Grace had avoided encounters with Erik until the day he took her on a tour of the forest. Since then, thoughts of him have become an unexpected distraction. It didn’t help that his room was directly above hers — each creak of the floorboards overhead brought to mind the first time she saw him. It had been over a week since their paths had even crossed despite staying under the same roof. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had said something wrong, something that pushed him away.
Or maybe he was just being nice. A polite tour guide, nothing more. Maybe the spark she thought she felt that day—the glances held a second too long, the quiet pull of something unspoken—was entirely one-sided. Grace had a talent for overthinking things, especially when it came to men. It was her curse: replaying conversations like old records, searching for cracks in her own words, clues she had missed.
And then there was Erik. Tall, athletic, rugged in that quietly confident way. He looked like someone who could still be playing in the NHL, doing endorsement deals, dating models who ate kale for breakfast and never seemed to sweat.
And she was… a librarian. Ten years older. Strong and healthy, sure, but curvy in a way the world often labels as fat. No one would ever mistake her for a size 0. Grace didn’t lack self-confidence—she had spent years reclaiming her power after her failed marriage, but she was a realist. Men like Erik didn’t fall for women like her, at least not beyond fleeting moments of curiosity.
She shook her head, trying to quiet her doubts, but they clung like cobwebs. Was it possible she had imagined it all? That the warmth she’d felt in his gaze was just her own longing reflected back at her?
Grace sighed and smoothed the front of her sweater, a habit she had when she needed grounding. Now that Sky had invited her to join them for dinner, maybe she’d get her answer. One way or another, she was done guessing. She would face whatever came next head-on, just like she had learned to do after her divorce—because second-guessing her place in the world had never served her well. This place was too gorgeous for her to hide in her room.
Sky was a master of the art of matchmaking. Some couples needed a gentle nudge, a soft suggestion whispered at just the right moment. Erik and Grace, however? Oh, they needed a full-on shove, and maybe a firm reminder not to get in their own way.
It was obvious they had been avoiding each other since that little forest tour over a week ago. Sky had caught Erik watching Grace more than once when he thought no one was paying attention, his eyes soft, curious. And Grace? She wasn’t much better. Everything about her screamed that she was a woman protecting her heart, yet it seemed that there were twinkling stars in her dark eyes when you mentioned Erik’s name.
Sky had seen this before. Since his divorce, Erik had developed a frustrating habit of ghosting women the moment things became too real. It wasn’t that he led women on—he was always upfront about not wanting anything serious—but he was too easy to love. He had that quiet, rugged charm that women gravitated toward. Plus, he was genuinely kind, great with kids, and patient with the elders.
After a few dates, women often wanted more. Unfortunately, Erik’s way of dealing with affection was… disappearing. One minute he’d be considerate, attentive, and—according to her niece Ahyoka—rumored to be a very generous and skilled lover. The next minute, poof. Gone like a wisp of northern fog.
Sky knew for a fact that at least two women in Northern Manitoba would have gladly hexed him if they knew how. One had said she wanted to kill him, but she probably didn’t mean it. And there were a few more in Nebraska with similar feelings. Thankfully, they all lived far enough away that she didn’t have to worry about angry confrontations at the farmers’ market.
But this thing with Grace felt different. Sky was certain that Erik hadn’t taken any of those other women on a personal tour of the forest so close to his cabin. That wasn’t something he did lightly. For Erik, the forest was sacred — a place where he felt most himself. Grace probably had no idea that she had been given a glimpse of Erik’s childhood hiding place. Taking someone there wasn’t just a friendly gesture; it was like opening a window into his heart and soul.
She liked Grace. Truly liked her. There was something grounded and steady about the woman. She was reserved but still exuded a warmth that reminded Sky of the way the earth felt after the first spring thaw. Grace wasn’t flashy or flighty. She was solid, real, and brave in a quiet, unassuming way.
