The first snow of December came quietly, drifting down like sifted flour over the cabin's roof and the frozen pines. The world outside grew soft and white, but inside the lodge Elara's voice echoed with something far less gentle.
"No, no Rowan, that goes on the other table!"
"I thought you said the right one," Rowan muttered, shifting the crates of lanterns once more.
"I said the east one."
"This place has no compass, Elara!"
Matrin stifled a smile as he passed through the open door carrying two bags of firewood. The common hall of the Winter Lodge looked more chaotic than usual. Boxes were stacked everywhere: lanterns, ribbons, wooden charms, bundles of cedar branches. Every year, the town held an Aurora Festival the week before the longest night of the year. This time, though, half the regular volunteers were sick, traveling, or too old to lift anything heavier than a tea cup.
Which meant Elara Venice was doing most of the work. And Rowan after being bribed with three jars of winterberry jam was helping her.
Matrin set down the firewood and waited for Elara to notice him. She was kneeling beside a crate, untangling a maddening knot of twine with a level of intensity usually reserved for defusing bombs.
Her hair was tied in a messy knot at the back of her head, a pencil stuck behind one ear. Smudges of dust streaked her sweater sleeves.
She looked… overwhelmed.
And beautiful.
When she glanced up, strands of hair fell across her cheek. "You're back? Already?"
"The woodpile isn't far," Matrin said. "And someone," he added, looking at Rowan, "never closes the shed door properly. Half the wood was frozen to the ground."
Rowan rolled his eyes. "I told you the wind did it."
"The wind also left boot prints?"
"Maybe it learned to walk."
Elara sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Can both of you please try just for one day to make my life easier?"
Matrin straightened and gave her a gentle nod. "I can help."
Rowan froze mid-complaint. "You mean… voluntarily? Nobody's paying him. Are we sure he's okay?"
Elara ignored Rowan and looked directly at Matrin. "Are you sure? You don't have to. Festival prep is… messy."
"I've lived in worse messes," Matrin said. "And I want to help."
Her eyes softened, and something unspoken flickered between them something Rowan noticed immediately.
"Oh wonderful," Rowan muttered. "I'm being replaced."
Elara didn't waste time. She put Rowan in charge of fixing the outdoor lantern hooks far away from her peace of mind and put Matrin to work sorting the decorations.
He followed her around as she pointed to boxes and shelves.
"These wooden charms need a string use the twine on the left. We hang them from the ceiling beams."
"Those lanterns need new candles, the unscented kind."
"And these cedar bundles we place one in each window. There should be forty."
"Forty cedar bundles?" Matrin asked.
"Yes. Tradition says they bring warmth." She paused. "Or scare away the winter spirits. Depends on who you ask."
He grinned. "Which one do you believe?"
Elara dusted off a lantern. "The one that lets me sleep better."
She walked toward another crate, and Matrin noticed the faint limp in her step small, almost invisible, but present. The stairs to the cellar earlier that morning must have been rough. Without thinking, he stepped beside her and took the crate before she could reach it.
"Elara," he said gently, "let me get the heavy ones."
She blinked up at him, torn between pride and gratitude. "I'm not helpless."
"I never said you were." He held her gaze. "But you don't have to do everything alone."
Her breath hitched faintly a tiny sound, but Matrin heard it. After a moment, she let her shoulders drop.
"…Okay."
He lifted the crate with ease. Elara exhaled, relieved more than she wanted to show.
"Thank you, Matrin."
The words were simple, but the sincerity struck deeper.
By noon, the hall smelled like cedar, wax, and the faint sweetness of winterberry cookies Elara had baked for the volunteers who never arrived.
Matrin worked steadily, tying twine, replacing lantern candles, organizing charms by pattern and size. He found the rhythm oddly calming.
Every once in a while, Elara passed by giving instructions, checking progress, occasionally scolding Rowan through the window.
"Rowan! That ladder is leaning the wrong way!"
"It's leaning just fine!"
"Your definition of fine leads to broken bones!"
"Whose bones?"
"Yours!"
Matrin laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
At one point, he noticed Elara kneeling by a cedar bundle, inspecting a sprig with unusual focus.
"You've checked that same one three times," Matrin said.
"It looks crooked."
"It looks like every other bundle."
"No, this one's off by look, the left branch is shorter."
He tilted his head. "You're being picky."
"I'm being thorough."
"You're being adorable."
Elara stilled.
The cedar bundle slipped from her fingers. She didn't glance up, but Matrin saw how her ears turned pink.
"I… uh… that wasn't… I mean…" She exhaled sharply. "Focus on the lanterns!"
He hid a smile and returned to his work.
Later, when Rowan finally gave up and left to get hot chocolate, the lodge grew quieter. Snow thickened outside; the windows carried a frosted haze.
Elara was standing on a short stool, trying to hang cedar charms from the ceiling beams. She stretched her arm but barely reached the hook. Matrin watched from across the hall, amused.
"You'll fall," he said.
"I won't."
"You almost did this morning."
"That step was slippery."
"And the day before?"
"The stool was uneven."
"And last week?"
Elara let out an irritated breath. "Matrin Black, if you're going to lecture me—"
She lost balance.
Matrin moved without thinking crossing the floor in two long strides and catching her just before she tipped to the side. Her hands instinctively grabbed his shoulders; his arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her.
For a moment, everything froze.
Her breath fanned lightly against his neck. The scent of cedar and something warm, something uniquely her, filled his senses. Elara looked up, startled, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
He didn't let go immediately.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
Elara nodded slowly. "Yes. Just… surprised."
"By gravity?"
"By you."
Matrin swallowed.
Then she cleared her throat and gently stepped down from his hold, smoothing her sweater.
"I… I should finish the decorations."
"Let me do the high ones," Matrin said quietly.
This time, Elara didn't argue.
She handed him the charms, her hands brushing his fingers in the exchange. The touch lingered longer than it needed to.
As evening approached, the lodge glowed with warm candlelight. Lanterns lined the windows, cedar bundles hung neatly between them, and delicate wooden charms swayed from the beams.
Elara surveyed everything, hands on her hips.
"It looks… good," she said softly. "Really good."