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pandapetals · 3 months ago

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When The Leaves Turn: Part One

Part Two - March to September

Summary: As the seasons change in Jackson, so does your relationship with Joel. It starts with small things—his quiet presence outside the schoolhouse, how he keeps bringing you books for the kids, or how his gruff demeanor softens slightly when he talks to you.

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!teacher reader

Word count: 8k

Content warnings: slight reader description, y/n used once or twice, slight slow burn, fluff, mutal pining, maria appearance, ellie being ellie, grumpy joel but soft, kissing but at the end

A/N: request from anon. inspired by autumn/winter months. divider by @saradika-graphics.

August

Autumn in Jackson smelled like wood smoke and damp earth, like something settling in before the frost. Maybe that was why it always felt like a fresh start. Or maybe it was because school began then, and with it, the quiet thrill of sharpening pencils, smoothing out worn pages, and watching young minds spark to life.

The air carried a crisp bite in the mornings, warming just enough by midday to make the schoolhouse feel less like a drafty old cabin and more like a place where something good could grow. You tried to hold on to that feeling now as you stood in the small room, surveying the meager stack of books on the shelf. Five. That was it. Five stories to last an entire year.

Maria did what she could—she always did—but Jackson could only provide so much. Food, shelter, safety. The essentials. Books, though? Books were sacred.

The kids deserved more. They deserved to get lost in stories, to hear unfamiliar words roll off the tongue, to dream beyond the walls of this town. And right now, all you had were the same five dog-eared volumes, ones that had already been read so many times the kids could recite them back to you. They needed more.

You’d mentioned it offhand, a passing comment to Maria or Tommy—how the kids were running out of new books to read, how their little library shelves were looking thinner by the week. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

Maria had brought it up to Joel once in passing, maybe while handing out patrol assignments or over dinner at the hall. Though he didn’t say much in response—just a slow nod, a quiet grunt of acknowledgment—he’d kept it tucked away.

After that, every time he rode beyond the gates, rifle slung across his back, he started looking. Not just for threats. Not just for supplies.

For books.

For the kids, at least. That’s what he told himself.

When Maria stopped by the schoolhouse, a small stack of books cradled in her arms, she set them down on your desk with a satisfied smile.

“Look what turned up,” she said, brushing the cold from her sleeves.

Your eyes widened as you reached for the top one—a hardcover copy of Charlotte’s Web, its edges worn but still intact. Beneath it, a few dog-eared paperbacks, pages yellowed with time but still readable.

“Oh, Maria,” you breathed, running a hand over the covers. “Where did you find these?”

She waved a hand. “You mentioned needing more. Figured I’d keep an eye out.”

You smiled, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

Maria didn’t correct you. Didn’t mention the real reason those books were here. Just shot you a knowing look before heading back out into the cool autumn breeze.

That day, you watched as the kids excitedly flipped through the pages, some still having to share, but none of them seemed to mind. Their little fingers traced over faded words, their voices rising excitedly as they pored over the “new” books. It was worth it—seeing them light up like that.

A few days later, more books appeared.

Five of them were stacked neatly on the steps outside the schoolhouse. No note. No explanation. Just left there in the quiet of the early morning.

You glanced around, expecting someone to step forward, maybe one of the townsfolk who had extras lying around. But no one lingered nearby, no one waiting to be thanked.

Possibly, Maria had found more books, but something about it didn’t sit right.

Then it happened again and again.

Every few days, another small pile of books—some more battered than others, their covers soft with age, spines cracked, but pages still intact. Someone was going through a lot of trouble to bring them here.

And you were determined to find out who.

“Maria?” You called as you spotted her walking through town one Saturday afternoon, bundled up against the lingering chill in the air.

She turned, offering you a polite smile. “What’s up?”

You fell into step beside her, arms crossed. “How have you been finding all of these books?” Your voice was casual, but your curiosity slipped through.

Maria blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Oh,” she shook her head, a little amused and knowing. “I didn’t find them.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then who—”

“Actually, Joel has—”

You stopped mid-step. “Joel?”

Maria’s smirk deepened, but she didn’t add anything else, just gave you a meaningful look before continuing on her way.

Joel.

You found him fresh from patrol that afternoon as he was tying off his horse near the stables. His jacket was dusted with dried mud, his knuckles scuffed like he might’ve had to wrestle something—or—someone on the way back. And slung over his shoulder, nestled in his pack, you could just make out the edges of another book.

You crossed your arms and cleared your throat. “So… you wanna tell me why you’ve been sneaking books onto my porch like some kind of storybook bandit?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he unbuckled the saddle. “Ain’t sneakin’,” he muttered. “Just droppin’ ‘em off.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “And where exactly are you finding all of these?”

He grunted, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure why this was even a conversation. “Out there.” A vague nod toward the gate. “Old houses. Shops. Whatever’s left.”