However, when she suggested to Grace that Erik was available, Grace had quickly replied that she wasn’t a cougar, he wasn’t really her type, she was only there to write, she wasn’t thinking about dating, and that Erik probably went for the size 2, busty type…
Sky laughed to herself, thinking the lady doth protest too much.
Sky couldn’t help but empathize with Grace’s uncertainty and self-protective nature. She had learned enough about her to see past the carefully composed exterior—the quick, polite smiles, the way she changed the subject when conversations veered too close to personal territory. Beneath all that was a woman with deep passion, a fierce love for history, stories, and the land.
But there was something else, too: a spark she tried to hide. Oh, yes, Sky thought. Grace is more fire than she lets on.
Sky understood. After losing her first husband, she believed love wasn’t meant for her a second time, that it would be easier—and safer—to just build a life on her own.
Then Stepan had walked into her life, quiet and steady, with those kind eyes and hands that could build anything, and suddenly all her well-crafted walls began to crumble. He hadn’t rushed her or tried to charm her. He’d simply been there, day after day, with his unwavering strength and gentle presence until she couldn’t imagine life without him.
That was what Grace needed. Someone who could break down those walls, slowly but surely, and remind her that it was safe to love again.
What Grace needed wasn’t just love — it was to be loved by someone who could bring out that hidden passion she kept under lock and key.
And if there was one thing Sky knew for certain, it was that Erik Strand was more than capable of being that key. He had his own walls, sure, but he was steady and patient enough to wait for Grace to trust him. If only he’d stop running the moment things started to feel real. Besides, Sky had never seen him date a size 2.
Sky glanced at the bannock warming on the counter and smiled to herself.
Dinner tonight would be casual, cozy. Exactly the kind of setting to coax them out of their respective shells and get them talking again. If anyone could get them back on track, it was her and Stepan. She had no doubt about it.
The kitchen at Manitow Christmas Tree Farm smelled of roasted root vegetables, wild mushroom soup, and fresh bannock. Sky had set the table with a simple but thoughtful touch—mismatched pottery plates collected over the years, linen napkins folded neatly at each place, and a centerpiece of evergreen sprigs dotted with small pinecones. The butter dish gleamed in the candlelight, sitting beside a jar of Saskatoon berry jam and a platter of still-warm bannock. The scent of venison stew, rich with Cree-inspired spices, mingled with the aroma of freshly baked tourtière, the tang of wild greens tossed with cranberries and toasted walnuts, and yabluchnyk—Ukrainian apple cake.
Instead of gathering in the formal dining room reserved for guests, Sky served dinner in the kitchen, where the circular oak table created an intimate, family-like atmosphere.
Grace lingered in the doorway, debating whether to slip away unnoticed, but Sky caught her eye with a warm smile.
“Come in, Grace. No need to hover.” She gestured toward the seat across from Erik, who was adjusting his napkin, eyes fixed on his plate.
Grace hesitated but stepped inside, her boots making soft thuds against the wooden floor.
Erik glanced up as she approached—a flicker of warmth, maybe, passing through his storm-gray eyes before he looked back down.
“Sit, sit,” Sky said cheerfully. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
Grace took her seat next to Stepan, her eyes scanning the table in admiration. Across from her, Erik sat with his sleeves rolled up, his hands resting on the edge of the table. His eyes met hers for a moment before shifting away, something unspoken flickering between them.
“Glad you could join us,” he said in his low, steady voice. “Sky’s been cooking all afternoon.”
Sky smiled. “It’s the off-season, and with the boys gone and our niece Ahyoka away in Churchill, I needed an excuse to cook a proper family dinner.”
“It seems like I haven’t seen Erik in weeks,” she added, shooting a playful look in his direction.
Sky set the last dish on the table. “Tonight’s menu is a little bit of everything.”
“It smells amazing,” Grace said, reaching for the bannock. “This must have taken hours.”
“It was worth it,” Sky said with a wink. “Wait until you try the tourtière.”
Conversation paused as everyone served themselves, filling their plates with stew, pierogies, and salad. The sound of clinking utensils and quiet murmurs filled the space as they took their first bites.
