Morning light filtered through the lodge windows in long golden ribbons, slipping past the curtains and warming the dining hall.
The smell of cinnamon oats drifted from the kitchen, mixing with the rich aroma of roasted coffee. Footsteps shuffled across the wooden floor, familiar ones, brisk and confident.
Mrs. Marlowe.
Elara barely had time to blink before the older woman burst through the kitchen doorway like a gust of warm wind in human form.
"There you are, dear!" Mrs. Marlowe sang, her scarf hanging lopsidedly from her neck. "I knocked, but you never hear anything with all those pots clanging."
Elara sighed good-naturedly. "I heard you, Mrs. Marlowe. I was just hoping the lodge would magically hide me."
"Oh, nonsense," Mrs. Marlowe huffed cheerfully. "Nothing hides from me. Not even secrets."
Elara stiffened slightly, stirring the oatmeal with more force than necessary.
"Secrets?" she repeated.
Mrs. Marlowe leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised. "Yes, dear. Like why Martin Black is walking around with a smile that looks suspiciously like it was caused by someone specific."
Elara froze.
"Mrs. Marlowe—"
"And don't you try denying it," the woman continued triumphantly. "Half the town saw you two standing outside together last night. Under the aurora, no less! Very romantic lighting."
Elara flushed scarlet. "We were talking."
"Mm-hmm." Mrs. Marlowe tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "And did he talk to your face or to your eyes?"
Elara choked. "Wh… what does that even mean?"
Mrs. Marlowe chuckled. "Young men either talk to a woman's face polite or to her eyes interested."
Elara wanted to bury her face in the nearest pile of flour. "We were just watching the aurora. That's all."
Mrs. Marlowe's smirk deepened. "And he just happened to stand very close to you? Not that I noticed. Or measured. Or stared."
Elara covered her face with her hands. "Mrs. Marlowe, please."
"Oh, Elara Venice," the older woman said fondly, setting a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright to let yourself feel something. We all get lonely. And that man looks at you like you're the first warm thing he's seen since winter began."
Elara swallowed. Hard.
Before she could respond, the front door opened with a sharp swing of cold wind.
Matrin walked in, camera around his neck, hair ruffled by the morning breeze. He stomped the snow from his boots and looked up.
"Morning," he greeted warmly.
Mrs. Marlowe elbowed Elara. Hard.
Elara nearly threw her spoon into the pot.
Matrin blinked at the two of them. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No," Elara blurted.
"Yes," Mrs. Marlowe said at the exact same time.
Both women glared at each other.
Matrin's lips twitched. "O…kay."
Mrs. Marlowe swooped in, patting his arm. "Good morning, handsome."
Matrin coughed. "Uh… good morning."
Elara straightened herself. "Coffee?"
"Yes, please."
Mrs. Marlowe's eyes gleamed wickedly as she whispered under her breath, "Interested. Very interesting."
"Mrs. Marlowe," Elara hissed.
"I'll leave you two to it!" Mrs. Marlowe announced loudly, marching for the door. "I'll come back later to check on the pipes and your emotional situation."
Elara turned bright red. Matrin tried, and failed, to hide a smile.
When the door shut behind the old woman, Matrin leaned against the counter beside her.
"She's lively," he said.
"She's impossible."
"She's… not entirely wrong."
Elara paused mid-stir. "About what?"
Matrin met her eyes for a moment but just as he parted his lips, the door swung open again.
Rowan entered.
Matrin straightened. The blacksmith's son was tall, broad-shouldered, and usually warm. But now he carried the unmistakable energy of someone assessing a threat.
"Morning," Rowan said curtly.
"Morning," Matrin replied, offering a friendly nod.
Rowan didn't nod back.
Elara cleared her throat. "Rowan came to check the furnace."
Rowan's gaze didn't leave Matrin. "I heard you were out late last night."
Matrin raised an eyebrow. "Is that… a problem?"
Rowan stepped farther into the room. The tension thickened.
"Elara rarely goes out during auroras," he said calmly. "She usually stays inside."
"Last night was special," Matrin responded with equal calm. "The sky was beautiful."
Rowan's eyes narrowed, the subtext loud and sharp. "Was it?"
"Rowan," Elara said sternly, stepping between them. "Stop."
He looked at her, something softer flickering behind his annoyance. "Elara, I'm just looking out for you."
"I don't need protection," she snapped.
Silence.
Then Rowan exhaled, stepping back a little. "I just don't want strangers taking advantage."
Matrin's jaw tightened for the first time since arriving in town. "I'm not here to hurt her."
Rowan studied him for a long moment, weighing his sincerity. "Time will tell."
Elara sighed heavily. "Both of you, enough."
Rowan shifted uncomfortably, then grabbed his toolkit and disappeared toward the furnace room.
Matrin rubbed the back of his neck. "Does he… hate me?"
"No," Elara said immediately. Then hesitated. "…He's just protective."
Matrin allowed a small, crooked smile. "Of you?"
She looked away. "Of the lodge. Of… everything here."
"That was very convincing," Matrin said with a teasing tone.
Elara glared half-heartedly. "Don't start."
But he didn't tease further. Instead, he softened his voice.
"If I'm making things complicated for you, tell me. I'll keep my distance."
Elara looked up sharply. "No."
The word left her faster than she intended. She quickly lowered her tone.
"I mean… you're not making things complicated. Rowan is just used to being the only one who helps around here."
Matrin nodded slowly. "I get it."
Then he added, with a gentleness that made her chest tighten:
"But I'm still here if you want me to be."
Elara swallowed again. The warmth of the stove suddenly felt too much.
"I… do," she whispered.
Matrin's smile this time was slow and sincere. "Good."
Outside, the wind brushed against the windows like a curious hand, carrying with it the whispers of a small town that noticed everything.
Inside, the first hints of something undeniable continued to weave quietly between them.
And though Elara wouldn't admit it aloud yet, she felt it.
So did Matrin.
And somewhere down the hallway, eavesdropping poorly behind a wall, Mrs. Marlowe whispered triumphantly to herself:
"I knew it."