You studied him, trying to piece it together. Joel wasn’t the type to go out of his way for things that weren’t necessary. He took care of what needed to be done—patrols, keeping Jackson safe—but this?

This was something else.

His fingers flexed against the strap of his pack, like he was debating whether to keep holding it or shove it into your arms and walk away.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said softly.

Joel finally looked at you then, eyes flickering with something unreadable. He swallowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Kids need somethin’ to do,” he muttered. “Better than runnin’ around causin’ trouble.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure it’s just for the kids?”

His gaze dropped for half a second, just long enough for you to notice.

Then he shook his head, pulling the pack from his shoulder and thrusting it toward you. “Got more in here,” he said, clearing his throat. “Figure you’ll know what to do with ‘em.”

You took it, fingers brushing his. His hand was warm, rough from years of work, and the moment lingered longer than needed.

“Thank you, Joel.”

His lips parted slightly, like maybe he had something to say. But instead, he just gave a short nod, stepping back, putting space between you.

As he turned to go, you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his mouth twitch—just the slightest hint of a smile.

September

You’d slowly worked your way into Joel’s life. Not that he’d admit it—not out loud, anyway.

It had started with the books, but there had always been something about him that intrigued you, even before that. He carried himself and spoke quietly, measuredly, like he only said what was worth telling. He seemed made of sharp edges, but had the softest touch regarding the people he let in.

The books had just given you an excuse to talk to him.

And once you started, you didn’t want to stop.

You made a habit of waving when you passed him in town, throwing a casual ‘Hey, Joel’ over your shoulder as you carried on with your day. At first, all you got in return was a nod. Maybe a grunt.

Then, one day, he actually said ‘Hey’ back.

After a while, he started stopping when you stopped.

He never lingered long, always busy with something—fixing the fencing near the sheep pen, hauling supplies, heading out on patrol. But he let you talk to him, and that was something.

Small talk at first—how the kids were doing, whether the new batch of patrol recruits were worth a damn, what Jackson needed more of before winter hit. Nothing special. But the more you spoke, the more he softened. You saw it in how he lingered a little longer when you crossed paths, how his gaze didn’t dart away as quickly, how his nods turned into real answers.

Like today.

“I love this time of year,” you said one afternoon, adjusting the lesson plans in your arms as you passed Joel near the hall.

Joel glanced up from where he was adjusting his pack, one brow raised. “Why’s that?”

“It’s the beginning of autumn,” you said, shifting the stack of papers against your hip. “The air gets crisp, the leaves start turning.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Or maybe I’m biased.”

His gaze lingered for a second longer than usual. “Biased how?”

“Well…” You hummed, pretending to think. “It’s my birth month.”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Yeah, see, that explains it.”

You grinned. “And what about you? What’s your favorite month?”

“Don’t have one,” he answered too quickly.

You raised a brow. “No favorite month? No favorite season?”

“They’re all the same,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Just depends how miserable the weather wants to be.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well, what about the worst month?”

“September,” Joel said immediately, shifting his pack on his shoulder. “It’s forgettable.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause.

Not because of the words, but because of how his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Like the answer had been waiting at the surface, ready to slip out the second you asked.

Forgettable, he’d called it.

The way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t talking about the month at all.

You didn’t push. Just nodded, shifting the papers in your arms. “Huh.”

Something about the way he said it didn’t sit right. Like, he didn’t mean September was forgettable. Maybe he meant he was.

And that’s when it clicked.

You kept your expression neutral, storing the information away. If you were right—and you had a feeling you were—his birthday was coming up.

Joel exhaled through his nose like he was already done with the conversation. “You need help with those?”

You blinked. It was the first time he’d ever offered.

“Nah, I got it,” you said, watching as he gave a small nod and started walking away.

You let him go because even if Joel Miller hated his birthday, you already knew you wouldn’t let it pass unnoticed.

You found out from Tommy that Joel’s birthday was September 26th.

He hadn’t meant to tell you—just an offhand comment, muttered between sips of coffee as he patched up a tear in his glove. But the second the words left his mouth, Tommy went stiff, like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.

“He don’t like to talk about it,” he warned, his voice quieter now. “Lost Sarah...”

Joel had lost his daughter that same day.

Its weight sat heavy in your chest that night, curled under a too-thin blanket, staring at the ceiling. You wanted to do something, but how did you celebrate a day that only brought him pain? The thought tightened your throat, eyes burning as you buried your face in the pillow.

You couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t take away the hurt.

Maybe you could give him something that didn’t feel like a celebration, but still meant I see you.

The answer came sooner than expected.

It was a chilly afternoon when you spotted Joel walking toward you, his shoulders hunched against the wind. His usual scowl was in place, but something was different.

He was carrying something.

