Bolt lifts his head from where he's sprawled near the couch, tail thumping once against the floor. I nod at him, and he settles back down with a contented sigh.
I move to the window and pull back the curtain.
The storm has passed completely. The sky is a clear, pale blue, and the sun is just beginning to rise over the mountains, casting shadows across the snow. Everything is white and still, untouched except for the faint tracks of animals near the tree line. The world looks new and clean.
I let the curtain fall and turn back to the cabin.
I move to the stove and start preparing breakfast. Coffee first, then oatmeal and bread. My hands move through the familiar motions, but my mind is elsewhere.
She'll leave today.
The road will be passable by midday, maybe sooner. I can walk her back to her car, make sure she gets out safely. She'll drive back to wherever she came from, and Kinsley and I will go back to the way things were.
The thought settles low in my chest, heavier than I want it to be.
I don't want her to leave.
The realization isn't new, I admitted it to myself last night, but in the clear light of morning, it feels even stronger.
I hear a door creak open behind me, and I turn to see Kinsley padding into the room, her hair tangled and her eyes still half-closed with sleep.
"Morning," I say quietly.
She yawns and rubs her eyes. "Is Wendy still here?"
"She's asleep."
Kinsley nods and moves to the table, climbing into her chair. She watches me as I pour her a cup of water and set it in front of her.
"Is she leaving today?" she asks.
"Probably," I say.
"Oh."
I look at her, and she's staring down at her cup, her expression unreadable.
"Do you want her to stay?" I ask.
She shrugs, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Why maybe?"
She looks up at me, her dark eyes serious. "Because she's nice. And she's good at teaching. And she makes you smile."
I blink, caught off-guard again. "I smile."
"Not like that," Kinsley says. "Not like you did last night."
I don't know what to say to that, so I turn back to the stove and stir the oatmeal, buying myself time.
Behind me, I hear the soft pad of footsteps, and I glance over my shoulder to see Wendy emerging from the hallway. She's wearing one of my shirts and her hair is loose and messy around her face. Her cheeks are flushed, and she's smiling, small and tentative.
"Morning," she says softly.
"Morning," I reply, my voice rougher than I intend.
She crosses the room and sits down at the table next to Kinsley, who immediately perks up.
