“I know.”
“And I loved…” Her voice fades off, but the rest hangs in the air between us like steam rising from snow.
Me.
Did she almost sayme?
But she stopped herself; I feel the words echo under my skin anyway.
Savannah suddenly pushes up to her feet, taking a few steps toward the river. “It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs, hugging her arms around herself. “Even now.”
“It’s always been beautiful because of you,” I say before I can stop it.
She jolts slightly, as if the praise touches something deep. “You don’t have to say things like that.”
“I’m not saying them to get something.”
She turns, eyes searching mine. “Then why?”
“Because they’re true.”
Silence expands between us, thick enough to feel. Her cheeks flush—not from the cold. I know her tells. I’ve always known them.
The tension crackles like a buried electrical line under snow.
Savannah exhales slowly. “Well. If we’re going to rebuild anything here, we should start by clearing the rest of this slope.”
She marches past me toward the shed I rebuilt years ago, pulling out two tool bags. I follow, letting her have the illusion of control even though every step she takes feels like it’s syncing with my own heartbeat.
We haul out planks, bags of nails, a leveler, gloves, water bottles. She kneels next to the old foundation again, pulling out a tape measure. The sight hits me like a punch.
Savannah, rebuilding her family’s home.
Savannah, choosing Devil’s Peak.
Choosing life here.
Choosing something she won’t say out loud yet.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I lie.
Her eyes narrow. “Axel.”
“Just… proud of you,” I admit.
Her entire face softens. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
She shakes her head and looks down at the stones as though they’re safer than looking at me. “You always had this way of saying things like you expected people to believe you.”
“I do expect you to believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never once lied to you.”