“Hey,” you greeted, shifting the basket in your arms as he stopped before you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking away like he was already second-guessing himself. Then, without a word, he reached into his pack and pulled out a small, wrapped bundle.

Rough brown paper, tied with twine.

He held it out. “Here.”

You blinked. “What’s this?”

Joel sighed, looking somewhere over your shoulder like this whole thing was deeply inconvenient for him. “You said September was your birthday month.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You carefully took the bundle from his hands, fingers grazing his rough, calloused, warm hands even in the cold. You pulled the twine loose and peeled back the paper.

A mug.

Not just any mug. Sturdy ceramic, a little chipped at the rim, but glazed in a deep, autumn gold. You could tell it was old but well-made, like the kind you’d find in a house that had once been a home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat. “Joel…”

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured you might need one,” he muttered. “See you haulin’ coffee to the school every mornin’. Thought… well. Just thought.”

Your fingers curled around the handle. It fit perfectly in your palm.

It was nothing grand. Nothing fancy, but it was thoughtful.

You looked up at him, warmth spreading through your chest. “Thank you.”

His ears tinged pink. He gave a stiff nod like he wasn’t sure what to do with your gratitude.

Your heart pounded. Now or never.

“Actually…” You hesitated. “I have something for you, too.”

Joel’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly. “For what?”

You bit your lip, gripping the mug a little tighter. “For your birthday.”

Something passed over his face—quick, fleeting. His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides.

He shook his head. “You don’t gotta—”

“I know,” you cut in softly. “I know you don’t like your birthday. But… I still wanted to do something for you.”

Joel went quiet.

You let the words settle between you, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his mouth pressed into a firm line like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the words.

Then, finally, he exhaled, slow and measured. “What is it?”

You smiled. “Come by my place later and find out.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. He hesitated. Then, after a long pause, he gave a small nod.

That evening, there was a knock at your door.

Joel stood there, arms crossed, looking like he wasn’t sure if he regretted showing up or not.

You grinned. “Come in.”

He did, stepping inside cautiously, gaze sweeping over the cozy space—books stacked in uneven piles, a blanket draped over the couch, the faint scent of something warm in the air.

You grabbed the package from the table and turned to face him. “Here.”

He stared at it. Then at you.

Slowly, he reached out and took it.

He unwrapped it carefully, his calloused fingers quickly working the twine. The paper fell away, and Joel went still.

A flannel shirt.

Dark green, lined with soft fleece on the inside. Thick enough to keep him warm on patrol, but not too heavy. Well-made, just like the one he always wore—the one you knew had been patched up more times than you could count.

His fingers smoothed over the fabric quietly.

You shifted on your feet. “I noticed yours was getting pretty worn,” you murmured. “Thought you could use another.”

Joel swallowed, still staring at it.

For a long moment, you thought maybe you’d overstepped. He’d shake his head, shove it back at you, and mutter about how he didn’t need it.

Instead, he surprised you.

He cleared his throat. “It’s… nice.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Your chest ached at how hesitant he sounded. Like he wasn’t used to someone thinking about him, let alone for him.

You smiled. “Happy early birthday, Joel.”

He looked at you then. He really looked, and for the first time, he didn’t seem quite so uncomfortable with its weight.

October

October had settled into Jackson with crisp air and golden leaves crunching underfoot. The town buzzed with preparations for Maria’s fall festival: strings of lanterns hung between buildings, tables were set up with baked goods, and the faint scent of cinnamon and apples drifted through the streets.

Joel had tried to ignore the whole thing. Tried.

But then you’d mentioned it offhand, casually.

“You’re coming, right?” You’d asked, tilting your head at him as you straightened a pile of books in the schoolhouse.

Joel had grunted, which you took as hesitation.

You just smiled. “C’mon, it wouldn’t kill you to have a little fun.”

And somehow, he’d found himself agreeing.

Now, Ellie sat across from him at the dinner table, stabbing at a slice of pie with unnecessary force, a wicked glint in her eye.

“I’m so excited for the dance,” she said, too loud, flashing Joel a knowing grin.

Joel grunted, trying to appear disinterested as he scooped up another bite of stew. “Mhm.”

Ellie’s grin widened. She was a shark who had scented blood.

“Is your girlfriend gonna be there?” she asked, dragging out the word obnoxiously.

Joel nearly choked on his food. He shot her a glare. “She ain’t my girlfriend.”

Ellie gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “Wow. Harsh.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his spoon down with too much force. “I ain’t havin’ this conversation with you.”

“Oh, you so are.” Ellie leaned in, elbows on the table, smirking. “You’ve been actin’ all weird lately. Like, more than usual.”

“I don’t act weird.”

“You so do.” She started counting on her fingers. “You’ve been nice to people. Like, actually talking to them instead of just grunting. You suddenly care about how you look before you leave the house—”

Joel scoffed. “The hell I do.”

