Dinner was the usual group affair, but I sat on the opposite side of the table from Brent. I needed space to think. To figure out what the hell I was feeling. But halfway through the meal, I felt a foot press against mine under the table.
I looked up to find Brent watching me, that small almost-smile playing at his lips before he turned back to hisconversation. His foot stayed pressed against mine, solid and reassuring.
Some of the tightness in my chest eased.
After dinner, I skipped the social hour—more holiday music and wine, laughter echoing through the lodge—and went back to the room. I needed to be alone for a bit, to sort through the tangle in my head.
I was sitting on my bed with my laptop, rereading what I'd written earlier, when Brent came in around nine.
"Hey," he said, concern in his voice. "You okay? You seemed quiet at dinner."
"Yeah. Just thinking."
He sat on his own bed, giving me distance. "About?"
I closed my laptop. "About what happens in two days. When this ends."
His expression shifted, became more guarded. "Jason—"
"You go back to New York and your career, and I go back to Colorado and my library. We live on opposite sides of the country." I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. "We've known each other less than a week. How do we know this is real and not just... the bubble?"
"Is that what you think this is?" His voice was quiet.
"I don't know what this is." I met his eyes. "Do you?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood and crossed to my bed, sitting beside me. Close enough that I could feel his warmth. "I think this is two people who found something unexpected. Something that scares the hell out of me because it feels too good to be temporary."
My breath caught.
"I don't have answers," he continued. "About how we make this work, or what happens when the retreat ends. But I know I don't want to stop. I know that what I feel when I'm with you is more real than anything I've felt in years."
"Brent..."
"We'll figure it out." He took my hand. "Maybe it's complicated. Maybe it's imperfect. But I'd rather figure out complicated with you than walk away because it's easier."
I looked at our joined hands. Outside, snow was falling again, soft and steady. "I'm scared."
"Me too." He squeezed my hand. "But I'd rather be scared with you than safe and empty without you."
I kissed him then, pouring all my confusion and fear and hope into it. He kissed me back with the same desperation, and somehow we ended up horizontal on my bed, tangled together.
"I wrote something today," I said when we came up for air. "About this. About us. About being scared."
"Can I read it?"
"Later." I pulled him back down. "Right now I need... I need you."
"I'm here." He kissed me slowly. "I'm right here."
We sat there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, just breathing. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"I don't want to lose this," I whispered.
"You won't." He kissed me again, softer this time. "I promise you won't."
Then we were undressing each other, hands and mouths exploring with new tenderness. This felt different from this morning's urgency or last night's desperate need. This felt like something shifting, deepening. Like we were choosing each other with full knowledge of what it might cost.
When he kissed down my body, taking me into his mouth, I nearly came apart from the intimacy of it. The trust it took to let him see me like this, vulnerable and wanting.
