Chapter Five
The first thing I noticed when I woke was that the room had changed color.
The bright white glare from the snow had softened into a blue-gray wash across Lucky’s bedroom, which meant I had been asleep long enough for the afternoon to move on without consulting me.
The second thing I noticed was his shirt.
Soft charcoal cotton covered me almost to mid-thigh, and the sleeves had bunched around my wrists sometime while I slept. The shrunken sweatpants were still tied securely at my waist, although calling them my size remained generous.
Apparently six-foot-four and five-foot-nothing were not natural wardrobe-sharing partners.
Bear was still on the floor near the foot of the bed, his back against the frame and his breathing deep enough to suggest he had also committed fully to the nap.
Lucky was still beside me on his back, one arm bent beneath the pillow. His dark T-shirt had ridden up slightly above the waistband of his sweats, exposing a narrow strip of skin I appreciated before I started thinking about less pleasant subjects.
My body felt warm, loose, and deeply rested.
I had no idea what time it was.
That realization should have sent me reaching for the nearest clock.
Instead, I stayed where I was.
No alarm had dragged me awake. No notification had worked its way into my sleep. I hadn’t opened my eyes already assembling the next three things that needed to happen.
I had simply slept until I was finished sleeping.
That was unusual enough.
More surprising was the fact that my first thought hadn’t been about the laptop waiting in the rental cabin.
It had been that Lucky was still beside me.
I shifted carefully onto my side.
He was asleep deeply enough that the movement didn’t wake him. His face looked different without the constant animation of conversation behind it. Not younger or softer. Just asleep, which was apparently enough to make me want to touch him.
I resisted the beard.
Mostly because Bear chose that moment to snort loudly from the floor, roll onto his side, and kick one back foot against the bed frame.
Lucky’s eyes opened.
He looked at the ceiling for half a second, then turned his head toward me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
His voice was rough with sleep.
I smiled. “You’re still here.”
His brows lifted slightly. “It’s my bed.”
“That is a technically excellent response to an emotionally different observation.”
A smile spread across his face.
“Then yes. I’m still here.”
That answer was better.
Bear stretched on the floor, front legs reaching until his nails scraped lightly against the rug. His enormous yawn ended in a groan dramatic enough to suggest our nap had inconvenienced him.
Lucky glanced toward the foot of the bed. “Apparently he’s awake too.”
“He gave us plenty of warning.”
“He likes to announce transitions.”
Bear got up, shook hard enough to make his collar rattle, then planted his chin on the mattress beside my knee.
I rubbed the top of his head.
“Good afternoon.”
His tail hit the dresser.
Lucky reached for his phone from the nightstand, then paused. “Do you actually want to know what time it is?”
I considered the question.
“That depends. Is it horrifying?”
“No.”
“Then yes.”
He checked the screen. “Late afternoon.”
“That is deliberately imprecise.”
“I thought I’d ease you back into clocks.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You are enjoying this.”
“A little.”
I held out my hand.
Lucky gave me the phone.
It was later than I would normally have permitted myself to sleep on any day that did not involve surgery, transcontinental travel, or a physician standing over me with written instructions.
I handed the phone back.
“That was a significant nap.”
“It was.”
“And you let me sleep.”
“You were tired. I didn’t see a reason to wake you.”
“That has never prevented anyone from sending me an email.”
“I don’t control your email.”
“You’re losing points as a Property Manager.”
Lucky laughed and rolled toward me, propping himself on one elbow.
His palm settled lightly against my hip over the sweatpants.
“You feel okay?”
“Extremely.”
“Hungry?”
I thought about the waffles, the snowball fight, the shower, the sleep.
“Also extremely.”
“That I can fix.”
“You’re very confident for a man whose refrigerator I haven’t audited.”
“I’ve got enough for a snack. We still have dinner back at your place.”
The leftover pasta.
The cake.
The cake I had helped make, frosted badly, abandoned in favor of Lucky, and then entirely failed to eat.
I sat up.
“Cake.”
Lucky laughed. “There she is.”
“We have neglected that cake for almost twenty-four hours.”
“I put it in the refrigerator.”
“I know, and I appreciate your intervention. But there are limits to how long I’m willing to let chocolate wait for me.”
Bear’s tail thumped again.
I pointed at him. “Not you. Chocolate is not part of your journey.”
Lucky pushed himself out of bed. “Cocoa first?”
“With what?”
“Apple. Cheese. Nuts.”
I considered the proposed snack with the seriousness it deserved.
