"Different how?" I ask.
"Cleaner, somehow. More intense. Like someone turned up the contrast on the whole world," Savannah explains.
I study her profile as she takes in the scenery, noting the way the cold air brings roses to her cheeks and makes her eyes water slightly. She's beautiful in the kind of understated way that sneaks up on you, not flashy or obvious but quietly stunning in a way that gets under your skin and stays there.
"Cold?" I ask.
"A little. This coat isn't designed for actual autumn," Savannah admits.
"City autumn or mountain autumn?” I press.
"Any autumn, apparently. It's more for show than function," she replies.
Without thinking about it, I step closer, close enough that she could lean into my warmth if she wanted to. Close enough that I can smell her vanilla bourbon scent mixing with the pine and snow and clean mountain air.
"Better?" I ask.
She glances up at me, brown eyes soft and considering. "Better."
The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility and the kind of awareness that makes the air feel electric. Then she starts walking again, and I fall into step beside her, hyperaware of the small space between us and the way she occasionally bumps against my shoulder.
"So," she says as we approach what used to be Peterson's Hardware, "tell me about this coffee revolution."
The building looks the same from the outside, red brick and large windows that used to display everything from garden hoses to fishing tackle. But now the windows are full of café tables and espresso machine equipment, and there's a hand-painted sign that reads "Sweet Dreams” in artisanal lettering.
"Let me guess," Savannah says, studying the aesthetic. "Owned by someone who moved here from California and thinks authenticity can be purchased by the square foot?"
"Close. Boulder, actually. But your point stands," I confirm.
We push through the front door, and I have to admit the renovation looks good. Exposed brick walls, reclaimed wood tables, Edison bulb light fixtures that cast everything in warm, golden light. The smell hits us immediately: fresh coffee, baked goods, and the particular scent of gentrification that comes with charging five dollars for something that used to cost two.
But it's warm inside, blissfully warm after the bite of mountain air, and I watch Savannah's shoulders relax as the heat wraps around us.
"Welcome to Sweet Dreams!” A young woman with purple hair and multiple piercings bounces toward us with the kind of aggressive friendliness that means she's either new to customer service or high on caffeine. "First time in?"
"First time since it stopped being a hardware store," Savannah says diplomatically, unwinding a scarf I didn't notice her wearing.
The movement reveals more of her neck, pale skin that looks soft and warm, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like stare.
"Oh, you're locals! How exciting. I'm Madison, and I just moved here from Boulder. Isn't Pine Hollow just the mostcharming place? Like something out of a storybook!" Madison gushes.
I catch Savannah's eye and see my own thoughts reflected there. Madison from Boulder thinks Pine Hollow is charming the same way tourists think poverty is quaint when it's packaged correctly.
"Very charming," Savannah agrees, and I catch the subtle sarcasm that Madison completely misses. "What happened to the hardware supplies?"
"Oh, there's a Home Depot about forty minutes away now. Much more convenient for everyone!" Madison explains.
"Right. Convenient," Savannah responds dryly.
We order coffee, and I have to admit it smells incredible. Rich and complex in a way that makes my morning attempts look like flavored water. Madison chatters about organic beans and fair-trade sourcing while she works the espresso machine with practiced efficiency, and I find myself watching Savannah's reactions instead of listening to the caffeine lecture.
She's taken off her coat, revealing the full effect of that cream-colored sweater. It's fitted enough to show her curves without being obvious about it, and the neckline is just low enough to hint at the soft skin beneath. My hands itch with the urge to touch, to trace the line of her collarbone, to discover if her skin is as soft as it looks.
"Are you two together?" Madison asks with the kind of innocent curiosity that isn't innocent at all. "You have such great chemistry!"
Heat floods my face, and Savannah's vanilla bourbon scent spikes with what smells like embarrassment mixed with something warmer.
"We're..." Savannah starts, then stops, her gaze flicking to mine.