Ellie ignored him, grinning wider. “And the other day? You were smiling. Like, a real, actual smile.”

Joel picked up his spoon again, pointing it at her. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Ellie kicked her feet up on the chair beside her, completely undeterred. “Oh, but I do. You like her.”

Joel tensed, his jaw ticking. Ellie just sat there, smirking, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

Instead, he focused on his food, muttering under his breath, “Eat your damn pie.”

Ellie beamed in victory.

“Can’t wait to see you two at the dance,” she sang, hopping up from the table and grabbing her plate. “Gonna be so romantic.”

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

What the hell had he just agreed to?

The hall had been transformed. Twinkling lanterns hung from the rafters, casting everything in a warm golden glow. The tables were lined with mismatched candles, their tiny flames flickering against the cool draft from the open doors. The scent of cider and baked apples filled the space, blending with the sound of laughter and the soft strum of a guitar from the corner.

You stood near the refreshment table, hands wrapped around a warm mug, watching couples twirl across the wooden floor. It was almost normal.

For a moment, it was easy to pretend the world wasn’t broken. That beyond Jackson’s walls, there weren’t infected lurking in the shadows, waiting to take all of this away.

You shifted on your feet, smoothing a hand over your dress—nothing fancy, just something simple, warm enough for the crisp autumn night, paired with your trusty boots. The fabric swayed gently as you moved, and you felt a little lighter, a little more… hopeful.

Then, the door swung open, and your breath caught, causing your heart to do a stupid little flutter at the sight of him.

Joel’s hair was combed back—not slicked, not perfect, just neater than usual, like maybe he’d actually put in some effort. He wore a deep green flannel, the one you’d given him for his birthday, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He wore jeans, boots, and his usual belt. Still very much Joel, but softened somehow.

Beside him, Ellie smirked up at him, clearly impressed.

“Damn, look at you,” she teased, elbowing him as they stepped inside. “Who knew you could clean up this nice?”

Joel shot her a look. “I ain’t cleaned up.”

Ellie snorted. “You so are.” Then, as if just noticing you, her smirk widened. “Ohhh, I see now.”

Joel followed her gaze, his eyes landing on you. His movements slowed, just for a second.

Then he exhaled through his nose, shifting on his feet like he was suddenly self-conscious.

You smiled. “You made it.”

He grunted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. You asked.”

Ellie gasped, loud and exaggerated. “Wait. Wait—did Joel Miller just admit he came here for you?” She turned to him, grinning. “That’s, like, the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Joel shot her a withering look. “Go away.”

Ellie only cackled, grabbing a cup of cider from the table. “Nah, I think I’ll stick around and see how this plays out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Be nice, Ellie.”

Ellie snorted. “I am being nice. You should’ve seen him before we left—kept grumbling about how this was a waste of time. And yet, here he is.”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God—”

You stepped closer, tilting your head up at him. “You do look nice, though.”

Joel’s hand dropped. His gaze flickered to yours, something unreadable behind it.

A slow breath. Then—so soft you almost missed it—“You too.”

A warmth spread through you, settling deep in your chest.

Ellie groaned, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Oh my God, just dance already.”

Joel scowled. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Ellie grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

You chuckled, taking a slow sip of your cider, already scheming.

Ellie, ever the troublemaker, smirked one last time before making a half-hearted excuse and disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Joel alone.

You turned to him, offering a fresh cup of cider. “Here.”

Joel hesitated momentarily before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours, warm and rough.

“Thanks,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor like the damn woodgrain had something interesting to say.

You smiled, watching him. Seeing him here was strange—out of place but present, the usual tension in his shoulders just a little looser. The lantern light flickered over his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, catching the silver in his hair.

Then, the band struck up a new tune.

Your breath hitched—that song.

An old favorite, one you hadn’t heard in years—something soft and slow, the kind of melody that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

You set your cider down, turning to Joel with a grin. “C’mon.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

Joel stiffened, shifting on his feet like you’d just asked him to recite poetry in front of the whole town. “Nah.”

You sighed dramatically. “Joel.”

“Nope.”

You took a step closer. “It’s just one dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

You arched a brow. “Not even back in the day?”

Joel huffed, eyes darting to the side like he was contemplating an escape route. “That was different.”

Your lips twitched. “Different how?”

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back before looking at you again. “You ain’t lettin’ this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Joel stared at you for a long moment. You could see the war in his eyes—the reluctance, the hesitation.

Then you reached for his hand, and he let you.

His palm was broad, calloused, fingers twitching slightly under yours. You squeezed gently, giving him an out if he wanted it.

He didn’t take it.

With a quiet sigh, Joel let you lead him toward the dance floor, moving stiffly at first, like his body had forgotten how this worked.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you teased softly, placing his free hand at your waist.

He swallowed. “You say that now.”

You started to sway, guiding him with slow, easy steps. After a beat, he followed.

