“Perfect.” Viv climbed back into the SUV. “Let's go see the Seven Sisters.”
Charlie met Ben's eyes as she opened the driver's door. “You good with that?”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “I want you to see it. It's worth seeing.”
And he did want her to see it. Not just because Viv needed a filming location, but because Loveland Pass was the kind of place that demanded respect. The kind of place where you felt small and mortal and alive all at once. The kind of place that separated people who understood the mountains from people who just looked at them.
Charlie King, Ben was willing to bet, would understand.
They piled back into the SUV, and Charlie pulled out of the overlook, merging smoothly onto I-70 westbound. The tunnel swallowed them for a moment—bright sunlight to sudden darkness to bright sunlight again—and then they were climbing toward Exit 216.
In the back seat, Viv was already talking strategy with Maddie and Rowan. But up front, Charlie was quiet, focused on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console.
Ben finished his sandwich, balled up the wrapper, and stuffed it in the bag at his feet. Through the windshield, the mountains rose higher, sharper, the peaks ahead dusted with early snow that hadn't melted even in August.
Twenty minutes to Loveland Pass.
Twenty minutes until Charlie saw the Seven Sisters.
Ben found himself hoping she'd look at the mountains the same way she'd looked at the elephant rides at the Faire—with that unguarded smile that made his chest go tight.
He wanted to see that smile again.
ELEVEN
The roadto Loveland Pass climbed higher than Charlie had expected. Higher than Berthoud, higher than the Eisenhower Tunnel. The SUV's engine worked harder as they switchbacked up US-6, the pavement narrowing, the shoulders disappearing.
Charlie's hands stayed light on the wheel, but her attention sharpened. This wasn't the tourist-friendly summit they'd just left. This was serious terrain.
Beside her, Ben sat forward slightly, his gaze tracking the landscape. Not nervous—just aware. The same way she was aware when entering a room for the first time, cataloging exits and sight lines and potential threats.
Except Ben was reading the mountain itself.
“Almost there,” he said quietly. “The summit's just ahead.”
The road crested, and suddenly the world opened up.
Charlie eased into a wide pullout near the summit marker—11,990 feet, the sign proclaimed—and killed the engine. For a moment, nobody spoke.
The view stole everyone’s breath.
Mountains stretched in every direction, ridge after ridge folding into the distance like frozen waves. The sky was so blue it hurt to look at, and the wind—God, the wind never stoppedup here. It poured over the pass like an invisible river, cold and clean and relentless.
But it was the terrain directly below them that held Charlie's attention.
Seven massive chutes carved down the mountainside, converging on the road like fingers reaching for prey. The switchbacks cut directly through them—no guardrails, no barriers, just asphalt and air and a long drop to the rocks below.
Charlie's artist brain kicked in automatically, the way it always did when confronted with something worth capturing. She could see the drawing already—the brutal geometry of the switchbacks against the organic chaos of the avalanche paths. The way light and shadow played across the slopes. The sense of scale, of exposure, of consequence.
She'd need charcoal for this, maybe conte crayon. Something that could capture the rawness, the weight of all that stone and sky. Pencil would be too delicate. Watercolor too soft. This landscape demanded something bolder.
“Holy shit,” Viv breathed from the back seat.
“Yeah,” Rowan said.
Maddie was already out of the vehicle, tablet forgotten, just staring.
Charlie climbed out more slowly, Flo at her heels. The wind hit her immediately, strong enough to make her stagger. She leaned into it, letting it anchor her to this moment, this place.
