Chapter 10
By the time they finally looked up from each other, the window showed something neither of them had seen in two days: actual blue sky, pale and thin through a scatter of retreating clouds, sunlight catching the snow outside so brightly it was almost hard to look at.
“Huh,” Dani said, peering out. “Storm’s breaking.”
Alex looked too, and felt something in her chest that surprised her, not relief exactly, more like reluctance, a small selfish wish that the sky would close back over and give them a few more days exactly like this. “Guess so.”
“You know what that means.” Dani turned to her, something mischievous creeping into her expression that Alex hadn’t seen since the wine cellar. “Firewood’s getting low. We should probably stock back up while we’ve actually got a break in the weather.”
“That’s very responsible of you.”
“I contain multitudes,” Dani said, echoing Alex right back at her, and Alex laughed despite herself.
They’d barely made it two steps toward the door when the refrigerator kicked on behind them with a low mechanical hum, lights flickering steady overhead, the small electric sounds of the house waking back up all at once.
Dani startled, spinning around. “Is that—”
“Power’s back.” Alex felt the same small pang she’d felt looking out at the clearing sky, relief tangled up with something that wasn’t quite relief at all. “Must be the power company. Storm’s easing off enough for them to get to the lines, probably.”
“Guess the generator really was a lost cause.”
“Guess so.” Alex nudged her toward the door. “Now come on. Firewood.”
They bundled up in whatever cold-weather gear the house had to offer, most of it clearly Cass and Marisol’s, ill-fitting and mismatched, and stepped out into air so sharp and clean it felt like being slapped awake after days indoors.
The snow came up past their knees in places, untouched and brilliant white under the thin winter sun, the whole mountainside hushed and glittering in a way that made the last two days feel almost like a fever dream.
“Woodpile’s around back,” Alex said, already moving, boots crunching loud in the silence.
They’d made it about halfway across the yard when something cold and precise hit Alex square in the shoulder.
She turned, slow and deliberate, to find Dani standing a few feet away with an expression of pure, unconvincing innocence, already packing a second snowball in her bare hands.
“Did you just—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You just hit me with a snowball.”
“Prove it.” Dani was already backing away, grinning, entirely unrepentant.
Alex didn’t dignify that with a response.
She bent, scooped a double handful of snow, packed it with more force than strictly necessary, and let it fly.
It caught Dani in the side as she tried to duck, and her yelp of outrage echoed off the treeline loud enough to startle a bird out of the nearest pine.
“Oh, it’s on,” Dani declared, and the firewood run dissolved entirely into chaos.
They chased each other across the yard, snow flying, both of them laughing too hard to properly aim, Alex diving behind a low stone wall for cover only to find Dani had circled around and ambushed her from the side, tackling her half into a drift with a shriek of triumph that had absolutely nothing dignified about it.
They ended up in a heap in the snow, breathless and soaked through, faces flushed from cold and exertion and laughing too hard to stop, Dani sprawled half on top of her, snow melting into both their collars, neither of them making any real effort to get up.
“I win,” Dani announced, entirely out of breath.
“You cheated. Ambush tactics.”
“There are no rules in snowball warfare.”
“There should be.” Alex was laughing too hard to sound properly indignant about it, snow soaking through the back of her borrowed coat, Dani’s weight warm and solid against her despite the cold. “I’m going to be finding snow in places snow should never be for a week.”
“Worth it.” Dani propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at her, cheeks pink from cold and laughter both, something soft creeping in underneath the mischief now that the chaos had settled. “You look good like this, by the way. Laughing. You should do it more.”
“I’m freezing and covered in snow.”
“And laughing,” Dani said again, quieter now. “Best combination on you so far.”
They finally hauled themselves up, soaked and shivering and still grinning, and managed, eventually, to actually collect an armful of firewood each before the cold drove them back toward the house, boots stamping snow off in the entryway, coats shed and hung to dry, both of them still catching their breath from laughing.
The house was warm now, properly warm, heat humming through the vents for the first time in two days, and Alex found herself standing in the entryway looking at it with an odd, unexpected pang.
Warm rooms upstairs again. Separate spaces, if they wanted them.
No excuse anymore to camp out together in front of the fire, no cold forcing them into the same small warm circle of light.
“Power’s back,” Dani said, following her gaze, reading the thought easily enough. “Guess that means real beds tonight. Actual heat in actual rooms.”
“Guess so.”
Neither of them moved to celebrate that particular fact.
“We don’t have to sleep downstairs anymore,” Dani said slowly, watching Alex with something careful and hopeful both. “Not by the fire. Not on the floor.”
“No,” Alex agreed. “We don’t have to.”
The air between them went taut, charged in a way that had nothing to do with the cold still clinging to their damp hair, everything unsaid hanging there plainly enough that neither of them needed to say it out loud.
“But what if we did anyway,” Dani said, quiet, watching her steadily. “Not because we have to. Because we want to.”
Alex crossed the last of the distance between them, snow-damp hair and cold cheeks and all, and answered with something that wasn’t quite a word at all.