The tension in his shoulders faded gradually, his grip firm but careful, like he wasn’t sure how much space to leave between you. You took the liberty of closing the distance just a little more, your body brushing against his as the music hummed around you.

He smelled like worn leather and cedarwood. It made you feel safe.

His hand at your waist flexed slightly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your dress, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You tilted your head up to look at him. His gaze was already on you.

Something unreadable passed between you.

“You’re not bad at this,” you murmured.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Not sayin’ I like it.”

You smiled. “Sure, Joel.”

He huffed, but his fingers curled tighter at your waist, holding you closer. His grip wasn’t hesitant anymore.

“You’re a…” He started, his voice low, rough.

You grinned. “Pain in your ass?”

Joel exhaled sharply, something close to a laugh—not quite, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Was gonna say somethin’ else.”

You tilted your head up at him, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh? Like what?”

Joel’s jaw tightened, like he was debating whether or not to take the bait. His gaze flickered away for a brief second before landing back on you, something unreadable in those deep, hazel eyes.

“You’re persistent,” he finally said.

Joel let out a quiet grunt, but there was no real bite behind it. His thumb brushed absently along your waist enough to send warmth curling through you.

“You always this difficult?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You hummed, swaying a little closer. “Only with you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched against your waist. His eyes held yours, something shifting in them, something softer than before.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, but his voice had no frustration. If anything, he sounded almost… amused.

You grinned. “You’re gettin’ used to me, though.”

He shook his head, but his lips twitched just enough for you to notice. “Don’t know ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

December

Autumn was long gone, swept away with the last golden leaves. Winter had settled into Jackson with an unforgiving grip—bitter winds, thick snowfall, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore.

Today was no different.

Snow fell in the early afternoon, dusting the rooftops and piling in soft drifts along the streets. By class ended, the steady flurries had thickened into something heavier, swirling outside the schoolhouse windows.

Most of the kids had already rushed out the door, eager to get home before the worst of it hit, but a few lingered behind, helping you straighten chairs and gather up scattered lesson papers.

Then, the door creaked open, and cold air followed Joel Miller inside.

He stomped the snow from his boots, shaking his head as he pulled the scarf around his neck. A familiar worn satchel was slung over his shoulder, and he made his way toward your desk, setting a small stack of books down with a quiet thump.

“Found these on patrol,” he muttered, glancing at you before shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he should linger.

You brushed your hands off on your skirt and stepped closer, fingertips trailing over the covers. “You’re making a habit of this,” you mused, looking up at him.

Joel grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You smirked with an expression that read—Sure, Joel.

Before you could tease him further, the wind outside howled, rattling the old windowpanes. One of the kids—Lucy, a bright-eyed girl no older than seven—paused while stacking the bookshelves.

“Sounds bad out there,” she murmured.

Another gust of wind shrieked against the schoolhouse walls. The fire in the woodstove crackled, but a draft crept in beneath the door, chilling the air. You frowned, moving to peek outside.

Your stomach dipped.

The gentle snowfall from earlier had turned into a full-blown storm, causing white-out conditions. The streets had already disappeared under a thick, shifting blanket of snow, and the wind howled through town, sharp and biting.

Joel came up behind you, close enough that you felt his warmth. “Storm’s settin’ in fast,” he muttered, voice low.

You turned to the kids, trying to keep your voice calm. “Alright, looks like we’re stayin’ put for a bit.”

Lucy’s little brother, Daniel, fidgeted. “For how long?”

Joel crossed his arms. “’Til it clears up enough to walk home safe.”

The words weren’t unkind, but Daniel’s face still fell. His lip trembled, and he blinked up at Joel, eyes wide. “But what if it doesn’t stop?”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. You could see the exact moment he caved, the hard lines in his expression softening just slightly.

Kneeling, he met Daniel’s worried gaze head-on. “Ain’t the first storm I’ve seen, kid,” he said, voice gentler now. “Won’t be the last. Nothin’ to do but wait it out. We’re safe here.”

Daniel sniffled but nodded.

You hid a smile, glancing at Joel as he stood back up. He caught you looking and huffed. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently.

He narrowed his eyes, but before he could press, another voice piped up.

“What do we do now?” Lucy asked, shifting on her feet.

Joel glanced at you. You both knew the worst thing to do was to let the kids sit silently, stewing in worry.

You clapped your hands together. “We make the best of it.”

A few skeptical looks.

“Ever had a snowstorm sleepover?”

Lucy perked up. “Like… camping?”

“Exactly like camping,” you said brightly. “Except warmer.”

Joel snorted. “Debatable.”

You ignored him. “We’ve got books, a warm fire, and if we’re lucky…” You shot a glance at Joel. “Maybe some stories?”

Joel sighed, already shaking his head. “I ain’t—”

“C’mon, Joel,” Ellie’s voice suddenly called from the doorway.

