“This is a lot,” I say.
“It’s not,” she says gently. “You’re telling a story. A memory. Something that matters.”
Her eyes lock on mine when she says that, and I feel it — the weight under her words. Memories matter to her more than she wants people to know.
She picks up the cabin figurine and runs her thumb along the snowy roof. “I used to make these when my mom was sick,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t fix anything that was happening … but I could make something beautiful and pretend everything was okay inside the glass.”
That tugs at me.I should have asked about her family before now. What was I thinking?
I pick up the same figurine slowly. “This one, then.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
She shows me how to glue the cabin to the base. I try to follow the instructions, but her hand brushes mine, steadying me, guiding me — and suddenly my entire focus shifts to herfingers wrapped around mine, the warmth of her skin, the quiet confidence in her movements.
“You’re good at this,” she says.
“No,” I answer honestly, “I’m good at following you.”
She drops her gaze quickly and reaches for the tiny trees. “We should add these. To make it more woodsy.”
Woodsy. I could laugh. My entire life is woodsy.
“Fine,” I say. “But only if we add one big tree. There’s a big one by my cabin.”
“Is it your favorite?”
I almost sayyeswithout thinking.
“I never noticed or thought about it until now,” I admit.
She looks at me like she understands everything I’m not saying. We place the trees together. She pauses halfway, fingers brushing mine again — not by accident this time. A spark runs through me, warm and immediate.
Her voice drops. “You’re … careful, Ethan.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
The way she says it — soft but certain — seems like she’s seeing pieces of me I didn’t know were visible.
Harper adds a sprinkle of glitter. I add more, but it’s too much.
She laughs. “That’s a blizzard.”
“Good,” I say. “We live in the mountains.”
She laughs again and we seal the globe together, twisting the base in unison. When we flip it, snow swirls around the cabin. Harper leans closer, shoulder brushing mine, voice barely above a whisper.
“Beautiful.”
But she’s not looking at the snow globe. She’s looking atme. I feel that same magnetic pull that existed last night, softernow but no less powerful. I reach out and brush a stray bit of glitter from her cheek.
“Ethan…”
I’m focused on her lips … her eyes. The tiny tremble in her voice. I want to kiss her again. Here and now — in front of a room full of people. And I almost do. But she exhales shakily and places a hand on my chest, gentle but firm.
“Not here,” she whispers.
