“What cat?” Samuel said at the same time I said, “Absolutely not.”
Gladys rolled her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” She started trudging back toward the snowplow, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “You boys take care of each other. And that cat.”
She climbed back onto the plow with the same surprising agility, started the engine, and rumbled off down the mountain without another word.
Samuel and I stood in the snow, watching her go.
“So,” Samuel said finally. “That was interesting.”
“I didn’t mean to speak for you. About the cabin. I just—”
“You said no.” He turned to face me, and there was something bright and wondering in his expression. “She offered me my own space, and you said no.”
“I did.”
“Without even thinking about it.”
“I thought about it,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about it. About us. About what happens when...” I trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
“When what?”
“When I stop being afraid.”
Samuel’s breath caught. We were standing maybe two feet apart, both of us bundled in winter coats, snow falling gently around us. Behind him, his destroyed cabin loomed like a reminder of how quickly things could change. How quickly you could lose something you’d barely had time to appreciate.
“Farley,” he said. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying—” I stepped closer. “I’m saying that three days ago, I told you I wasn’t ready. That I needed time. That I couldn’t trust my own judgment.”
“I remember.”
“And all of that is still true. I’m still scared, and I still don’t entirely trust myself.” I reached up and cupped his face with my gloved hands. “But I trust you. And I don’t want you to stay in a different cabin. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and not be wrapped around you like a—what did you call it? A human octopus?”
Samuel laughed, a slightly watery sound. “That’s a very specific want.”
“I have a very specific list.”
“Of course you do.” He was smiling now, that bright, beautiful smile that had been making my chest ache since the first day I saw it. “Are you going to share this list with me?”
“Eventually.” I pulled him closer, erasing the last of the distance between us. “But right now, I’d rather do this.”
And I kissed him.
Not like the frantic, desperate kiss in the Range Rover. Not like the tender, uncertain kiss that had started everything. This was deliberate. Intentional. A choice.
I chose him.
Samuel made a sound against my mouth—surprise, relief, joy, all tangled together—and kissed me back. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him, and for a moment, the cold didn’t matter. The destroyed cabin didn’t matter. The uncertain future didn’t matter.
There was only this. Only us.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, Samuel was grinning like he’d won the lottery.
“So,” he said. “Does this mean we’re not ‘just friends’ anymore?”
“I think that ship has thoroughly sailed.”
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed me again, quick and sweet. “Because I have to tell you, the ‘just friends’ thing was really cramping my style.”