Stepan poured cider into their glasses. “It’s good to have people at this table again. It feels like old times.”
“It’s been too long,” Sky agreed. She glanced at Erik. “You’ve been busy with your cabin, but we’re glad you made time for this.”
Erik smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Sky leaned back in her chair, her eyes twinkling. “So, Grace, you’ve been here for over a month now. How are you finding Manitow?”
“It’s… magical,” Grace said, her voice softening. “There’s something about your farm so peaceful, but also… alive in a way I didn’t expect.”
Sky nodded approvingly. “That’s how it pulls you in. The trees speak to you then it’s hard to leave.”
Stepan raised his glass. “To the trees and to the forest, our untamed neighbor.”
They all lifted their glasses, clinking them gently before sipping.
Grace took a breath. “I told my brother Gregory he would love this place. He’s an investigative journalist in Winnipeg. He recently wrote a story on the importance of allowing Indigenous communities and the people most affected by climate change to lead environmental protection efforts.”
“That’s where I recognize your last name,” Sky said, arching a brow at Erik. “Gregory Gault. I agree, he should come meet the people here, especially our niece Ahyoka. She’s an environmental activist. That’s why she’s away in Churchill.”
Grace smiled. “Greg is great. Passionate about his work. A little too serious sometimes, but I guess that runs in the family.”
Stepan leaned forward. “You should invite him up sometime. We’d love to meet him.”
“We talked about him coming up for Christmas,” Grace said, already imagining how much Gregory would love the stories that seemed to grow in every corner of this place. “He was worried about me being alone in a place I’d never been before. But it’s probably too late for him to make a reservation for this Christmas”. “I’m sure we can find space for your brother,” Sky said. “That way you can put his mind at ease. Family should be together for Christmas.”
Speaking of the Cabin
“Speaking of the cabin,” Stepan said, tearing off a piece of bannock, “how’s it coming along?”
Erik leaned back in his chair – his expression thoughtful. “It’s getting there. I had to tear down most of the original structure—too much weather damage to salvage—but I’ve kept all of the stones and undamaged beams as I could. Most of the wood on the second floor was beginning to rot and there was some mold. The back porch had collapsed so that was a loss. I’ve been able to save all of the beams from the kitchen, living room and downstairs bedroom. Of course, The hearth in the kitchen and the living room fireplace were left untouched. That was non-negotiable. The hearth is the heart of the cabin. It wouldn’t be the same without. “That hearth is something special,” Stepan agreed. “Erik’s great-grandfather, Nicolas Pelletier, built it himself, stone by stone. I remember Erik’s grandfather, Marc-André, telling me how he hauled some of those rocks back from his hunting trips.”
Looking at Grace, Sky says, “That cabin even has a name — La Maison de la Forêt et des Lumières – The House of the Forest and Lights.
Grace, “that’s gorgeous!”
“I’ve kept every stone I could,” Erik said. “They’ll be part of the new walls. I want to preserve as much of the old house as possible as I rebuild. I’ve got most of the frame in place for the first and second floors, but I still need to get the roof and exterior walls up before the heavy snow sets in. It’s slow going, but I’m making progress.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” Grace said, leaning forward, intrigued.
“It is,” Erik admitted. “For now, the only habitable rooms are the kitchen and the downstairs master bedroom and bathroom. Everything else is still pretty skeletal.”
Sky grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Just like a man to make sure the kitchen and bedroom are finished first.”
Erik chuckled, leaning on the table. “Hey, they’re the largest and most important rooms in the house. Priorities, Sky.”
“The essentials,” Stepan added with a grin.
Erik nodded. “Exactly. Now that the roof is on, the solar panels can be installed and connected to the battery bank. I’ve got the well as my primary water source. I’ll connect the rain tower to the irrigation system in the Spring. The cabin is a long way from finished, but at least I have the tarp on and it’s sealed for winter.”
“You’re doing all of that work yourself?” Grace asked.
