The air between us changed. The noise of the falls didn’t seem as loud anymore; it was just there, steady, while something heavier hung between us.
I looked back toward the gorge, breathing in the cold air. “You ever think about leaving your life behind?”
He was quiet for a long time. “Every day.”
I turned, searching his face, but his expression gave nothing away.
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because people like me don’t just walk away.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Because I understood — more than I wanted to admit. Like I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk away from what happened with Luca.
We walked the rest of the trail in stretches of silence broken by easy teasing. He pointed out an icicle taller than me, I threw a snowball that missed by a mile. When I laughed, he did too; quietly, like he didn’t mean to.
We stopped at a wooden overlook near the upper falls. I sat on the railing, letting my boots dangle over the drop while he leaned beside me, arms crossed, eyes on the water.
“You ever think about how small we are?” I asked.
“All the time.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Keeps things in perspective.”
I looked at him sideways. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes perspective.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “You’d be surprised what I like.”
I opened my mouth to push that, but something in the way he said it made me pause.
We stayed longer than we should have. Hours, maybe. He’d brought a thermos with hot cocoa, a couple of sandwiches, andsome chips. We ate sitting side by side on a snow-dusted bench overlooking the gorge. The sun climbed higher, turning the ice to mirrors.
It was quiet, but not empty. The kind of quiet you only get when no one’s pretending.
“You ever been up here before?” I asked before taking a bite of my sandwich.
He nodded. “When I was a kid. My mom would make us a picnic lunch like this. We never came when it was this cold, though.”
He didn’t talk about his family much, but when he did, his voice went soft, careful. Like handling glass.
“I used to think this place was huge,” he said. “Felt like another world.”
“It still does,” I admitted softly.
He looked over, eyes meeting mine. “Yeah. Guess it does.”
The wind picked up, swirling snow around us like glitter. I tried to pull my scarf higher over my mouth, but my fingers were numb. Without a word, Enzo reached out, catching my gloved hand in his own.
“Your hands are ice,” he grumbled.
“I’m fine.” I tried pulling my hand away.
He didn’t let go, frowning at me. “You’re not fine. You’re freezing.”
“It’s worth it for this,” I replied, gesturing around with my other hand.
He gave a quiet scoff, still holding my hand for a moment longer before tucking my glove tighter around my sleeve and letting go. “You’re impossible.”
