Chapter 7
Emory
I wake to the soft gray glow of snow-filtered light and the steady warmth of Pike's body wrapped around mine. His arm rests across my waist, heavy and secure, and the slow rise and fall of his breath brushes the back of my shoulder.
For a long moment, I stay still and simply enjoy the feel of it.
The heat of him.
The weight of his presence.
The peace I didn't expect to find on a mountain in the middle of a storm.
I shift slightly, and Pike's arm tightens instinctively, pulling me closer. His voice is low and rough with sleep when he murmurs, "Don't move yet."
I smile into the pillow. "Are you awake?"
"Unfortunately." He nuzzles the back of my neck, his breath warm. "I loved being asleep with you trapped under my arm."
"You can still trap me," I tease gently.
His arm stays firm around my waist. "Don't tempt me."
The words are quiet, but there's something real behind them. Something heavier than teasing.
I turn to face him. His hair is tousled, and the shield he usually keeps up hasn't fully returned. His eyes are softer than I've ever seen them, morning light catching the amber flecks.
"Are you all right?" I ask.
He studies me for a long moment before saying, "I haven't… let anyone this close in a long time. It's not because I didn't want to," he continues, his voice steady but careful. "I just… didn't know how to let someone in without losing part of myself."
"And now?"
"Now," he says quietly, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek, "I'm trying to figure out how to keep you close without scaring you away."
My heart clenches.
"Pike," I whisper, "you're not scaring me."
"I could," he says. "Easily. I want you more than I should. More than I have any right to this soon."
I touch his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart. "Wanting someone isn't dangerous."
"It feels dangerous," he admits.
"For me or for you?"
He doesn't hesitate. "Me."
The honesty floors me.
He shifts onto his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, then says quietly, "When you came up that trail yesterday, I knew you were going to disrupt everything. And I didn't want that. But the second I saw you, I couldn't send you away."
"Even though you tried."
"I didn't try very hard." His eyes turn back to mine, warm and serious. "I didn't want to."
I trace the line of his jaw. "You don't have to push me away now either."
"I know." His voice lowers. "I don't want to."
I move closer, sliding my leg over his. His arm comes around me again, pulling me firmly against him. His forehead rests briefly against mine, and the quiet between us deepens.
After a moment, he asks, "What happens after the storm clears?"
I nibble my lower lip. “Well, I'm supposed to write an article."
His hand pauses against my hip. "About me."
"About your work," I clarify. "And only what you're comfortable sharing."
"I don't want attention."
"I know."
"And I don't want people climbing up here trying to find me."
"I know that too."
He exhales slowly. "Then what do you want to write?"
I lift my head and look at him. "I think the story might be something else entirely."
"Like what?"
"Like a woman who followed a trail of light during a storm and found something unexpected."
He raises an eyebrow. "That's not a news story."
"No," I say softly, "but it might be a love story."
His chest rises in a slow breath.
I feel his hand slip to the small of my back, warm and sure. "Is this a love story, Emory?”
"I think it could be."
He pulls me closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think it is." He pauses. “I know it is, for me.”
My breath catches. "Pike…"
He shakes his head slightly, like he can't help the truth spilling out now that he’s gotten started. "I tried not to be in love with you. I told myself this couldn't happen. But when I held you last night…" His hand moves up my spine, gentle but full of meaning. "I knew I was gone. I’m yours."
Emotion presses thick behind my ribs. I lower my forehead to his, eyes stinging.
"I don't know what I expected when I came to this mountain," I whisper, "but it wasn't you."
"What a coincidence," he murmurs. "I wasn't expecting you either."
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“How long until the snow clears?”
He shrugs. “A couple of days, probably.”
"I want to stay longer than that," I say.
His eyes darken with something deep, something hopeful and terrified at the same time. "How long?"
I swallow. "As long as you'll let me."
His jaw tightens, as if he's holding back a rush of emotion. "Then don't leave when the road clears."
"I won't," I whisper.
He kisses me softly at first, then with more certainty, more promise, more heat. When we break apart, he holds me close as if he's never letting me go again.
The storm continues outside, slow and gentle now.
Inside the cabin, everything feels warm and bright and full of promise.