Erik shook his head. “No. I hired professional electricians, plumbers, and stonemasons to help. I’ve done most of the carpentry work and appliance installations myself. Misha and Sasha helped rip out the second floor. My brothers are coming up in the spring for a few weeks to help.”
Grace’s smile widened. “I love that. Combining the old with the new — preserving the history while embracing something sustainable. That’s… perfect.”
Erik glanced at her, something unreadable in his gaze. “It just feels right to rebuild that way. The house has a history that deserves to stay alive.”
“It does,” Sky said, her voice softer now. “And I think Marc-André would be proud of what you’re doing. That house has a soul of its own.”
For a moment, the warmth in the room seemed to deepen, wrapping around them like the steady crackle of the fire.
“You’re into sustainability?” Erik asked Grace, a spark of interest in his voice.
“I am,” Grace said. “Especially when it comes to gardening. I’ve been working on my own little urban permaculture garden back in Boston—lots of native plants, composting, and water conservation. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels right.”
“I didn’t realize you were into gardening,” Sky said, delighted. “You’ll have to help me in the greenhouse while you’re here.”
Grace nodded. “I’d love that. Honestly, part of the reason I’m here is to learn more about living in harmony with nature. Last year, my library’s book club read two gardening books – Soil by Camille Dungy and Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. After reading Braiding Sweetgrass, I wanted to learn more about Indigenous teachings on reciprocity with the land.”
“I know that book,” Sky said. “It speaks to the heart of how we should treat the land—like family.”
Grace smiled. “Exactly. In fact, it was a book club member who recommended I stay here. She told me she had spent a holiday here a few years ago, and the experience was life changing. She didn’t explain why, but I couldn’t get the idea of this place out of my mind.”
Stepan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Grace, I’ve been meaning to ask—why did you choose to take the train all the way from Boston to Thompson? Most people would have flown.”
Grace’s eyes lit up. “It was more than just a preference for slow travel. My great-grandfather and grandfather were Pullman porters on the Boston-Toronto-Winnipeg route. I grew up hearing stories about their journeys, and I always dreamed of retracing their steps.”
The room fell quiet as Grace continued. “It felt like a way to honor them. And the train gave me time to reflect, to meet people along the way. I had a memorable conversation with a woman named Margaret during the Toronto-to-Winnipeg leg. She was Cree and shared some of the most incredible stories about the land.”
“What kind of stories?” Erik asked, leaning in.
Grace smiled softly, recalling the conversation. “She spoke of wolves—guardians of the forest. She said they were more than just animals. Some nights, they walk as men, their eyes glowing like embers. They’re protectors of the land, warning those who respect it and punishing those who don’t.”
“Shapeshifters,” Sky said, her voice full of wonder. “We call them the Keepers.”
Grace nodded. “She also mentioned the polar bears of the north—sacred beings tied to the spirit of the Arctic. She said there was a woman once, part bear and part human, who lived among them. When she died, the bears mourned her, their howls carrying across the tundra for days.”
“Sounds like Margaret shared some of our most sacred stories,” Sky said, her eyes glowing. “Those stories carry more truth than most people realize.”
Grace sighed. “Meeting her felt like fate. When we parted ways in Winnipeg, she told me about Manitow Christmas Tree Farm and said I should stay here. She was the second person to mention it to me.”
“Margaret always did have a gift for guiding people,” Sky said with a knowing smile.
Stepan raised his glass. “To Margaret, and to the journey that brought you here.”
They clinked glasses and drank, the warmth of the cider filling the quiet between them.
After a few moments, Erik spoke. “The stories Margaret told you—they sound a lot like the ones my grandfather used to tell. Especially about the wolves. He believed they were real, that they watched over the forest.”
Grace leaned in. “Do you really believe that … really”
Erik hesitated, then smiled. “I don’t know. But I’ve felt… something out there. Especially when I’m deep in the forest. It’s like the land is alive, watching, waiting.”
Sky rested her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling. “That’s because it is alive. The Cree believe that the forest is full of spirits. Some protect; others test. They’re always there—you just have to listen.”
