shoulders brushed.
“Sage—”
“Iz.”
“Sage—”
“Iz, your plane is at one. I think you have to—”
“I know what time my plane is. I chartered the damn thing for Mr. Barrington.” She gave Michael a dirty look. Michael was, as usual, oblivious, happily applying sunscreen because Isabelle had told him to apply it.
“I’m just—” Isabelle said, exasperatedly throwing up her hands. She looked around as Annie and her kids piled into the waiting SUV with Mary Sue.
Her eyes were suddenly wet.
Sage almost missed it. Isabelle was usually so loud. But this time it was a whisper.
“I don’t want to go… this is my…”
Before Sage could react, Annie called out from the car, “Izzy! I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Daily check-ins, Annie Townsend—”
“Daily check-ins, Isabelle,” Annie answered as her kids pressed to the windows, yelling, “Bye, Auntie Isabelle! We’ll miss you! Come visit soon, okay?”
She smiled, but she looked wrecked as she called back, “Okay, you two! And listen to your mama, all right?”
Little Lily bolted from the SUV and threw herself into Isabelle’s arms. “I’ll miss you a lot, Auntie… so, so much. More than all the stars!”
Sage wiped her own eyes as Isabelle hugged the little girl back, voice breaking.
“I’ll miss you too, sweetie.”
Lily ran back to the car.
“Iz—”
“Don’t.” Isabelle’s chin wobbled. “Don’t say anything yet. I’m holding it together. I’m—” A broken little laugh. “I’m not holding it together. Fuck. Fudge. Whatever.”
Sage pulled her in.
This hug was quieter than the one in the library. No laughter, no scandalized shrieking about positions. Just Isabelle Sanford letting Sage Thompson go—for now. Just for a few months. But apparently that was still too much. The cold wind tugged at their hair, carrying the faint, sweet scent of the cedar porch and the distant, earthy cold of the mountains. Sage felt the tremor in Iz’s shoulders and held on tighter, letting the warmth of the cabin’s glowing windows behind them press against their backs like a gentle reminder that home was still here.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Iz, you literally already said that one.”
