“What are we doing?” Her voice pitches high with a mix of interest and delight. Her excitement only pushes me forward. I nod toward the bridge with a small grin. “We’re going to make one more memory here.”
She tilts her head but doesn’t press, and we carefully climb up to the bridge. I reach up and break off a long, narrow icicle from one of the beams. It snaps with a satisfying crack, and I hold it out like a prize.
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning to use that as a weapon?”
“Who, me?” I say with mock seriousness, offering it to her. “Nah, I thought it looked beautiful. Here, hold this up to the light. I want to try to get some photos of it reflecting.”
The light hits just right, refracting through the ice, bending in soft shards of gold and blue. I take a few shots of it. When I examine the shot on my phone, I was right. It doesn’t just catch the light. In the photo, the icicle looks like it’s glowing from the inside—like it’s alive.
“Hold it there,” I say quietly, as I raise my phone back up and zoom in even more.
She stays still with the icicle in front of her, and the bridge rising behind her. I snap the photo, but when I lower the phone, I don’t look at the screen right away. I look back at her and admire the way the light dances through the ice and reflects in her eyes. “Stunning,” I murmur.But I’m not referring to the ice anymore. She really has some of the most stunningly beautiful ice-blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
She walks forward, peeking down at the phone, her arm brushing mine as she leans in. “Wow, that’s a great shot. Now it’s your turn to hold it, and I’ll take a photo.”
“Nah,” I shake my head. “Nobody wants my big head in a photo.”
“It’s only fair.” She pushes the icicle at me but I don’t take it. Instead, I say, “I’ll only pose with it if you agree to be in the photo too.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her lips twitch before they pull into a wider smile. There’s warmth behind it that hits me right in the chest.
“Chicken,” she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
I raise a brow, playing along. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she says, the picture of innocence. Then, with a more dramatic sigh and a spark in her eyes, she adds louder, “Sure. Ifthat’swhat it takes to get you in a photo.”
I shake my head, smile, and hold up my phone again. She steps in closer without hesitation, the space between us narrowing until I can feel the soft press of her shoulder against mine. The wind has kicked up slightly, sending a few snowflakes dancing around us like a perfect picture backdrop. For a second, everything feels suspended.
We pose together. It feels natural, like we must show the world our favorite chunk of ice. It’s exactly the kind of things I would have done when I was that kid who used to run around this riverbank. She’s laughing when she playfully frowns and scolds, “Bill, you need to smile.”
I look at the screen, but then glance sideways at her instead. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. I grin, more for her than for me, because I don’t care how the photo turns out. A niggling in my gut tells me this is a memory I want to keep. “Say, ‘icicle’ on two,” she says as she moves the phone into a better position. “And smile!”
“How about icicle madefortwo?” I cut my gaze toward her right as she clicks, perfectly capturing the look of shock and wonder on her face.
She drops the phone and playfully looks at me, “What do you meanfor two?”
“It sounds fun.” I smirk and gesture toward the path again. “What do you think? Should we walk across the bridge one final time?”
Her gaze grows more thoughtful as I set the ice on the ground, and we step onto the wooden planks together. She squeals as the bridge creaks beneath us like it is counting every step. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she rushes out as she halts on her heel and nervously scans the worn planks.
“It’s fine.” Without thinking, I reach out. “Here, give me your hand.”
She doesn’t flinch as her fingers wrap around mine with quiet trust. We don’t say anything as we step forward. The silence between us deepens as we slowly creep over the bridge. After we’ve made it about halfway across, her free hand points forward, and she whispers, “Look at that.”
I turn my head to see a small deer family standing near the other side of the bridge. Three of them. The biggest one, clearly a buck with large antlers, turns to watch us. Ruth and I halt.
Neither of us dares to speak. She lowers into a crouch, and I follow instinctively. Our shoulders brush as we huddle together, trying not to disturb the fragile moment. Hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, we hold our breath.
The deer don’t run. They stand there, watching the bridge while we watch them. It almost feels like they came out to say goodbye to the bridge too.
After a few moments, the wind seems to switch directions right as the sun slips lower. “It’s getting dark soon,” she whispers. “I hate to scare them away, but I should get back.”
I feel her turn toward me, and I meet her gaze. Those stunning ice-blue eyes are wide, lit by that fading sunlight. I didn’t plan for a moment like this when I invited her up here. I certainly thought we’d share a laugh or two, but unexpectedly the air between us tightens. Our faces are so close to each other’s, and her breath mingles with mine.
Tension builds slowly, curling around my ribs, making it hard to breathe in that steady, normal way. I don’t even fight it, as my instincts take over. My gaze drops to her lips. They’re slightly parted, the dark pink stands out against her wind-flushed skin. I swear, for a second, the world narrows to only that space between us. Just her mouth, her breath, the glint of sunlight catching in her lashes.
I could kiss her.