You turned just in time to see her waltz in, brushing snow from her shoulders. “Oh, hell yeah,” she grinned, glancing around at the kids. “We havin’ a storm party in here?”

“You shouldn’t be out in this,” Joel muttered, but no real heat was behind it.

Ellie shrugged, flopping onto a chair. “Relax, old man. I barely had to walk a block.”

She turned to the kids, nodding toward Joel. “Y’know, he’s real good at tellin’ stories. Bet if you bug him enough, he’ll spill a good one.”

Joel scowled. “Ellie.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “What? Just sayin’.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Guess it’s unanimous, then. Looks like you’re up, Miller.”

Joel exhaled sharply, glaring at Ellie before looking back at you. For a second, he seemed like he might refuse. Might grumble something about how this was your problem, not his, but then Daniel looked up at him again, eyes still a little wary, still searching for reassurance.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Fine.”

Cheers erupted from the kids. Ellie whooped, shooting you a smug look.

You smiled, settling in as Joel pulled up a chair.

He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the small group before him like he was still debating whether this was worth his time. But then Lucy wiggled forward eagerly, Daniel tucked himself into the corner of the worn-out couch, and even Ellie leaned in slightly, clearly expecting a show.

Joel sighed, as if he was already regretting this, and then he started talking.

You leaned against your desk, watching him, hanging onto every word.

At first, you were just listening, like everyone else. But then, your focus started to shift—not just to what he was saying, but how he was saying it.

The way his deep, low voice wrapped around the words, rich and slow, his Texan drawl stretching certain syllables, dragging out vowels in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

God.

How had you never noticed it before?

His voice wasn’t just rough—it was warm, like whiskey on a cold night, settling deep into your bones. There was a cadence to how he spoke, how his gravelly tone smoothed over certain words and sharpened on others.

The fire flickered beside him, its glow catching the silver in his hair, casting deep shadows along the strong cut of his jaw. He wasn’t a performer, wasn’t trying to be—but he had the room in the palm of his hand, his voice steady, sure, filling the space between the crackling woodstove and the howling wind outside.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the edge of your desk.

Shit.

This was bad.

You’d always liked Joel. Always found him intriguing in that quiet, rough-around-the-edges way. Now it was something deeper.

You had it bad.

The worst part? You weren’t even sure when it had happened. Maybe it was the books or how he always looked out for the kids. Maybe it was the rare, reluctant smirks he sent your way or how his hands lingered a second too long when he handed you something.

Or maybe it was just him.

Joel Miller. A man made of sharp edges, quiet kindness, steady hands, and a voice that had somehow curled itself around your heart without you realizing it.

“You listenin’ or just starin’?”

Your eyes snapped up.

Joel was looking right at you, brow raised, mouth twitching at the corners like he already knew the answer.

Heat rushed to your face. “I—I’m listening.”

Joel hummed, unconvinced. His gaze flickered down for a second before returning to yours. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair.

“Y’look real deep in thought over there,” he mused. “Somethin’ you wanna share with the class?”

Ellie perked up immediately. “Ohhh, yeah, what were you thinkin’ about?” She shot you a wicked grin. “Wait—were you staring at him?”

Joel groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “I was not staring.”

Ellie snickered. “Sure.”

Joel just shook his head, exhaling sharply. “You gonna let me finish this story or what?”

“By all means,” you said, biting back a smile.

Joel held your gaze for a second longer, something unreadable flickering behind those deep brown eyes. He leaned back again, clearing his throat.

But this time, when he kept talking, you noticed something different.

His voice dipped slightly lower, and his fingers curled tighter around the chair. His eyes found yours between sentences, like maybe he was thinking about you, too.

After two long hours, the snow finally stopped, the sky clearing just enough for the late afternoon sun to peek through the heavy clouds. Its weak rays glinted off the thick blanket of white outside, already softening at the edges and turning to slush where footprints had trampled paths.

Joel stood near the door, arms crossed, watching Lucy and Daniel rush past him, their boots thudding against the wooden floor. Ellie was right behind them, already packing a handful of snow.

“Last one outside’s a rotten egg!” she called, shoving her way through the door with a laugh.

The kids shrieked, disappearing into the bright afternoon, their voices echoing down the street.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Told ‘em I’d walk ‘em home.”

You smirked, stepping beside him, watching the kids tumble into the fresh snow. “Think they’ll be okay without you?”

Joel scoffed. “Barely.”

You chuckled, shifting slightly—and that’s when you realized.

It was just the two of you now.

The schoolhouse was quiet. The fire in the stove had died down to embers, casting a dim, flickering glow against the walls. Outside, Jackson stirred back to life after the storm, but in here, it felt like time had slowed.

Joel hadn’t moved. He still stood beside you, close enough that his warmth reached you, despite the cold creeping through the gaps in the door.

