“Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s scared. And he doesn’t scare easily.”
“That’s why you have to go,” she said. “He needs you.”
“I’m worried,” I said, voice lower, “because this is exactly the kind of moment that wrecked things last time. With my ex. With… everything.”
She shook her head. “I’m not her.”
I looked at her…the woman who ran from her own feelings and still somehow stood steady for mine, this woman who joked to hide fear but walked toward connection anyway, this woman who didn’t bolt when I opened up.
“You’re not,” I echoed.
“And,” she added, stepping even closer, “if you need to stay longer, or adjust trips, or combine schedules, we’ll figure it out. The lodge won’t fall apart without you for a couple of days. And I won’t either. Not to burst your bubble.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I searched her eyes for resentment, disappointment, anything that would confirm the fear pressing inside my chest.
All I saw was sincerity.
Understanding.
Care.
“Thank you,” I said, and the words felt too small for what I meant.
She shrugged one shoulder, trying to lighten the heaviness. “It’s just three days. If you vanish for three months, then I’ll worry.”
“You’d worry?”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Who else am I supposed to tease mercilessly on hikes?”
I laughed. She always knew how to crack the tension at exactly the right moment.
She moved another step closer, close enough that her scarf brushed my arm, close enough for the world to quiet around us. Her voice softened.
“Carson… go help your brother. And then come back.”
The simplicity of it hit me like a blow, gentle but direct.
She wasn’t afraid of me leaving.
She wasn’t waiting for abandonment.
She was waiting for me, but she had her own center.
I lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing my thumb lightly across her skin. She leaned into the touch without hesitation. Something warm unraveled inside me, slow and sure.
“I’ll be back,” I murmured.
“I know.”
I bent my head toward her, just enough that her breath mingled with mine. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in, eyes lowering as her fingers slid up the front of my jacket.
The kiss wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t hungry.
It wasn’t desperate.
