Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Axel
The snow crunches under my boots as I step out of the truck, the cold sharp enough to bite straight through the layers of my jacket.
Dawn hasn’t fully settled over Devil’s Peak yet, the horizon just starting to glow a subtle rose gold behind the mountains.
The kind of quiet morning that feels like the whole world is holding its breath.
Savannah stands a few feet ahead of me, her gloved hands on her hips, studying the old Brooks property like she’s trying to see through time.
Her home. Her past. Her ghosts.
She looks smaller than usual bundled in her puffy coat and thick scarf, but there’s something in the way she carries herself—spine straight, chin lifted—that makes her look ten feet tall. Savannah is made of pure steel, even when she trembles. Especially when she trembles.
She hears my footsteps and glances over her shoulder. “You showed up early.”
I shrug. “Sun was up. Figured you’d be up too.”
Her mouth curves, soft but guarded. “I should’ve known. You always used to beat me outside on snow days.”
The memory hits so fast it knocks the breath from my lungs—her in a pink jacket with a broken zipper, me in mismatched gloves, both of us waiting for enough snow to justify skipping school and building forts instead.
“We were undefeated,” I remind her, stepping beside her.
Her eyes flick toward mine. “Until the year I got pneumonia.”
I huff a laugh. “You got pneumonia because you threw snowballs at me for three hours straight.”
“That sounds like something I’d do,” she says lightly, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She’s nervous. Trying not to be, but I can feel it.
Probably because this is the first morning we’ve spent alone since our last kiss at the station. A kiss that felt like it might burn us both alive.
She doesn’t realize I’d let her burn me to the ground if it meant she didn’t have to be afraid of the flames anymore.
I nod toward the remains of the house—what’s left of it. The stone foundation half-buried under snow, the old chimney still standing like a stubborn monument. The Phantom River winds behind it, ice forming along the edges.
“You sure you want to do this today?” I ask. “We can start whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she says after a moment. Not instantly. Not easily. But she says it like she’s choosing courage on purpose. “I want to build something here again. Something good.”
I study her profile. The determination in her forehead, the softness beneath it. “Then we’ll build whatever you want.”
She swallows. “Thank you.”
The wind sweeps her hair across her cheek. I reach out without thinking to brush it back—and stop myself an inch away.
Boundaries. I know how fragile they are between us right now.
Savannah notices. I can tell by the way her breath hitches, the way her lashes lower before she pulls away first. “Let’s… get started.”
We work side by side clearing snow from the foundation, shoveling until my shoulders burn and my muscles warm. Savannah keeps pace with me, stubborn and strong, refusing help even when she starts to sweat.
She was always like this—fierce to the point of reckless.
“Savannah,” I say eventually, leaning on my shovel. “You don’t need to do all of it.”
She wipes her brow with her sleeve. “If I don’t do it, it doesn’t feel real.”
I nod, swallowing the emotion lodged in my throat. No argument could mean more than that.
We scrape layers of ice from the stones, revealing the shapes of old walls.
I recognize them immediately—the kitchen corner where her mom used to warm tortillas on Sunday mornings, the bedroom she used to sneak out of to meet me under the porch light, the little alcove where her mother kept a bookshelf stacked with her favorite romance paperbacks.
Savannah kneels and runs her glove along the stones, breath trembling. “I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she admits quietly.
My voice drops. “You loved this place.”
She doesn’t look up. “I loved everything in it.”
“I know.”
“And I loved…” Her voice fades off, but the rest hangs in the air between us like steam rising from snow.
Me.
Did she almost say me?
But she stopped herself; I feel the words echo under my skin anyway.
Savannah suddenly pushes up to her feet, taking a few steps toward the river. “It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs, hugging her arms around herself. “Even now.”
“It’s always been beautiful because of you,” I say before I can stop it.
She jolts slightly, as if the praise touches something deep. “You don’t have to say things like that.”
“I’m not saying them to get something.”
She turns, eyes searching mine. “Then why?”
“Because they’re true.”
Silence expands between us, thick enough to feel. Her cheeks flush—not from the cold. I know her tells. I’ve always known them.
The tension crackles like a buried electrical line under snow.
Savannah exhales slowly. “Well. If we’re going to rebuild anything here, we should start by clearing the rest of this slope.”
She marches past me toward the shed I rebuilt years ago, pulling out two tool bags. I follow, letting her have the illusion of control even though every step she takes feels like it’s syncing with my own heartbeat.
We haul out planks, bags of nails, a leveler, gloves, water bottles. She kneels next to the old foundation again, pulling out a tape measure. The sight hits me like a punch.
Savannah, rebuilding her family’s home.
