So I go.
Our mouths find each other like they’ve been thinking about it all morning. The kiss starts gentle, an extension of everything we just shared, then deepens, heat curling through me like the flames in the stove. His hand slides up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair. I shift, angling toward him,pressing closer, my hand splayed over his chest where his heart beats steady and strong.
He tastes like coffee and something sweeter I’m scared to name.
I lose track of time.
We kiss until my lips feel warm and swollen, until the ache in my chest has been replaced by something fizzy and bright and terrifyingly hopeful. Every touch feels like a promise we haven’t quite made out loud yet.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing harder.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he echoes, forehead resting against mine.
The moment is so perfect I almost convince myself it can stretch on forever.
Then his phone buzzes on the table.
He sighs, kisses my forehead once, and reaches for it without pulling his arm from around me.
“Ryder,” he answers.
I press my ear against his chest and listen to the rumble of his voice and the tinny echo of another on the line.
“Yeah,” Rhett says after a second. “Okay. Appreciate it.”
Pause.
“Morning?” he repeats. “Copy that. Thanks, Sheriff.”
A small, hard knot drops into my stomach.
He hangs up.
“The sheriff?” I ask, already knowing.
“Yeah.” He looks down at me, eyes searching my face. “Road crew got the tree cleared. Says the main pass will be open by tomorrow morning. Conditions are good enough for you to get down once the ice softens.”
Tomorrow morning.
Notsometime.Noteventually.A specific window where this snow globe pops and the real world pours back in.
“Oh,” I say, the word small and fragile in the cozy cabin air.
“You don’t have to go right away,” he says quietly. “You could stay an extra day. Or two. Or…” He trails off, the offer too big to fit in the space between us.
I swallow.
“I have to go,” I say, and the truth hurts. “I have work. Clients. A best friend who will hunt me down if I don’t send her a picture of your stove soon.”
He huffs a tiny laugh at that, but his eyes stay serious. “Yeah. I figured.”
Sadness washes through me, but it’s tangled up with something else. Something stubborn. Something that looks a lot like determination.
“Just because I have to go,” I say, fingers curling in his shirt, “doesn’t mean I’m disappearing.”
His gaze sharpens. “No?”
