The weather was harsh enough to force me into the first café I could find instead of trekking to the Haven.

It wasn't my usual spot, but as soon as I stepped inside I decided it would be good enough, the warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, chasing away the sting of the snowstorm outside. The low hum of conversation mingled with the gentle clink of mugs and the steady hiss of the espresso machine, creating a rhythm that was the perfect backdrop to my lazy afternoon.

I sat curled up in a corner booth by the window, a battered copy of Jane Eyre in hand. The half-moon couch was worn but soft, and the view outside framed snowflakes swirling in the dim light. It was my nth time reading it, and as always the characters on the pages were familiar friends to me, relaxing and calming and predictable.

But the second Tanya stepped in, my calm shattered.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and instinct drew my gaze upward. She stood framed in the doorway, snowflakes clinging to her golden hair and dusting the shoulders of her deep red coat. The warm light of the café perfectly set off her golden tresses and pale skin. Her beauty sharp and striking against the winter backdrop. It wasn't fair, really, how effortlessly she owned the room with her presence.

Her eyes found mine almost instantly, and for a moment, I considered ducking behind my book. But then she smiled—a slow, radiant thing that seemed to chase the chill from the air—and before I could think better of it, I smiled back.

And just like that, she was walking toward me, her movements so fluid and graceful that every head in the room turned to watch her.

"Bella," she greeted, her voice warm and honey-smooth. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Tanya," I said, my pulse quickening as I fought to keep my voice steady. "You don't usually come here, do you?"

"Not often," she admitted, her golden eyes sparkling. "But something told me I might find a good reason to stop by today."

I arched a brow, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. "Something, huh?"

Her smile deepened, playful and disarming. "Call it intuition." She gestured to the chair across from me. "Mind if I join you?"

I hesitated—just for a moment—but the answer was inevitable. "Sure," I said, closing my book and setting it aside. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." She slid into the seat with that same practised elegance, her every movement deliberate and unhurried. "What are you reading?"

" Jane Eyre, " I replied, flipping the book closed to show her the cover.

"Ah," she said, tilting her head. "A classic. A story of resilience, independence, and a touch of gothic romance. Excellent choice."

"You've read it?" I asked, surprised.

"A few times," she said, her smirk faint but teasing. "I'm older than I look."

I bit back a smile, thinking, If only you knew how much I already know. "Well, don't spoil the ending for me," I said dryly.

Her laugh was soft and melodic, wrapping around me like a song I didn't realize I'd missed. "I wouldn't dream of it. But it's one of those stories that grows with you, don't you think? New layers reveal themselves with each reread."

I blinked, caught off guard by how genuine she sounded. Edward had always dismissed my love for books like this, calling them melodramatic or quaint. Tanya's approach felt like the opposite—curious, open, engaged. Like she wasn't just tolerating my interests but seeing something valuable in them.

"It does," I said quietly. "Sometimes I feel like I understand Jane more now than I did the first time I read it. Her choices make more sense."

Tanya rested her chin on her hand, studying me with an intensity that made my pulse jump. "I can see why you'd connect with her," she said softly. "You strike me as someone who knows how to hold her ground."

I laughed under my breath. "I wouldn't go that far. Stubborn, maybe."

She tilted her head, her golden eyes thoughtful. "There's a quiet strength in that kind of stubbornness. A kind of power most people overlook."

Her words sent a shiver down my spine—not because they were unsettling, but because they were so careful. Measured. She was holding back, tiptoeing around something. I knew why, of course. And for a moment, I wondered if I should just say it—tell her I knew, tell her everything. But the thought of exposing that part of my past made my chest tighten.

"Is that your way of complimenting me?" I asked instead, keeping my tone light.

"Maybe," she said, her smile turning playful. "Is it working?"

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't stop the warmth creeping into my cheeks. "You're persistent. I'll give you that."

"I'm persistent when it matters," she said simply, her voice softening.

The air between us shifted then, the banter giving way to something heavier. I wanted to pull back, to retreat behind the walls I'd spent so long building, but I couldn't. There was something about her—steady, grounding—that made it impossible to pull away.

"So," I said, clearing my throat. "What do you do when you're not wandering into random cafés?"

Her smile turned wistful, her gaze flicking briefly to the window. "A little bit of everything. My family runs a few businesses in the area. It keeps us busy."

"That's vague," I said, smirking. "Are you going for the mysterious stranger vibe?"

"Maybe," she teased. "Is it working?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted, biting back a smile.

We talked for what felt like hours, the conversation flowing so effortlessly it was almost disarming. Tanya asked questions—about my favorite books, my thoughts on Denali, even the quirks of small-town life—and I found myself answering without hesitation. Her curiosity didn't feel intrusive; it felt genuine, like she actually wanted to know me.

The door chimed softly, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced up to see James slipping in. His gaze flickered to Tanya and then back to me, a question in his eyes. Subtle as ever, I thought dryly. I gave him a nod in return. He ordered a coffee to-go and left with a quick nod back in my direction, his concern obvious. After all the talk about being spooked by Carmen and Eleazar, I was now sitting with one of the golden eyed strangers.

"Friend of yours?" Tanya asked, her tone light but curious.

"James," I said with a small shrug. "He's just… looking out for me."

Her brow lifted slightly, amusement flickering in her eyes. "A watchful guardian, then?"

"Something like that." I smiled faintly. "I got spooked recently, and he is kind enough to keep tabs. It's sweet, really."

"It is," she agreed, her voice softer now. "It's good to have people like that in your life."

"Yeah," I said, surprised by the truth in her words. "It is.

The café was quieter now, most of the tables around us emptying as the evening wore on. I hadn't noticed the time passing—our conversation had been that easy, as though the rest of the world didn't matter.

Tanya glanced at her watch, a flicker of reluctance crossing her face. "I should probably let you get back to your evening," she said, though her tone didn't sound entirely convinced.

"You don't have to go," I said before I could stop myself.

Her eyes brightened, her lips curving into a small, surprised smile. "I don't?"

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Unless you have somewhere to be. We could… I don't know, keep talking?"

Her smile deepened, warm and unguarded. "I'd like that."

And as the snow fell softly outside, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I could let myself fall too.

"Actually," Tanya said, her tone thoughtful, "there's this spot not far from here. A lookout point. It's beautiful at night, especially with the snow. If you're up for a walk, I could show you."

My heart skipped. The rational part of me—the part that had spent months building walls—warned me not to agree. But the rest of me, the part that felt like I'd been holding my breath until she walked into my life, wanted to say yes.

"That sounds… nice," I said softly, my gaze flicking to the weather outside. "Lead the way."

Tanya smiled, warm and unguarded, as she stood and extended her hand toward me. I took it without thinking, letting her guide me up. Her fingers were cool against mine, but instead of startling me, the touch was grounding, steady.

We stepped out into the night, the cold air crisp against my face. Snow crunched softly beneath our boots as we walked, the world hushed and serene. It wasn't until we had gone a few steps that I realized something: I was still holding Tanya's hand.

I glanced down at our intertwined fingers, my heart thudding in my chest. I should have let go. It was the logical thing to do. But instead, I held on tighter, my thumb brushing against the back of her hand. It felt… right. More right than anything had in years.

Tanya turned her head slightly, her golden eyes catching the faint glow of the streetlights. "You okay?" she asked, her voice low, careful.

"Yeah," I said quietly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at my lips. "I'm okay."

And for once, I meant it.