I thought about my inbox, full of work emails I'd been ignoring. "Not exactly."
He watched me, waiting. Not pushing, just... present. It was disarming, that patient attention.
"I'm good at my job," I said finally. "Really good. But somewhere along the way I forgot why I started doing it." I shook my head. "That sounds ridiculous."
"It doesn't." His voice was quiet. "Sometimes you have to step away to remember what you're stepping back to."
We sat with that for a moment. Outside, the snow fell heavier. Jason had shifted closer somehow, or maybe I had. The space between our chairs had narrowed.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Yeah."
"Why did you really come here? To the lodge."
I met his eyes. "Honestly? I don't think I knew until right now."
His gaze held mine, and I watched him process that, saw the moment he understood what I meant. The air between us felt thick again, charged. Jason's gaze dropped to my mouth, and this time he didn't look away quickly. We sat there for a long moment, the space between us feeling both too far and too close.
Then voices echoed from the hallway, breaking the moment. Jason pulled back first, the spell broken.
"We should probably get ready for dinner," he said, standing. "Social hour starts at six, right?"
"Right." I followed him out, disappointment settling in my chest.
***
The social hour was exactly as tedious as expected—wine, cheese, and small talk. Someone had strung garland along the mantel, and the scent of mulled cider drifted from the kitchen. I fielded questions about publishing and agents and craft, while sneaking glances at Jason across the room. He was talking to Claire again, both of them animated about something, and that irrational jealousy flared again.
I shouldn't be feeling this possessive about someone I'd known for three days.
Eventually I managed to extract myself from a conversation about marketing strategies and found Jason by the windows, looking out at the mountains. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, and the light caught in his hair in ways that made my fingers itch to touch.
"Hey," I said softly, stepping close enough that our shoulders brushed. Close enough to feel his warmth. "Surviving?"
He turned toward me, and the movement brought us face to face, only inches apart. "Barely." His voice was low, intimate. "I'm not good at these networking things."
"Neither am I." I didn't step back even though I should. Even though we were in a room full of people who were definitely watching us. "Want to escape?"
"Desperately."
We slipped out while no one was watching, and the moment we were in the hallway, the air felt charged again. Electric. We didn't speak as we walked back to our room but I was aware of him beside me. The way our hands almost brushed. The way he'd catch me looking and hold my gaze instead of looking away.
The door closed behind us and I collapsed onto the loveseat. Relief and tension warred in my chest. "Thank god. I thought that would never end."
Jason laughed, settling into the armchair. "Rebecca tried to corner me to ask about my 'relationship' with you. I think she's suspicious."
"Of what?"
"That we're friends? That you're giving me special attention?" He adjusted his glasses. "I don't know. But she's definitely watching us."
"Let her watch." The words came out fiercer than I intended. "She doesn't get to police who I'm friends with."
"Is that what we are?" Jason asked quietly. "Friends?"
I looked at him—really looked at him. The way the light from the lamp in the room caught the highlights in his hair, the intelligence in his eyes, the soft curve of his mouth that I'd been trying very hard not to think about.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I know I like spending time with you more than anyone else here. And I know I'm going to be disappointed when this week ends and we have to go back to our real lives."
