“I passed another cabin driving up here.”
Nico sighs, but it sounds more amused than impatient, and a moment later, he’s backing me against a tree, his arms caging me in. He has a big backpack on, making him feel even more hulking over me. “That’s Rora’s cabin. Shay’s girlfriend’s sister. She’s down in town, but even if shewasn’t, she’s five months pregnant, and highly unlikely to murder anyone.”
I’ve somewhat forgotten what we’re talking about, because Nico somehow smells better outside. Like the forest accentuates the woody, natural scent of him. “I blow on your tea before I give it to you because you burned your tongue the other day. You stubbed your toe on the stairs, and I sanded down the corners of every step to make them rounder. I put rubber mats out on the porch because it gets slippery when it’s wet, and I don’t want you to fall. Do you really think I’d do anything that would put you in danger, angel?”
He bends over me, his mouth hovering so close I could reach out and taste him. How is it possible we haven’t kissed yet?
“Este.”
“Hmm?” I can’t seem to stop staring at his lips.
“Do you think I’d do anything to put you in danger?”
Leaving me extremely horny aside… “I suppose not. Wait—did you just say you’ve been blowing on my tea?”
Nico threads our gloved hands together and tugs me away from the tree. “Don’t worry about it.”
The snow is slushy beneath our boots, and there’s no moon peeking through the trees to guide us, but Nico has lived here for almost as long as I’ve been alive, so I trust that he knows his way around. Though I’m begrudging his “it’s not far” promise a little, it’s not too long before his flashlight beam catches a tall structure up ahead.
“What is that?”
“It’s an old lookout tower. When I moved up here, ithadn’t been maintained for years. After I finished the cabin, I needed a project to focus on, so I asked the rangers if I could fix it up. It’s not much, but I think you’ll like the view.”
We pause at the foot of some stairs that look less stable than either of us, and he squeezes my hand.
“You head up first. I’ll follow.”
“So you can break my fall if these death-trap stairs collapse?” I ask, skeptically as I step up, and the wood groans.
Nico surprises me by slapping my ass. It’s… playful. Kind of weird. Pretty hot. “Exactly.”
I tense up more with every step, especially once I hear Nico on the stairs behind me. But I remind myself that he wouldn’t let me do this if he thought I’d end up hurt.
There’s a sliding lock on the outside of the door, I assume to keep animals out, and Nico reaches over me to open it before nudging me inside. The room smells like his workshop, fresh wood and stain, but it’s too dark for me to see anything now that Nico’s flashlight is off. There’s a huge window, and I bet this place glows silver when there’s a full moon.
I hear Nico set his bag down, unzip it, and a few moments later, a soft glow fills the room as he turns on a camping lantern. I should know better than to be surprised by his work, but I can’t stop the gasp that falls from my lips.
“I can’t believe you did all this. It’s amazing.”
I look around as he pulls things out of his backpack: the sleeping bag, a rolled-up blanket, more lanterns, a thermosof tea, his axe… It’s like Mary Poppins’s bag, with how much he has shoved in there.
The shell of this place is nothing more than a wooden box, but he’s made it cozy. There are two mismatched chairs, a bench seat with a small table, built-in cabinets and shelves, and a set of bunk beds.
There are no soft furnishings, which makes sense considering anyone who comes across this place probably has a sleeping bag at a minimum. There are a few books and some maps stacked on the bookshelves, and a bunch of cans and other non-perishable foods.
“I bet this place is popular with hikers.”
“It is. In the spring and fall, mostly. People underestimate the road and get stuck up here when it rains.”
It’s not nearly as cozy as Nico’s cabin, but there are much worse places to be stuck.
I let him pull me toward the window, and follow his gaze to the town below us, illuminated in the unmistakable red and green of Christmas lights, despite the fact that it’s April. Only in Wintermore.
“Wow.” I sit Amelia Bearhart down on the windowsill, place my hands flat on the wood, and lean forward, my nose to the glass. What a view.
I’ve always liked looking down from above—I remember the first time I flew in a cockpit and watched as buildings and people turned to smudges on the ground. For a moment, when I was up there, everything trivial felt so inconvenient. The pop quiz score I got in history. My best friend Jules going to the movies with the new girl but not inviting me. The Steve Madden shoes I saw at the mall thatPops wouldn’t let me get because the heels were too high. Typical pre-teen shit, and none of it mattered when I was up there. The second we landed, I remember looking from my dad beside me, to Pops behind us, with the biggest smile on my face, and swearing I was going to be a pilot like them.
I was nine, and I didn’t once regret my decision until I realized Paul was gone and the lives of almost three hundred people were in my hands alone.