“The Ukrainian legends aren’t too different,” Stepan said. “My grandmother used to tell me about the lisovyk—a forest guardian made of bark and moss. He could control the animals and the trees, and if you respected the land, he’d protect you. But if you didn’t…” He trailed off, letting the warning linger in the air.
Sky added, her voice soft but powerful, “And then there’s the shape-shifting wolves. They’re not just guardians. They’re teachers. They remind us to respect the balance of nature, to walk lightly and give back as much as we take.”
A shiver ran down Grace’s spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was an overwhelming sense of something ancient and powerful weaving itself into her life.
“Those stories,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “They feel like more than stories. Like they’re trying to tell me something.”
Sky smiled gently. “Perhaps they are. Perhaps the forest has chosen you, Grace. We all end up here for a reason.” The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room. Erik’s gaze met Grace’s again, something unspoken passing between them—a shared understanding of the mysteries that lay beyond the trees.
“So, you’re a writer?” Erik asked.
Grace hesitated for a moment but nodded. “I’m trying to be. I’ve been working on a book about the myths and legends of the boreal forest. It’s something I want to write for adults who grew up loving books like Harry Potter—a blend of magic, history, and folklore, but grounded in the natural world.
Grace paused, then glanced at Erik. “What about you? You’re from Nebraska, right? What made you decide to stay in Manitoba?”
Sky turned to Erik. “Yes Erik, tell Grace how you ended up back here. I mean, besides the obvious fact that you couldn’t resist my cooking.”
Erik chuckled, but there was something serious in his gaze. “My grandfather left me the cabin when he passed. I was… kind of lost after my hockey career ended. Moving here gave me something to hold onto. Marc-André—my grandfather—always talked about how special this place was. I guess I wanted to see for myself.”
“And we’re glad you did,” Stepan said firmly. “Marc-André was a good friend. He knew what he was doing when he brought you back here.”
The warmth in Stepan’s voice touched Grace’s heart. Erik wasn’t just a neighbor or guest—he was family.
Sky smiled as the conversation softened, her eyes warm with thought. “Wait here,” she said, rising from her chair. “I have something to show you.”
She disappeared into the hallway, her footsteps fading, and returned a moment later carrying several framed photographs. Setting them on the table, she carefully passed the first one to Grace—a black-and-white image with edges softened by time.
“That’s Marc-André and his wife, Isabelle,” Sky said, tapping the glass. “And that’s Stepan and me, taken in front of Marc-André’s cabin years ago. It was the summer before Isabelle passed.”
Grace studied the photo, imagining the shared history between these families. Marc-André had a sturdy presence, his eyes kind but sharp with wisdom. Isabelle stood next to him, her warm smile, radiating quiet strength. Sky and Stepan were younger but unmistakably themselves. Sky’s eyes filled with youthful spirit, Stepan steady and strong beside her.
Sky handed Grace the second photo. This one was a little newer, taken outside the same cabin. Marc-André sat on a weathered bench, flanked by three boys with wide grins—Erik and his older twin brothers, Nils, and Nicolas. Erik, barely ten, stood closest to his grandfather, his face half-hidden beneath a mop of blond hair.
“That was taken when Erik and his brothers spent their summers up here,” Sky said, her voice tinged with affection. “Marc-André adored them. He used to take them fishing and teach them how to track animals in the woods. They got into all kinds of mischief, of course. Especially this one.” She tilted her head toward Erik with a teasing smile.
Erik chuckled, shaking his head. “We were professionals at mischief. Marc-André let us get away with just about everything.”
Sky passed the third photo to Grace. It was more recent—colorful and full of life. Stepan and Sky stood with two young men in their early twenties, both tall and broad-shouldered like their father. Misha and Sasha, Sky’s sons, smiled easily at the camera, their eyes full of purpose.
“These are our boys,” Sky said, her tone shifting to something softer, more wistful. “Misha and Sasha. They’ve been in Ukraine for the past two years, working on humanitarian projects. Misha coordinates evacuation efforts for families in conflict zones, and Sasha focuses on rebuilding infrastructure in damaged communities. It’s dangerous work, but they’re determined to make a difference.”
