"Even though you tried."
"I didn't try very hard." His eyes turn back to mine, warm and serious. "I didn't want to."
I trace the line of his jaw. "You don't have to push me away now either."
"I know." His voice lowers. "I don't want to."
I move closer, sliding my leg over his. His arm comes around me again, pulling me firmly against him. His forehead rests briefly against mine, and the quiet between us deepens.
After a moment, he asks, "What happens after the storm clears?"
I nibble my lower lip. “Well, I'm supposed to write an article."
His hand pauses against my hip. "About me."
"About your work," I clarify. "And only what you're comfortable sharing."
"I don't want attention."
"I know."
"And I don't want people climbing up here trying to find me."
"I know that too."
He exhales slowly. "Then what do you want to write?"
I lift my head and look at him. "I think the story might be something else entirely."
"Like what?"
"Like a woman who followed a trail of light during a storm and found something unexpected."
He raises an eyebrow. "That's not a news story."
"No," I say softly, "but it might be a love story."
His chest rises in a slow breath.
I feel his hand slip to the small of my back, warm and sure. "Is this a love story, Emory?”
"I think it could be."
He pulls me closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think it is." He pauses. “Iknowit is, for me.”
My breath catches. "Pike…"
He shakes his head slightly, like he can't help the truth spilling out now that he’s gotten started. "I tried not to be in love with you. I told myself this couldn't happen. But when I held you last night…" His hand moves up my spine, gentle but full of meaning. "I knew I was gone. I’m yours."
Emotion presses thick behind my ribs. I lower my forehead to his, eyes stinging.
"I don't know what I expected when I came to this mountain," I whisper, "but it wasn't you."
"What a coincidence," he murmurs. "I wasn't expecting you either."
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“How long until the snow clears?”
