"Good session?"
"The best I've had in months." I met his eyes, and the intensity there made my chest tighten. "Thank you. For whatever you did there."
"I asked questions." But his gaze dropped to my mouth again, lingering this time before he forced himself to look away. "We should probably head down. The craft session starts in thirty minutes."
***
The afternoon craft session on structure and pacing went well, despite my distraction. I'd given this particular workshop dozens of times, so I could run on autopilot while my brain kept circling back to Jason.
The way he listened during the session, his intelligent questions that showed he was thinking about the concepts, not trying to impress me. The way he'd defended my answer when Rebecca tried to pick it apart. The way he'd caught my eye across the circle and smiled, a small private smile that felt like it was only for me.
My pulse kicked up every time our eyes met. This was a problem.
After the session, people headed to various corners of the lodge. I claimed a spot in the sun room, needing some space to think. But I'd barely opened my laptop when Rebecca appeared.
"Brent, do you have a minute?"
I suppressed a sigh. "Sure. What's up?"
She settled into the chair across from me uninvited. "I wanted to ask your opinion on something. My manuscript—I'mtrying to decide if it's commercial thriller or literary thriller. I think it straddles both but my critique group is divided."
For the next twenty minutes, she talked at me about her book, her vision, her concerns about the market. I made appropriate noises and gave constructive feedback, but mostly I wanted her to leave so I could get back to my own work. Or more honestly, so I could find Jason.
I'd spent the entire session aware of where he was in the room, catching glimpses of him talking to Claire, watching him laugh at something she said. The spike of jealousy had been irrational and immediate, and I'd had to physically stop myself from crossing the room to interrupt their conversation.
Finally, she stood. "Thanks for your time. I know having access to your expertise is such a privilege."
After she left, I sat there staring at my blank document and thinking about how different that conversation had been from the one with Jason this morning. With Rebecca, I'd felt like a resource to be extracted. With Jason, I'd felt like a person. Like someone worth knowing beyond what I could do for his career.
"She corner you?" Jason appeared in the doorway, two bottles of water in his hands. He passed me one, and when our fingers brushed this time, he didn't pull away immediately. The contact lasted a beat too long, deliberate, before he settled into the chair Rebecca had vacated. "I saw her making a beeline for you after the session. Figured you might need rescuing."
"How did you know?"
"I've been watching you." The admission came out more intense than he probably meant it to. His cheeks colored. "I mean—you get this look when people are exhausting you. Your smile gets fixed in place and your shoulders tense up."
"You've been paying that much attention?" I couldn't keep the warmth out of my voice.
"Hard not to." His eyes met mine, and electricity crackled between us. "You're kind of... magnetic when you're teaching. The way you talk about craft, it's—" He stopped, looking flustered. "Never mind. That probably sounds weird."
"It doesn't." I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and watched him process that. "For what it's worth, I've been watching you too. The way you listen in workshops like every word matters. How you defend my points when Rebecca tries to pick them apart. That thing you do with your glasses when you're thinking."
Jason pushed his glasses up self-consciously and we both laughed. The sound eased some of the tension, but not all of it. The awareness was still there, humming between us.
"Want to hide out here for a bit?" he asked.
"God, yes."
We relaxed into the sunroom's worn leather chairs, angled toward each other. Outside, snow had started falling again, fat flakes drifting past the windows. The room felt separate from the rest of the lodge, insulated. Private.
Jason pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then smiled at something on the screen.
"What?" I asked.
He turned it toward me—a photo of a scruffy golden retriever wearing reindeer antlers, looking deeply offended. "Garrett just sent this. No context, just the photo."
I laughed. "Does he do that often?"
"Constantly. It's his way of checking in without actually checking in." He pocketed the phone, settled deeper into his chair. "What about you? Anyone sending you reality checks?"
