"You have Thoreau," she observes, running a finger along the spine ofWalden.
"Required reading for hermits," I say, and she laughs, the sound bright and warm in the quiet cabin.
"Is that what you are? A hermit?"
I consider the question as I pour coffee into two mugs. "I guess I was. Not sure what I am now."
She accepts the mug I offer, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact is electric even after everything we shared last night, and I see the awareness flicker in her eyes.
"Want to see the mountain in the morning light?" I ask.
Her face lights up. "Yes. Absolutely."
We dress in layers—thermal underwear, wool socks, boots that crunch on the snow as we step onto the porch.
The air is sharp and clean, cold enough to sting the lungs and clear the head. Above us, the sky is washed pale blue, cloudless for the first time since she arrived.
The world has been transformed overnight. Snow blankets everything in smooth, unbroken white—deeper than yesterday'saccumulation, sculpted by wind into drifts and curves that turn familiar terrain into something magical. The trees stand like sentinels, their branches heavy with snow that catches the early light and throws it back in prismatic flashes.
"My God," Ariel whispers, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. "I've never seen anything so beautiful."
I watch her face as she takes it in, noting the genuine awe there. Most people would see only cold and hardship, the difficulty of moving through deep snow, the isolation, the harsh beauty that demands respect. Butshesees wonder.
"Come on," I say, leading her down a path I could navigate blindfolded. "I want to show you something."
We move through the snow-laden forest, our steps muffled by the thick accumulation underfoot. I break trail, making it easier for her shorter legs to follow.
Behind me, I can hear her soft sounds of amazement as we pass through groves of snow-heavy pines, across clearings that gleam like fields of diamonds in the strengthening light.
The path leads to a ridge that overlooks the valley, one of my favorite spots, a place I come when I need to remember why I chose this life. As we emerge from the trees, Ariel stops short, her breath catching audibly.
The vista spreads below us like something from a dream. Rolling hills extend to the horizon, all draped in pristine white, broken only by the dark lines of creeks and the vertical thrust of distant peaks. The sky above is endless blue, and the silence is so complete it seems to have weight.
"This is your view every morning?" she asks, voice hushed with reverence.
"When the weather's clear." I move to stand beside her, close enough to feel her warmth in the cold air. "Some mornings there are deer in that meadow. Elk, sometimes, if you're quiet enough."
She pulls out her camera, and I watch as she frames the shot with attention. Her movements are precise, professional, but there's passion in the way she works—love for the craft, for capturing beauty that might otherwise be lost.
"Here," I say, stepping behind her to adjust the angle slightly. "This way you'll catch the light on that far ridge."
My hands cover hers on the camera, guiding the positioning. She leans back against my chest, trusting my judgment, and a sense of rightness that goes deeper than physical attraction settles in my chest.
"Perfect," she murmurs, and I'm not sure if she means the shot or the moment.
"Take it," I tell her, and she does, the shutter clicking in the crystalline air.
We stand there for long minutes, sharing the view and the silence. The sun climbs higher, painting the snow in shades of rose and gold, and I find myself memorizing this moment: the way she fits against me, the sound of her breathing, the trust in the way she relaxes into my warmth.
"Joel," she says eventually, her voice measured. "Can I ask you something?"
"Ask away."
She turns in my arms to face me, her dark eyes serious. "This… what's happening between us. It's intense. Faster than anythingI've ever experienced." She pauses, seeming to choose her words slowly. "Does that scare you at all?"
The question doesn't surprise me. I've been expecting it, actually—the moment when reality would intrude, when doubt would creep in.
But looking at her face, seeing the vulnerability there mixed with genuine curiosity, I find my answer comes easily.
