Chapter 25 Ember
Ember
The snow is coming down in lazy, swirling flakes as I clip into my cross-country skis. The air is crisp and sharp, almost predatory.
The sky is taking on a strange, purple-gray cast that makes Papa frown and pull out his phone to check the weather app as he follows me out.
“La tempête arrive, bébé.”
A storm is supposed to pass through later, but I’ve been skiing these trails since I was a kid. I know the turns and dips like I know the calluses on my palms.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No slopes,” he insists.
“No slopes,” I agree.
I’ve barely been walking the trail for a minute when I hear a shout.
“Where are you going?”
I turn, startled, to see Ransom jogging up the path, skis slung over his shoulder. His bruise from Aksel’s fist is a greenish smudge now, and he looks too handsome in his dark jacket, with his wool hat pushed back.
I slept the night with him. The whole night. We were tangled up with one another when we woke up.
It’s messing with my head.
I need air.
Alone.
“Solo ski,” I snap.
“I’m coming with you.”
I raise a brow. “You’re not a cross-country guy.”
“I’m a ‘keep you from getting caught in a storm alone’ guy.”
I want to tell him that he’s the one I want to get away from, but he’s already clipping in, stubbornness in every line of his body.
I growl under my breath.
“Your poles are from two different decades,” I point out.
He holds them up and grins. “One for speed, one for style.”
God, but he’s cute! Ugh!
We ski in silence.
The trees are heavy with snow, the trail narrowing to a hushed corridor of white. Our breath puffs out in clouds, our boots crunching over hard-packed powder. I push faster, wanting distance, clarity—but the more I try to outrun him, the closer he seems to hover.
And then I hit it—an uneven patch hidden under fresh snowfall. My ski catches, and before I can correct, I’m down. Hard.
“Shit!” Ransom’s next to me in seconds, his gloves cupping my shoulders. “Em, baby, you okay?”
“Fine,” I mutter.
I’m not. I’m winded, bruised, humiliated.
He helps me sit up, his touch maddeningly gentle. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m not glass.” I brush the snow off. “I’ve been skiing since I was Thomas’s age.”
“Breaking bones since then as well,” he teases as he helps me up.
There’s a sudden gust of wind, harder than before, swirling snow into our faces. Ransom looks up toward the ridge.
“We need shelter. That storm’s coming in faster than expected.”
There’s an old ranger hut off the main trail. We both know it. Ten minutes later, we’re inside—door shut, skis stacked, a tiny wood-burning stove giving off a stubborn puff of heat after Ransom coaxes it to life.
We’re still on Rousseau land, which means all cabins, even this one, are equipped for life and comfort, with fire, food, sleeping bags, blankets, if caught unawares. There’s probably a charged radio in a cabinet with a battery attached to it.
We won’t be needing it. It’s a baby storm from the looks of it and will pass quickly.
I find blankets in a closet and spread them on the floor by the fireplace, settling down cross-legged.
Ransom bangs around the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of cognac that looks older than me.
“Drink?” He sets two glasses and the cognac between us.
“Aren’t you hungover?”
He shrugs. “Hair of the dog?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I have no idea why I’m being so frosty with him, but I am.
I spent the night with Ransom. What’s wrong with me?
We slept together. We didn’t have sex. Just skin to skin…so intimate.
He pours cognac into a water glass and takes a sip, nodding appreciatively. “This is not a bad way to be stuck in a snowstorm.”
I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
He stretches his legs and leans against a wooden wall.
“I know.”
“So why are you here?”
He warms the glass with his hands. “Because I love you.”
His words are simple. Quiet. Like snowfall.
He pulls out a brick of chocolates from inside his coat. My favorites. Again. Like a greedy child, I ate the ones he left in my room earlier, sharing with no one.
“I read a study—sugar builds trust.” He places the chocolate next to the bottle of cognac.
“How come you have these?” I pick up the bar, unable to resist, and unwrap the silver foil.
He gives me a measured look. “I…keep them at home and…whenever…. Do you really want to know?”
“Yes. That’s why I asked,” I snap.
I’m usually calm. But he’s making me snippy, bitchy. I’m turned on. Upset. Everything!
“I always bring them along when I think I may see you.”
My eyes bug out. Like a cartoon character from the 80s.
“What? Why?”
He swallows. “I…thought it was because I wanted to be nice. But I think it’s because I’m crazy about you.”
“You’ve been carrying this chocolate around for five years?”
“Not the same ones. I buy new ones.”
My eyes narrow. “What do you do with the old ones?”
“I…eat them.”
I pop a square into my mouth before I say something stupid like: What the fuck, Ransom, you dumped my ass five years ago, yet you buy my favorite chocolate, and carry it around in case you meet me? What the fuck is wrong with you?
I’m not prone to swearing, but he’s driving me to it.
“What?” he asks when I fix him with a sharp, venomous stare.
“You…you’re…”—fucked up, crazy, nuts—“impossible.”
Lame, Ember. So lame!