Savannah, choosing Devil’s Peak.
Choosing life here.
Choosing something she won’t say out loud yet.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I lie.
Her eyes narrow. “Axel.”
“Just… proud of you,” I admit.
Her entire face softens. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
She shakes her head and looks down at the stones as though they’re safer than looking at me. “You always had this way of saying things like you expected people to believe you.”
“I do expect you to believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never once lied to you.”
Her lips part, breath catching. “You lied by omission.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Savannah,” I step toward her, boots crunching. “I didn’t tell you about the letters because I thought I didn’t deserve you. But I never lied about how I felt.”
She looks up slowly, snowflakes catching in her lashes. “And how did you feel?”
“Like I’d been in love with you since I was old enough to know what the word meant.”
Her inhale shudders like a struck chord.
I take another step closer. “And I still feel that way.”
She sways. Actually sways.
Her voice goes soft, raw. “Axel…”
I force myself to hold still, letting her come to me if she wants to. The wind whistles between us, carrying the scent of pine and distant smoke from someone’s chimney.
“You can’t just—say things like that,” she whispers.
“I didn’t plan on saying it.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you asked.”
Her laugh breaks in her throat. It sounds like she wants to cry. Or kiss me. Or both.
We work again after that, but something shifts. Our movements sync naturally. She hands me a tool before I ask for it. I steady her shoulder when she steps on uneven stone. The whole time, the unspoken thing between us heats, grows, thrums under our skin.
A few hours later we break for lunch inside the shed. I built a small wood stove in there back when I thought maybe one day…
I never let myself finish that thought.
Savannah sits across from me on a crate, peeling off her gloves. Her fingers are red from cold, so I reach out and take her hands in mine before she can protest.
Her eyes widen. But she doesn’t pull away.
I rub warmth into her palms, slow and firm. “You should’ve told me when your hands went numb.”
“I didn’t want to slow us down.”
“You’re not slowing anything down.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Her breath trembles. The heat between our hands grows, something like electricity crawling up my arm.
She whispers, “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like you want to devour me.”
I lean closer. “I do.”
Her cheeks flush violently. “Axel…”
“I’m not touching you. I’m not crossing any line. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”
Her pulse jumps against my palm. She tries to pull her hands away.
I tighten my grip—not hurting, just holding. “Savannah.”
Slowly, achingly, she looks up.
“You’re allowed to want things too,” I tell her quietly.
Her breath hitches.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“Say what?” Her voice breaks.
“That you want this.”
She swallows—and I can see the truth burning behind her ribs, even if she’s too scared to let it out.
She shakes her head, but the denial is too slow, too weak. “I can’t.”
“You can’t because it’s not true?” I ask softly. “Or because it is?”
Her eyes glisten. She looks like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified of falling, terrified of jumping, terrified of staying still.
She whispers, “Because it is.”
My breath leaves me like a punch.
But I don’t kiss her.
I don’t move.
I don’t even exhale.
Instead, I just squeeze her hands gently, letting her feel me all the way to her bones. “Then we’ll go slow. We’ll build this the way we’re building your home.”
Her breath shivers. “How’s that?”
“Carefully,” I say. “Brick by brick. Only what you’re ready for.”
She wipes at a tear with the back of her glove. “I don’t deserve someone this patient.”
“You deserve someone who sees you,” I say. “I always have.”
She trembles. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” I reach up slowly—slow enough to give her a chance to pull away—and brush my knuckles along her cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Tears slip down her lashes, but she smiles through them. “Okay.”
Just that.
Okay.
The most powerful word she’s ever given me.
And suddenly the whole property doesn’t feel haunted anymore. It feels full. Possible. Hers again.
We spend the afternoon clearing the rest of the snow, marking out where walls might go someday. At one point she slips on ice and I catch her by the waist, pulling her flush against me. She gasps, fingers curling instinctively into my jacket.
We freeze like that.
Her breath warm against my collar.
Her heartbeat drumming against mine.
Her eyes darting from my lips to my eyes and back.
If she’d leaned in even a millimeter…
But she swallows hard and steps away.
Not ready yet.
That’s okay.
We finish as the sun dips behind the mountains, painting the snow in orange and violet. Savannah stands next to me, shoulder brushing my arm, and whispers, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me back something I thought I lost forever.”
“You didn’t lose it,” I say. “It was waiting for you.”
She looks at me then—not scared, not running, just… open.
“Axel,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I think I’m falling for you all over again.”
My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t rush her. I just nod once, steady and sure.
“Then I’ll be right here,” I tell her. “Every step. Every brick.”
She exhales, a soft, warm breath that curls between us like steam.
And for the first time in ten years, she doesn’t look away.