“That seems responsible enough to protect dinner without becoming depressing.”
“I’m glad it passed.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
The sweatpants immediately tried to continue without me.
I caught the waistband.
Lucky turned just in time to see me retie the drawstring.
“You need help?”
“No. This is between me and the structural integrity of your laundry.”
“I told you I shrank them.”
“You did not shrink them into my size. You shrank them out of yours and into a philosophical middle ground.”
His laugh followed me out of the bedroom.
The rest of the house had changed with the light too.
The windows over the living area were blue now instead of white, the snow outside reflecting what remained of the afternoon while the woodstove sent a quiet, steady warmth through the room.
My wet gear still hung in the mudroom where we had left it, and my sweater and leggings had dried enough that they no longer resembled evidence from an outdoor accident.
Lucky made cocoa while I sliced an apple with the small table knife he handed me after apparently deciding the utensil met my acceptable-risk threshold.
“I saw that assessment,” I said.
“What assessment?”
“You looked at the knife, looked at me, and selected the one least likely to require stitches.”
“It’s an apple. A table knife seemed reasonable.”
“That was not a denial.”
He smiled and opened a container of cheese.
Bear stationed himself directly between us in case gravity became generous.
Nothing about the snack was particularly noteworthy. Two mugs. Apple slices. Cheese. A handful of nuts Lucky dumped into a bowl without measuring.
I liked it anyway.
Maybe because he sat beside me at the kitchen table instead of serving me and moving around the room. Maybe because I stole one of his apple slices after finishing mine and he simply moved the plate closer.
Or maybe because I still wore his clothes, my hair had dried without any meaningful intervention, and there was no screen anywhere near my elbow.
Lucky took a drink of cocoa.
“So are we going back before dark?”
“Yes.” I glanced toward the windows. “My suitcase is there. My clothes are there. My cake is there.”
“Good priorities.”
“My laptop is also there.”
He waited.
I smiled into my mug.
“I noticed you not commenting.”
“I’m learning.”
“I’m not opening it.”
“I know.”
There was no praise in his voice. No surprise either.
Just acceptance of what I had said.
I reached across the table and touched his wrist.
“I like that you believe me.”
Lucky turned his hand and linked his fingers loosely with mine.
“I like that you tell me things you want me to know.”
That sat between us longer than the sentence probably deserved.
Bear broke the moment by shoving his nose against my thigh hard enough to move my chair.
I looked down.
“You had breakfast.”
He looked back at me.
“And I have been reliably informed that you also had an afternoon meal.”
Bear’s tail moved once.
Lucky said, “You’re negotiating with a dog.”
“I negotiate professionally. He should be honored.”
“He’s holding out for cheese.”
“He’s going to be disappointed.”
Bear remained exactly where he was.
“His strategy lacks flexibility.”
“His strategy usually works.”
I looked at Lucky. “Do you give him cheese?”
“No.”
“Then whose weakness is he exploiting?”
Lucky took another drink of cocoa and declined to answer.
By the time we were ready to leave, my own leggings and sweater were dry, and the resort gear had lost most of the dampness from our snow battle.
I changed out of Lucky’s clothes reluctantly, which seemed unreasonable considering I had known the sweatpants for only a few hours and spent half that time unconscious.
I folded them anyway.
Lucky saw the stack on the bed.
“You can leave those there.”
“I assumed they were still legally yours.”
“I’m not wearing them again.”
“That doesn’t automatically transfer ownership.”
He leaned against the doorway. “Do you want them?”
The question should not have felt intimate.
They were badly shrunken sweatpants.
“Yes.”
“Then they’re yours.”
I picked up the soft charcoal shirt too.
Lucky’s mouth curved.
“That as well?”
“I haven’t completed my assessment.”
“Take your time.”
I packed both into a canvas bag he loaned me.
Outside, the cold returned quickly, but the storm had stopped.
Our earlier tracks were still visible along the short wooded route, softened around the edges by a light dusting that had fallen while we slept.
Lucky kept Bear leashed, and we walked single file where the path narrowed between the pines.
The air smelled impossibly clean.
Snow clung to the branches above us in thick white shelves. Every so often one gave way with a soft rush and dropped powder onto the ground.
I had spent the first evening at Fire Mountain watching the trees through glass.
Now I knew which path led to Lucky’s house.
I knew where Bear would try to dive off the side of it if given enough leash.
I knew Lucky slowed before the shallow dip beneath the snow without needing to announce that he was doing it for me.
Those were small things.