“Only when sober.”
He drinks his cognac. I eat the chocolate.
He finds a big jug of water and insists I drink some. I do.
“How’s your postdoc going?” he asks after a while.
“Okay.”
“Camacho treating you well?”
“How do you know Dr. Mel Camacho?”
He shrugs. “Met him at some conference somewhere.”
“How does an astrophysicist meet a neurosurgeon at a conference?”
He smiles. “It was one of those innovation things they do at Aspen.”
He’s showing off without showing off. I know that Ransom is a big deal. He has patents in his name, which have made him very wealthy, which wasn’t necessary, considering he’s a Marchand.
“What do you think of Dr. Camacho?” I ask him.
“Smart, the good kind of stubborn.”
“Has a penchant for quoting James Baldwin,” I add.
He laughs. “True. He…ah…he thinks you’re headed for greatness.”
I raise both eyebrows. “You talked to him about me?”
He takes a deep breath. “Come on, Em, how could I not?”
“What…what did you say about me?” Dr. Camacho never mentioned Ransom to me. No hint that they even knew each other.
“Just that you’re exceptional and that he should take care of you.”
My lips press into a line. “I’m none of your business.”
He leans forward, runs a finger down my cheek. I’m tempted to turn my face and bite the finger. But I don’t because that would be playful, and then I’d taste him and…we’re alone in a cabin during a snowstorm.
Lord! It sounds like the start of a porno.
“Baby, you’ve always been my business. Even if I was too much of a dumb, scared fuck to know it.”
I shake my head as if the act would clear my head, but I’m not successful. He’s clouding my mind.
“And you? How are you doing?” I ask to change the topic.
He laughs, low and self-deprecating. “I work a lot.”
“Like always,” I remark mockingly.
He smiles. “I’ve started teaching a little, mentoring the younger neurosurgeons. Turns out I like it. I’m also on this panel about surgical ethics, which sounds dry but has me rethinking a lot of what I used to believe in.”
I shift to the opposite wall of the small cabin, planting my ass, and leaning against it. “Like?”
“Like how much ego drives the operating room. How much we pretend fear doesn’t factor in. I used to think being scared was a weakness. Now I think it means you give a damn.”
He’s changed. And I don’t mean the lines around his eyes or the way his body is a little leaner now, more lived in. I mean…he sees more. He’s less certain in the best way. Not trying to fix everything before it breaks.
“Did you know”—I press my back against the wall—”that the odds of finding a planet that can sustain life, with a similar orbit, gravity, and atmosphere as Earth, is statistically about one in ten billion?”
“I may have heard that somewhere,” he drawls, like he’s enjoying himself. “That’s not great odds to find ET, now, is it?”
“No. But people are still looking. Still, launching billion-dollar telescopes just to see if maybe something out there is worth the risk.”
His lips curve as a teasing warmth enters his gaze. “Are you talking about exoplanets or…us?”
I smile a little. “Maybe both.”
It’s almost like stepping back in time, except we’re not who we once were.
I’m not twenty-five anymore. I’ve grown in ways I couldn’t have imagined. And Ransom is not the man who broke my heart. There’s more weight to him now. More humility. Maybe even more hope.
I wonder if it really is as simple as Papa said, to see if this is the car I want to buy.
I look out of the window. The storm is already easing. But I don’t want to leave. I like it here; I like being alone with him.
“Last night, Papa compared you to a Volvo.”
He gives me a wickedly pleased look. “I’m almost afraid to ask. Reliable? Boxy? Scandinavian?”
I let out a quiet chuckle. “He said something along the lines of you being sturdy, older, expensive to repair if he breaks your heart, but….”
“But?” he coaxes.
I swallow. “But…if he sticks around, you’ll be safe for life.”
Emotion swarms his eyes, and I see them go misty. “That’s…shockingly flattering coming from Jean.”
“I think it was his way of saying he likes you.” For me.
“Despite the circumstances?” he queries.
“He drives a Volvo, Ransom.” My voice is low, a whisper.
What are you doing, Ember? This is dangerous.
He smiles at that.
“Then, I’d like to earn that comparison.” He holds my gaze. “Not the expensive repairs part. But the rest. I’d like to be…steady. Safe. Someone you can count on.”
I look at him. Not past him. Not through him. At him. “Well, first I have to wait and see if you’re the kind of man who gets regular oil changes.”
He crawls to me.
My heart seizes.
On his hands and knees, he leans over, brushes his lips against mine. “Ember Rousseau, I swear to you—I’ve just had a full service and I’m good to go.”
My lips tingle. “You sure?” My voice is shaky, even though I’m trying for levity. “I won’t date someone whose emotional check engine light is always on.”
“I’m sure, Sweet Em.”
He gently draws me close, his arms enveloping me in a warm embrace. Our lips meet in a tender, languid kiss.
The world around us fades into a soft blur as I kiss him back with the same gentle rhythm.
It's as if time stands still and the universe aligns to deliver the most perfect kiss of my life.