You cleared your throat, turning toward him. “Guess that means you don’t have an excuse to run off now.”

Joel arched a brow. “Wasn’t plannin’ on runnin’.”

Your lips quirked. “That so?”

His gaze flickered to yours, steady, unreadable. Then, so subtly you almost didn’t catch it—his fingers twitched at his side, like he’d thought about reaching for something but thought better of it.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of every little thing. The way his hand hovered just inches from yours. The roughness of his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips, how easy it would be to close the space and—

You shook the thought away.

Joel shifted, glancing toward the table where the stack of books he’d brought still sat. “Y’gonna take those home?”

“Probably.” You moved past him to gather them up, but the moment your fingers brushed the top book, another hand beat you to it.

Joel’s.

Your breath hitched.

For a second, neither of you moved. His hand had settled just over yours, warm, solid fingers barely curling against your skin. A beat passed. Then another.

You glanced up.

Joel didn’t pull away.

His gaze met yours, something flickering behind those deep brown eyes—something unreadable, something waiting. The air felt different, heavier, like the storm had never really left.

Then, he cleared his throat and pulled back, grabbing half the stack and tucking it under his arm like nothing had happened.

“C’mon,” he muttered, heading for the door. “Ain’t lettin’ you haul all these by yourself.”

You blinked, heart still racing, then let out a breathless laugh. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Joel rolled his eyes, holding the door open for you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, brushing past him, close enough that your shoulder bumped his. “Too late.”

Joel huffed. But as you stepped outside, boots crunching in the fresh snow, you caught that small, almost imperceptible tug at the corner of his mouth.

And you knew.

He wasn’t regretting it at all.

February

“Alright, make sure not to eat the glue sticks,” you warned, hands on your hips, though you couldn’t keep the laughter out of your voice.

A few giggles erupted around the classroom.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Daniel muttered, even though you had caught him eyeing one earlier.

You shook your head fondly, surveying the scene in front of you. The classroom was made of red and pink paper scraps, doilies, and too much glitter. Some kids took their time, carefully writing heartfelt messages in their Valentine’s Day cards, while others scribbled their names in messy, oversized letters before immediately running off to cause trouble.

Still, it was sweet.

Seeing them like this—carefree, just being kids—it made all the chaos worth it.

Once the last of the glue had dried, you clapped your hands. “Alright! Time to exchange.”

Excited chatter filled the air as the kids hopped up from their seats and ran around the room to deliver their cards. Daniel handed Lucy one, grinning as he presented his with a dramatic flourish. Ellie, having appointed herself the Valentine’s Day Critic, judged everyone’s artistic abilities, much to the other kids’ annoyance.

Lucy—sweet, thoughtful Lucy—clutched a card in her hands, biting her lip in concentration.

Then, with a determined nod, she slipped it into her coat pocket and bolted out the door.

Joel had just finished up at the stables when he heard his name being called.

“Mr. Joel! Wait!”

He barely had time to turn before Lucy skidded to a stop before him, red-faced from the cold, her scarf trailing behind her.

Joel blinked down at her. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Nope!” she beamed. Then, without another word, she shoved a handmade Valentine into his hands.

Joel frowned, glancing down at it. The card was lopsided, the edges trimmed with uneven bits of lace. A few hearts were drawn in the corners, scribbled in crayon, and right in the center, in big, careful letters—

Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel!

And at the bottom—Love, (Y/N)

Joel’s entire body locked up.

Lucy rocked on her heels, beaming at him like she’d just handed him gold.

He stared at the card. His grip tightened slightly. Then loosened.

“What is this?” he asked, voice gruff.

“A Valentine,” Lucy chirped, looking far too pleased with herself. “Miss (L/N) made it for you.”

Joel blinked. “She… what?”

Lucy nodded eagerly, her braids bouncing. “She must really like you. She worked really hard on it.”

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it. Shifted his weight.

He could count the number of times in his life he’d been genuinely caught off guard. This was one of them.

“Uh—”

“Well, see ya later, Mr. Joel!” Lucy chirped, already spinning on her heel and dashing off.

Joel watched her go, still frozen in place, still holding the damn Valentine like it was a live grenade.

His heart thudded once, heavy in his chest. You had made this? For him? He glanced at the card again before his feet carried him towards the school.

You had just stepped out of the schoolhouse, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck as the cold breeze nipped at your cheeks. The day was already starting to fade, the sun slipping lower behind the rooftops, casting long, golden shadows over the snow-covered streets.

As you locked the door, you heard footsteps crunching in the frost behind you.

You sighed, already turning. “Did you forget someth—”

The words caught in your throat. It wasn’t one of the kids.

It was Joel.

He was holding a familiar lopsided Valentine's card in one hand, gripping it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

Your stomach flipped.

