“You think you’re never going to hear from me again when I leave?”
“I don’t know. But you have your life to get back to, and we haven’t exactly talked about it.”
“I guess we haven’t.” I don’t say the words I want to. I shouldn’t. This is already going to be hard enough; me telling him that I don’t want to leave, that I fall asleep every night hoping the universe will grant us a little more snow, that I want to keep him, won’t help. “I don’t know exactlywhat this looks like when the road clears, but I do know you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I promise.
“Good,” he says with a tentative smile that does nothing to help the longing I have to make things between us more permanent.
22
ESTE
My heart sinks when I open the door to let the dogs out and see green. A lot of green.
Yesterday, the ground was still covered in a decent layer of, albeit slushy, snow. This morning, it’s half-melted.
The dogs whine as I nudge them outside, clearly as unhappy about it as I am. I sigh, leaning against the doorframe as I watch them gingerly step off the porch steps and onto the grass.
“You okay?” Nico comes up behind me, immediately curling his arm around me, pressing his hand flat against my stomach, like he’s pressing me into him.
When I look over my shoulder at him, he’s so focused on me, he hasn’t even looked outside. “The snow’s melted,” I tell him, and he glances past me, his eyes dulling when he sees the green grass beyond.
“It was warmer last night.”
We stand silently for a moment, and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing I am. It feels too soon. As of tomorrow, I’ll have been here for four weeks. In some ways, it feels longer. This place feels so familiar to me that Icould’ve been here forever. And Nico… the way I feel for him is not the way I should after only a few weeks.
But mostly, it just doesn’t feel like I’ve had enough time. I haven’t breathed enough of the mountain air into my lungs. I haven’t woken up pressed against Nico’s chest enough times. I haven’t learned everything there is to learn about him. It’s not enough.
I can’t keep the road blocked by sheer force of will, though.
“Does this mean the road…?” I trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence, and Nico’s hold on me tightens a fraction.
“I’ll take the dogs down and check it out.”
Nodding has never felt like such a betrayal of what I want. “I’ll make breakfast.”
He kisses me, deeper and slower than a usual morning kiss, like he’s savoring it. I’m breathless when he pulls away and shrugs into his jacket. He gives me one more kiss, chaste this time, before heading out into the spring morning.
I watch him go, whistling to the dogs so they follow him, until the trees swallow them, then I squeeze my eyes together tightly to stop myself from crying. Tears will only make us both feel worse.
There are birds chirping in the trees, and snowdrops popping up around the perimeter of the forest. It’s beautiful—a promise of warmer days to come.
I slam the door closed so I don’t have to see it.
Though the air isn’t as cool as it was a couple of weeks ago, I expect Nico will still be freezing when he gets back. I turn on the stove and measure out oats and his favoritehazelnut milk to make chocolate and hazelnut oatmeal. I’m not as good in the kitchen as he is, and he’s barely let me cook for him since I’ve been here, since he’s so hellbent on taking care of me, but there’s something satisfying about making a meal to nourish someone you care about.
I clean the kitchen while the oats are bubbling away, another task I don’t particularly enjoy doing at home in Chicago, but I don’t mind here. Again, probably because Nico doesn’t let me do it often. I know he likes taking care of me, but I like taking care of him, too. And if this is one of the last chances I get to do it, I’m going to take it.
By the time I hear the cabin door open thirty minutes later, the room smells like hazelnut and chocolate, the kitchen is spotless, and there’s a jar of Nico’s homemade raspberry preserves warming up on the stove.
“That smells amazing, angel,” he says as he kicks off his boots. The dogs rush over to me, and I kiss each of their noses before splitting a treat from the dog cookie jar on the counter and tossing them each half.
“Chocolate hazelnut oatmeal. Figured you’d want something warm.” I can’t tell from his demeanor what he found, and I’ve never wanted to ask anything less in my life. But I have to. “How’s the road?”
He stops at the edge of the kitchen, looking at Earl chasing his tail around rather than me. I know before he opens his mouth. “It’s… not bad. Slushy, but the Jeep could handle it.”
