I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the building.
Me
You’re ridiculous.
Asher/Yeti
You like it.
Me
Obviously.
Asher/Yeti
See you tomorrow, Eva.
Me
See you tomorrow, Asher.
I put down my phone and look around at the equipment I’m slowly learning to understand. At the notes in my great-uncle’s handwriting. At the legacy I’m trying to honor.
There’s still so much to learn, so much to build, so much to figure out, but I’m not scared of it. I’m excited. And tomorrow, my yeti comes back to me, and I get to figure out if we are building something lasting, too.
The train platform in Climax is crowded with people waiting for arrivals—families, couples, solo travelers scrolling on their phones. I find a spot near the exit and try not to bounce on my heels.
The train pulls in right on time. I watch the doors, scanning the faces as people stream out. Then I see him.
He looks exhausted. Rumpled. His beard has grown out a bit more than usual, and he’s carrying a lumpy duffel bag that looks like it was packed by a child with ADHD. His booted gait is awkward.
He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Our eyes meet across the platform, and I watch his face transform. The tension seems to drain from his shoulders, and his weary expression softens.
I’m moving without conscious control, weaving through the crowd until he drops the bag and opens his arms. I crash into my yeti, holding on, breathing him in.
“Hi,” I say into his chest.
“Hi.” His arms tighten around me. “Man, I missed you.”
“You said that already. On the phone.”
“It’s more true in person.”
I pull back enough to look at his face, cataloging the dark circles under his eyes. “You look terrible,” I tell him.
“Thanks.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Not much. Hotel beds are wrong.”
“Wrong how? I can’t have wrong beds in my B&B!”
“Wrong in every way. Too soft. Too many pillows. Too not-my-bed.”
“That’s very specific.” I laugh, realizing this is an Asher problem and not an inventory issue I need to worry about.
