“Too late,” I say. “You’ve already seen me with a bow.”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “Yeah. I have.” The way he says it sends a little shiver down my spine.
The storm outside eases from white-out to steady curtain. By late afternoon, the world beyond the windows is a clean, blank sheet of white under a sky the color of pewter. The cabin feels smaller in a cozier way now; less bunker, more cocoon.
I read on the rug, feet near the fire, while he half-dozes on the couch, muttering lines from some script he’s supposed to be learning. At one point he reaches down and absentmindedly threads his fingers through my hair, like it’s normal.
“Hey,” I say after a while, twisting to see out the window. “The snow’s stopped.”
“Temporarily,” he says, eyes closed.
“Come outside with me.”
He cracks one eye. “Ally, my ankle—”
“You can lean on me,” I say. “I want to see it. Before it turns to slush. And reality.”
He studies my face, then swings his legs off the couch with a theatrical sigh. “Fine. But if I fall down the hill again, I’m suing you.”
We layer up in thermals and coats and step into a world made new. The snow is deep enough to swallow half my shin, the air impossibly crisp, every breath like biting into an apple straight from the fridge.
“Oh,” I whisper. It’s stupid, how beautiful it is. The trees are heavy with white, branches bowed. The world is quiet in that particular snow-muted way that makes you feel like you’re trespassing in another world.
“Worth it?” Nate asks, leaning on the porch rail beside me.
“Absolutely.”
We pick our way down the steps carefully, his arm heavy over my shoulders, my arm snug around his waist. We don’t go far, justto the flat patch in front of the cabin where our footprints from yesterday are already half-filled.
He looks out over the field, shivering. “OK, we’ve seen it. My toes are filing a formal complaint. Can we go back in now?”
“Coward,” I say.
“Smart man,” he counters.
I bite my lip, watching the pristine stretch of untouched snow as an utterly idiotic idea pops into my head.
“What?” he asks warily.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow. “Ally.”
I flick a glance at him, at the snow, back at him, and lift an eyebrow.
He follows my gaze. Then his own brows shoot up. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” I say, already laughing. “When will we ever get the chance again?”
“Ally, it’s below freezing.”
“Exactly. It’s stunning.”
“Hypothermia is not stunning.”
“Just for a second,” I wheedle. “One snow angel. Naked. Then we’ll sprint back in and defrost. It’ll be like… like something ridiculous we never tell anyone about. Our secret, just us.”
Nate stares at me like I’ve suggested we juggle knives. “You’re serious.”