Grace looked at the photo, taking in the strength and pride in the family’s expressions. “That’s incredible,” she said, her voice filled with admiration. “You must be so proud of them.”
“I am,” Sky said, her smile bittersweet. “But I miss them every day. The house feels too quiet without them going by to help out or just have dinner. So having Erik here… well, it’s been wonderful. He’s family and having him here brings back a bit of the noise and energy I’ve missed. Our Christmas tree season begins in a week or so and runs through December and, the peak season for inn visitors is Spring and Summer when the weather is milder. So, this time of year, it’s normally just family here.”
She rested her hand briefly on Erik’s shoulder, her affection clear. “He’s helped out more than I could have asked for. It’s been a blessing to have him here, even if he spends most of his time running back and forth to the cabin.”
Erik smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “It’s good to be back,” he admitted. “Feels like the right place to be.”
Grace glanced at the photos again, feeling warmth settle in her chest. There was so much history in this house—woven into every story, every smile, every framed image on the wall. It made her feel like, somehow, she was becoming part of it too.
“Thank you for sharing these,” she said softly. “It’s easy to see how much love this house holds.”
Sky nodded, her eyes glimmering with emotion. “Love, laughter, mischief, and some sadness … it’s all part of the story here. And there will be more stories to tell.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, its soft light casting a glow across the table, warming the faces around it.
Sky rested her chin on her hand, studying Grace and Erik with a knowing look. “You two should go back into the forest before it gets too cold and the snow too deep. Erik knows it better than anyone. He could show you some of the hidden places, the ones even the guidebooks don’t know about.”
Grace blushed, feeling caught. “That sounds… nice.”
Erik shifted in his chair, clearing his throat. If Grace wants.”
“I’d like that,” she said softly.
Sky grinned, satisfied. “It’s settled, then.”
As the meal wound down, Sky leaned back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. “Grace, there’s so much more for you to see and learn.”
Erik gave a small nod.
The forest had already started whispering to her. Her part in their story was just beginning.
Later that night, Erik re-read the letter containing his grandfather’s last words.
“My dear Erik,
If you’re reading this, then I’ve taken my final walk among the trees. I want you to know how proud I’ve always been of you. You are more like me than you realize—restless at heart, stubborn as a mule, and stronger than you know. This cabin is yours now. I hope it will be a place where you can heal, find peace, and perhaps even build something new.
I know you’ve been through hell these past few years. Losing hockey hurt you more than words can express—I saw it in your eyes when the doctors told you your knee would never be the same. I also know how your wife’s betrayal shattered your heart. You’ve carried all of that pain on your own, too proud to ask for help. But you don’t have to shoulder everything alone, Erik. You never did.
This cabin is more than just a house. It’s a living thing, rooted in the love that sustained this family for generations. It was love that kept my parents together through the loss of three children and the 1918 flu pandemic. It was love that carried Isabelle and me through the grief of losing our son Nicolas.
Love will heal you too—if you let it.
I want you to find love again, Erik. Not just romantic love, but love for life, love for the land, and love for the person you are becoming. The land will guide you. The stones beneath the hearth remember everything. Sit by the fire and listen. You might hear more than just the wind in the trees.
Draw strength from your family. Liv, Nils, and Nicolas care about you more than you’ll ever know. And if you need advice—or just someone to drink a strong cup of coffee with—turn to Sky and Stepan Rudenko. They’ve always been loyal friends to our family. Trust them.
Be open to whatever the future has in store. Sometimes the best things come out of the hardest times.
I’m leaving you the cabin because I believe in you. You’ve always been a builder at heart—strong and steady, just like your father and great-grandfather. Now, it’s your turn to build something for yourself. I know you will.
The rest of my estate will be divided between you and your siblings. Use it well. Find love, take chances, and live boldly. The world is waiting for you.”_
“With all my love,
Grandpapa Marc-André”
