7. Nora
— ? —
Nora
Six Weeks Later
The email from the lawyers arrives on a Tuesday.
Re: Lake House Sale - Signature Required
Mrs. Moretti,
The buyer’s contract requires both parties’ signatures on the amended sale rider. Due to the nature of the addendum (original fixtures and inherited items), physical presence is required for the walkthrough and signing. Mr. Moretti has indicated availability this weekend.
Please confirm.
I stare at the screen for a long time.
The lake house. Our honeymoon house. The place where we drank that first bottle of wine on the grass and Dante promised me forever and I believed him.
I should send someone else. A lawyer, a proxy, anyone.
But my mother’s books are still in the attic. The first editions she left me, the ones I couldn’t bear to move after she died. Dante offered to have them shipped a dozen times, and I always said no, said I wanted to pack them myself, said I wasn’t ready.
I’m still not ready. But if this house sells, I lose my chance.
I’ll be there Saturday morning, I type back. I’ll need access to the attic.
The response comes within minutes: Mr. Moretti has confirmed. Keys will be left with the property manager.
I close my laptop. Lean back in my chair.
Three days alone with Dante in the house where we fell in love.
What could possibly go wrong?
***
The blizzard hits Friday night.
I’m halfway up the mountain when the snow starts - light at first, then heavier, then so thick I can barely see the road. By the time I pull into the lake house driveway, my hands are cramped around the steering wheel and my heart is pounding.
Dante’s car is already here.
Of course it is.
I grab my bag and run for the door. The cold bites through my coat, snow stinging my cheeks. By the time I get inside, I’m shaking.
The house is warm. A fire crackles in the living room, and the lights are on, and Dante is standing by the window watching the storm.
He turns when he hears me.
“Nora.” His voice is careful. Controlled. “I didn’t know if you’d make it.”
“Almost didn’t.” I drop my bag by the door. “The roads are bad.”
“They’re closing them.” He holds up his phone. “Just got the alert. Highway patrol is shutting down everything below 4,000 feet. We’re snowed in.”
“For how long?”
“Forty-eight hours, at least.”
Forty-eight hours. Two days. Trapped in this house with my almost-ex-husband while a blizzard rages outside.
“Great,” I say flatly. “Perfect.”
“There’s food in the kitchen. I had groceries delivered this morning.” He turns back to the window. “And the fireplace works. That’s the good news. The bad news is it’s the only heat source. Furnace is out.”
“The furnace is out?”
“Repair guy can’t make it until the roads open.”
Of course. Of course the furnace is out.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll take the guest room. Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
“Nora-”
“I’m here for my mother’s books, Dante. That’s it. I’m not here to talk, or reconnect, or whatever you were hoping for. I’m here to get what’s mine and leave.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He gestures toward the hallway. “Guest room’s made up. Extra blankets in the closet. Let me know if you need anything.”
I wait for the catch. The argument. The plea.
It doesn’t come.
“Good,” I say. And I grab my bag and walk away.
***
The power goes out at midnight.
I’m lying in bed, not sleeping, listening to the wind scream outside, when suddenly the silence is deafening. No hum of electricity. No glow from the hallway nightlight. Just darkness and the sound of my own breathing.
Shit.
I fumble for my phone. Use the flashlight to find my way out of the bedroom.
Dante’s already in the living room, feeding wood to the fire. The flames throw shadows across his face, and for a moment I just stand there, watching him. The way his shoulders move. The line of his back beneath his sweater.
He’s changed clothes since I arrived. Gone is the polished businessman; in his place is someone softer. Worn jeans. A sweater I recognize from years ago - the one I used to steal when I was cold.
He peels it off, uses it to grip a hot log, and adds it to the fire.
And I see him.
Really see him, the way I haven’t let myself in weeks.
The line of his spine. The muscles in his back shifting as he moves. His forearms, dusted with dark hair, flexing as he adjusts the wood. The trail of hair below his navel disappearing into his waistband.
Heat floods my face. And other places.
Damn it.
Five years of that body and it still isn’t fair. I’m allowed to be angry and want him at the same time, I tell myself. The two things can coexist. Fury and desire, betrayal and hunger.
But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier when he turns and catches me staring.
“Power’s out,” he says unnecessarily.
“I noticed.”
“This is the only warm room. You should-” He gestures at the couch. “Bring your blankets down. It’s going to get cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering.”
I look down. He’s right. I’m shaking, and not just from the cold.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m sleeping on the couch. You take the floor.”
“Whatever you want.”
I go back for my blankets. By the time I return, Dante’s pulled cushions off the other couch and made himself a kind of nest by the fire. He’s lying on his back, arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
I settle onto the couch. Pull the blankets up to my chin.
The fire crackles. The storm howls. And we lie there in the darkness, five feet apart, not speaking.
“Remember our first night here?” His voice is soft. Careful.
“Don’t.”
“You couldn’t get the pasta to cooperate and I cut my hand on the wine bottle-”
“I said don’t.”
“ - and we just laughed. For an hour. We sat on the kitchen floor and laughed until we cried, and then we-”
“Dante.” My voice is sharp enough to cut. “Stop.”
Silence.
Then: “I never forgot you, Nora.”
I close my eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I know you think I did. I know it felt like I disappeared. But I never-” His voice breaks. “I never stopped thinking about you. I just stopped knowing how to reach you.”
The fire pops. Sparks rise toward the chimney.
“I tried,” I say quietly. “I tried so many times. And you always said after the deal. Every time. Like I was just another item on your to-do list.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I was standing, it felt like I didn’t exist. Like you’d already left the marriage and forgot to tell me.”
“I was drowning.” His voice is raw. “The company was coming apart at the seams, and I thought if I could just - if I could fix it, then I could fix us. But every time I tried to come up for air, there was another crisis, another fire, another-”
“I was your wife.” The words come out cracked. “I should have been more important than any fire.”
“You should have been. You were. I just-” He sits up, and in the firelight I can see the tears on his face. “I forgot how to show it. I forgot how to be someone you could count on. And by the time I realized what I was losing, you were already gone.”
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
“I love you, Nora.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I never stopped loving you. I just couldn’t reach you.”
The lights go out.
Not the lights - they’re already out. The fire dims suddenly as a gust of wind screams down the chimney, sending sparks everywhere. For a moment, we’re plunged into near-total darkness.
And then my hand is in his.
I don’t mean to do it. I don’t decide to do it. One second I’m alone in the dark, and the next I’m reaching for the only solid thing in the room, and that thing is Dante.
His fingers close around mine. Tight. Desperate.
For a moment, neither of us breathes.
Then I pull my hand back.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Nora-”
“I can’t do this. Not here. Not like this.” I pull the blanket tighter around myself. “Not when I can’t tell if it’s real or just - proximity. Just old habits.”
“It’s not-”
“Goodnight, Dante.”
I turn my back to him.
Behind me, I hear him exhale. A long, shattered breath.
“Goodnight, tesoro,” he whispers.
And the word lands like a blade between my ribs.