Joel shifted, his jaw working like he was debating something. His other hand was stuffed deep in his jacket pocket, his shoulders tense like he’d rather be elsewhere, but his feet weren’t moving.

You frowned. “Joel?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, lifting the card slightly. “You, uh… you make this?”

Your eyes flickered to the crumpled Valentine, the sight of your own name scrawled at the bottom in a handwriting that definitely wasn’t yours.

It took all of two seconds to piece it together.

Your lips parted in realization. Lucy. That little menace.

The laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, slipping past your lips, a warm contrast against the chilly air. “Oh, Joel.” You shook your head, biting back a grin.

Joel’s frown deepened. “That a yes or a no?”

You grinned, arms crossing. “It’s a no. But I know who did.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Lucy.”

“Bingo.”

He let out a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

You laughed again, watching as he stared down at the card like it had personally offended him.

“She told me you made it,” he muttered, unsure if he was being messed with.

“Yeah, sounds like Lucy,” you mused, shaking your head. “She’s got a bit of a matchmaking streak.”

Joel grunted. “Figured that out real quick.”

You smirked. “So. What’d you think?”

He blinked. “What?”

“The card,” you teased. “You seemed pretty torn up about it. For a second, I thought you wanted me to make you one.”

Joel scoffed, but the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“I wasn’t torn up about nothin’,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the flustered energy clinging to him.

You just tilted your head, watching him.

He huffed, stuffing the card back into his pocket like it was evidence of something, like he needed to get rid of it but couldn’t quite bring himself to toss it.

That warmth curled low in your stomach again. Because of all his grumbling and attempts to brush this off, there was one simple fact he wasn’t acknowledging.

He’d come all the way here to ask you.

Just to be sure.

The thought made your heart skip.

You stepped a little closer, your voice softer now. “Well… if you wanted one, you could’ve just asked.”

Joel’s breath hitched, just barely. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was stopping himself from doing something—stepping back, stepping closer.

You bit your lip, smiling. “Next year, maybe I’ll make you a real one.”

Joel swallowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Then, after a long beat—

“Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. “Maybe.”

Then, before you could say anything else, he turned, muttering something under his breath as he stomped off into the snow.

You watched him go, his broad frame cutting through the snow, shoulders tense like he was trying to shake off something that had crawled under his skin.

Maybe that was the problem because you didn’t want him to shake it off.

Not this time.

“Joel.”

He didn’t stop.

You took a step forward, heart pounding. “Wait.”

His pace quickened, boots crunching against the frozen ground, as if putting more space between you would make this whole thing disappear.

Your stomach twisted. “Joel!”

He released a sharp breath and finally stopped, turning on his heel so fast you nearly ran into him.

“What?” His voice was gruff, a little too sharp, like he was already regretting stopping.

The look on his face made you hesitate—jaw tight, lips pressed into a firm line, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. But you swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to speak.

“Why… why are you upset?”

Joel scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck, his breath curling into the cold air. “Because a damn kid embarrassed me.”

You frowned. “No, I mean—”

“And because you think it’s funny.”

“I—Joel, that’s not—”

“And because—”

“Will you just shut up for a second?”

The words snapped out before you could stop them, your voice louder than intended.

Joel blinked. His mouth shut, brow furrowing as he stared at you, caught off guard.

Your heart pounded, your breath shaky, but you had already started. No going back now.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I’m frustrated because you’re too damn stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

So you pressed on.

“I like you, Joel.” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “I have for a while. And maybe Lucy saw it before you did, but I see it too. In the way you look at me. The way you show up for me. The way you’re standing right now, instead of walking away like I know you want to.”

A long, heavy, unbearable silence hung in the air.

Joel stepped forward.

It was slow and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was making the right move, but he was. He always had been.

His hand lifted, rough fingers brushing against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was warm, careful, lingering longer than it needed to.

His voice was quieter when he spoke. “You ain’t wrong.”

Your breath hitched.

Joel exhaled sharply, looking down momentarily before returning to yours. “I—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, as if the words wouldn’t come out right. But then, finally—“I like you too.”

The words were gruff and unpolished but true.

Something cracked open inside you, something warm that had been waiting for this moment.

You barely had time to process before Joel closed the last bit of space between you, his hands framing your face, his lips pressing against yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was steady.

Like him.

Like something solid and certain, something that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

God, you melted into it, your hands grasping at the front of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

Joel let out a quiet breath against your lips, his fingers tightening slightly like he’d been holding himself back for too long and wasn’t sure how to stop anymore.

Neither of you pulled away.

When you finally did, Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm in the freezing air.

“Guess Lucy was onto somethin’,” you murmured.

Joel huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Little troublemaker.”

You grinned. “Mm. Remind you of anyone?”

His lips brushed against yours, just barely, before he murmured— “Not a chance, darlin’.”

And then, he kissed you again.

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