"Don't." She shakes her head. "Don't say something you'll regret, or something noble and self-sacrificing." She reaches up, her cold fingertips brushing my cheek. "Just tell me one thing—was this just some cabin fever fantasy for you?"
"No." The word comes out instant, emphatic. At least I can give her that truth. "Not even close."
Relief flashes across her face. "Good. Because it wasn't for me either."
Jake calls from the snowcat, reminding us of the limited time. The mountain won't wait forever.
"You should go," I say, though every part of me wants to ask her to stay. "Carlson is probably pulling his hair out wondering where his star instructor is."
She laughs softly. "What's left of it, anyway."
I help her to the snowcat, supporting her around the waist, savoring these last moments of contact. Jake discreetly busies himself with the controls as I help her into the passenger seat.
"Rhett," she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear. "I meant what I said. I want to find out where this goes."
I nod, unable to trust my voice. Want and fear waging war inside me.
She leans forward, pressing her lips to mine in a brief, fierce kiss. "Think about it," she whispers.
Then she's settling back, door closing, window between us. Aspen barks once, plaintively, as the engine roars to life.
I stand in the snow with my dog, watching the taillights recede down the mountain, taking with them something I didn't even know I was missing until now.
Three days. That's how long it's been since Jade Wilson left my cabin and my life. It feels like three hundred years.
I adjust the straps on my demonstration pack, checking the avalanche beacon inside for the fifth time. Busy hands keep my mind from wandering to green eyes and soft lips and the echo of my name gasped in pleasure.
"Mr. Sullivan? They're ready for you."
I nod at the young teacher—Ms. Singh, if I remember correctly—and follow her out of the lodge's back room. This is my monthly routine: safety seminars for the high school groups thatvisit Darkmore on field trips. Usually, I find it grounding. Today, it feels like going through the motions.
Thirty teenagers in brightly colored ski jackets await in the resort's outdoor classroom area, a cleared space near the bunny slopes. Their attention spans are as short as expected, eyes constantly darting to the main slopes where they'd clearly rather be.
"Morning," I begin, setting my pack down. "I'm Rhett Sullivan, Search and Rescue. Today we're going to cover mountain safety basics, because what you don't know up here can kill you."
That gets their attention. Nothing like a little blunt mortality to focus teenage minds.
I'm halfway through demonstrating proper beacon use when I feel it—that prickle at the back of my neck that tells me I'm being watched. Not by the kids or their chaperones, but by someone else.
I scan the small crowd and freeze. There, at the back, leaning against a wooden post with arms crossed and a small smile playing at her lips, is Jade.
Our eyes lock, and the rest of the world falls away. She looks good—too good. The bruises on her face have been artfully concealed with makeup, her arm is in a proper sling now, and she's dressed in the resort's instructor uniform. Her hair catches the morning sunlight like burnished copper.
Somehow, I continue the demonstration on autopilot. Beacon signals. Probe techniques. Emergency protocols. My mouth forms the words while my mind tries to process her presence.
I force myself to focus on the students, answering questions, correcting techniques as they practice with the equipment. All the while, I'm acutely aware of her watching me, her eyes never leaving my face.
"Remember," I tell the group as we wrap up, "the mountains don't care if you've made plans. They don't care if you think youknow better. Respect them, prepare properly, and you'll get to enjoy them for many years to come."
As the teachers shepherd the students toward the ski rental area, I slowly pack up my equipment, heart hammering in my chest. I don't look up—can't look up—afraid she might have disappeared, or worse, that she was never there at all.
"That was quite the speech, Mountain Man."
Her voice washes over me like a warm current. I straighten to find her standing a few feet away, that small smile still playing at her lips.
"Standard warning," I manage to say. "They usually only half-listen."
"I don't know. You're pretty compelling when you get all serious about safety." She takes a step closer. "Though I'm probably not the best judge, considering I'm the poster child for what not to do."
