He tells stories, just as he used to, funny ones, insightful ones, and serious ones.
It’s easy to be with him. Soft, wonderful, joyous.
But what if he takes it away again?
“I want to show you something.” Ransom reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a small, folded star map—one of those glossy ones you can buy from a planetarium. My handwriting is scrawled across the corner.
I gasp. “You keptthat?”
He offers it to me. “You made it for me.”
We were in Big Sur, at a cabin, and the power went out. We went stargazing.
“You traced every constellation we could see and wrote ‘So you don’t get lost when I’m not there to guide you.’”
My throat tightens. “I was such a nerd.”
“You were…aremy compass,” he says softly. “It just took too long for me to figure it out.”
It feels damn good to hear him say that, so I snuggle into him, let him hold me, and begin the process of healing me, him, us.
We sit beneath the stars like that, long after the cocoa’s gone cold. The macarons are just a memory. The bottle of Montrachet is empty. Crumbs of baguette are spread on the fur and blankets, despiteour best efforts.
Just sky and snow and two people trying to meet in the present.
We descend from La Flégère into Chamonix, which is a glittering jewel.
Shops glow with window displays—crimson ribbons, sleigh bells, and candles nestled in pine boughs.
The scent of roasted chestnuts and candied almonds curl through the air, signaling it’s still Christmas in Chamonix.
Ransom slides his gloved fingers through mine as we walk toward the square.
“Where now?” I ask.
“Now, time for some fun,” he declares.
I laugh when I see that Ransom has brought us to the ice rink, andsurprise, surprise, my family is there.
We are welcomed by Thomas, gleefully shouting, “I’m a hockey player!”Followed by Latika calling out, “No full-speed tackles!”
The town rink is nestled beside the river, framed by trees. It’s like something out of a storybook—an oval of glistening ice under a net of fairy lights.
Families swirl in loose circles. A couple twirls in synchrony near the center. Children tumble and laugh, giddy with joy. Someone’s golden retriever is wearing booties and barking every time its owner slides by.
Papa is skating backward, pulling Anika by both hands while she shrieks with laughter.
Uncle Bob is trying (and failing) to spin Aunt Tanya.
Freja is gliding effortlessly, her scarf trailing behind her like a streamer, while Jonathan watches her with a love-struck look he doesn’t even try to hide.
We say hello to everyone and head to the rental hut.
Ten minutes later, Ransom and I are laced up and wobbling toward the rink. Well,he’swobbling. I step onto the ice like I was born to it.
“You’re showing off,” he mutters, catching my arm.
“I’m being merciful,” I counter, grinning. “You haven’t even fallen yet.”
