I don’t move away.
He is close enough now that I can feel his heat through the thin fabric between us. The scent of pine smoke and coffee and warm skin. The steadiness of his breath.
There is nothing frantic in the way he looks at me. Only intensity held in check.
The distance between us narrows without either of us deciding it should.
His mouth finds mine. Slowly. Deliberately.
The kiss isn’t urgent. It isn’t reckless. It feels like a decision.
His hand settles at my waist, firm but not demanding. I rest my palm against his chest, feeling the solid rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingers.
He tastes like coffee and restraint.
The heat builds quietly between us, not in flashes but in steady waves. The storm presses against the cabin walls as if to remind us how alone we are here.
I lean into him. No surrender. Choice.
His mouth deepens against mine gradually, measured and controlled, but beneath it something stronger moves—fear and desire braided together.
For a moment, I forget why I climbed this mountain.
I forget Stephen. I forget the festival. There is only warmth and the rhythm of his breath aligning with mine.
Then he pulls back. Abruptly enough to break the spell, gently enough not to wound.
He steps away first. Always control. The space between us returns, but it isn’t the same as before.
He turns slightly, hand braced against the piano as if grounding himself.
“We should stop,” he says.
His voice is steady. Mine isn’t entirely.
“Yes.”
The word feels both like agreement and promise.
He looks at me differently now. Not as a student. Not as a musician. As something that unsettles him.
The fire shifts behind us, sparks snapping softly inside the stove.
Outside, the storm continues its slow burial of the mountain. Inside, something else has begun to thaw.
And I know—before he says it, before he admits it—that whatever he thought he was protecting when he burned that score, it’s already at risk again.
This time not because of betrayal.
Because of me.
“Set down the Lady Sunshine,” he says.
My cheeks heat, doing as he says. My heart beats against my ribs, and I wonder if he can hear it.
“This stay is not just about my piece. And your playing. It’s about what I requested…”
My throat tightens. “And what’s that?”
