“No. No, no, no,” Taranne moans. “Don’t tell them. They’ll blame me.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“Mac will!” she whimpers.
“Christ, Taranne, what is Macdoingto you to make you behave this way?” Ally stares at Taranne. “Seriously, you’ve lost all perspective.”
I turn to Ally. “Look. We’re not kids. Like you said, we’re adults. And cabin fever or not, what we’re doing isn’t wrong. It’s just complicated.”
She bites her lip, staring at me.
I keep going. “We can’t hide like this. Not if this is… going anywhere. And, no offence, Taranne,” I throw to her with a quick glance, “not everyone is going to act like the four horsemen have been sighted in Montana.”
Taranne makes a faint choking sound.
Ally looks down at her hands in her lap. Then up at me. Something shifts in her expression—a blend of fear and clarity.
“You’d tell them,” she says quietly. “Mum and Mac both.”
“Not because we owe them,” I say. “But because I’m done pretending there’s nothing here.”
Her throat works. “You really think this can go somewhere.”
“I know it already has. And I like it.”
She’s shaking. Just barely, but enough that I reach out, slowly, and take her hand. She lets me.
Taranne watches like she’s witnessing a live grenade roll around. This time, I kind of relate.Here’s my heart, I just told the woman I’ve always loved,do you want it, or should I put it away?
Ally squeezes my fingers once, tight. “OK,” she whispers. “We’ll tell them. Together.”
My chest opens like something locked in it has finally snapped free.
“Together,” I echo.
Taranne groans into her scarf. “You’re both insane. You’re going to destroy my blood pressure. But… OK. Fine. I won’t say anything to Mac. Not untilyoudo.”
“Thank you,” Ally breathes.
Taranne stands abruptly. “And don’t let him blame me for a damn thing. I’m not losing my job because you two are… Well. I’m leaving before I see anythingelseI can’t unsee.”
She grabs her coat, babbles a few more panicked syllables, and bolts out the door like the cabin is haunted.
Silence descends.
Then Ally bursts into nervous laughter. “Oh my God. Oh my GOD. She saw everything. Of all people.”
I drop my face into her shoulder, laughing helplessly. “She’s going to need therapy.”
“She already did. Her face...”
We laugh until it becomes something quieter, shakier, the emotional echo of everything that just changed.
When the laughter fades, I look at her. Really look at her, with her damp hair, slipping towel, and uncertain yet brave eyes. “You OK?” I ask.
“No,” she says honestly. “Yes. Maybe. Nate, this ishuge.”
“I know.”
