She studies my face for a long moment, her eyes flickering with worry. I know that the conversation with her mom is still heavy on her mind.
"Okay," she finally says. "But hurry back."
"I will."
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the softness of her lips and the warmth of her body.
"What?" I ask when I pull away.
"Nothing." She shakes her head slightly. "Just... be careful."
"Always."
I force myself to stand, to walk toward the door, even though everything inside of me is telling me to climb back into that bed and never leave. At the threshold, I pause and look back at her.
"Lock the door behind me."
She nods. "I will."
I step outside into the cold morning air. The snow has stopped, finally, leaving behind a world buried in white. The road down the mountain will be rough but passable. I checked it yesterday, and the plows have made some progress. It'll takeabout an hour to get to the nearest town with a decent grocery store.
Two hours, round trip. Maybe three if the roads are worse than I expect.
She'll be fine.
I climb into the car and start the engine, letting it warm up while I scrape snow and ice from the outside. When I get a good amount off, I wave goodbye to her and pull out of the clearing and onto the windy mountain road.
The drive is slow, treacherous in places where the plows haven't reached. I navigate carefully, my mind going back to Jade, to the conversation we need to have about what comes next. The cabin was always temporary. Sooner or later, we have to return to the real world.
But the real world has Marcus in it. And angry investors. And a deal I torpedoed for reasons I can't fully explain.
I push the thoughts aside and focus on the road.
By the time I reach town, almost ninety minutes have passed. The main street is quiet, just a few locals digging out their cars and salting their sidewalks. I pull into the parking lot of a small grocery store and head inside.
The store is warm, fluorescent-lit, blissfully normal. I grab a cart and move through the aisles on autopilot, tossing in everything we need. Eggs. Bacon. Milk. Bread. Coffee. Pasta. Sauce. Some vegetables that look reasonably fresh and fruit. A few bottles of wine.
I pause in the bakery section and add a box of her favorite pastries—the almond croissants she mentioned loving. It’s a small thing, but I want to see her smile when I hand them to her.
The checkout line moves slowly. An elderly woman in front of me counts out exact change for her groceries while the teenage cashier waits with barely concealed impatience.
Later, when I load the bags into the car and slide behind the wheel, I reach for my phone to check the time.
That's when I see it.
I've had no signal for days, but here in town, the bars have flickered back to life. The screen is lit up with a cascade of notifications. Missed calls. Voicemails. Text messages.
Most of them are from my father.
A cold weight settles in my stomach as I scroll through the messages.
Call me immediately.
Phoenix, where are you?
This is urgent. Call me.
I tap on the voicemail icon and lift the phone to my ear.
