11. Mara
Mara
Chris shows up while I'm wiping down the tables, his boots knocking bits of melted snow onto the wood floor. He's carrying a bundle of firewood in his arms, cheeks pink from the cold.
I pause with the cloth halfway across the table. The room is warm from the stove, but the cold clings to him like an extra layer.
"Thought you could use some," he says as he nods toward the wood. "Storm's rolling in tonight."
"Thanks," I say, reaching for the stack so I have something to do with my hands. My palms feel oddly warm as the bark scrapes against my fingers. "You didn't have to bring it yourself."
He leans on the back of a chair. "You haven't answered any of my messages." There's an awkward laugh from him, the kind someone uses to cover up nerves. "I figured you might be swamped, but I thought… after the other night… maybe we could try that diner."
My tongue presses against the roof of my mouth. The Bluejay. The night I tried to pretend my lungs weren't filled with the scent of Daniel, that my pulse wasn't jumping every time he walked past me. I manage a breath.
"Chris, I—"
The door swings open with a push of cold air.
Daniel steps inside, shutting it with a firm grip.
Snowflakes cling to his dark blond hair, melting slowly into it.
His green eyes land on me, then shift to Chris.
Something tightens across his jaw. It sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the winter outside.
Chris gives a short nod toward him. "Evening."
Daniel barely returns it. He moves farther into the lodge, peeling off his gloves, his gaze flicking back to me with something sharp behind it. The air feels warmer suddenly, thicker, like his scent is curling through every breath I take.
Chris clears his throat. "Anyway… I just wanted to check in. Thought we had a good time. Didn't want to assume too much but…" His eyes search mine. "If I read things wrong, you can just say."
Guilt twists in my chest. "You didn't read anything wrong. You're kind. I'm just—"
Daniel's boots scrape across the floor as he stops a few feet away. "Are you done?" he asks Chris, the words clipped. It's not loud, not rude, but it's definitely not casual.
Chris looks between the two of us. "Right. I'll head out. Take care, Mara."
I murmur a goodbye as he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence he leaves behind feels charged like the air before lightning strikes.
I'm not alone with Daniel often. Yet his presence always takes up so much space inside my skin. He steps closer, just a bit, enough that I catch the cedarwood-sage note that lives in the heat of him. My chest pulls tight.
His eyes stay fixed on me. "You wanted to talk?"
His voice is firm. Controlled.
"Yes." It comes out softer than I intended. "I think we should. About the other night."
He gives a low exhale that brushes my nerves raw. "I'm not sure we have much to talk about."
The rejection lands low in my stomach. "Okay," I answer, even though my throat feels strained. I set the cloth on the table to stop my hands from fidgeting.
He moves closer. Close enough that the warmth of him brushes the front of my body.
"Actually," he murmurs, "I want you to tell me what happened with your pack.
Because the only reason I didn't kiss you the other night is because I thought you were engaged to them.
And now you're here letting some other guy hit on you. What's going on with that?"
My breath stutters. He's right there, looking at me like he's trying to take me apart and understand every piece.
"It's complicated," I whisper. My voice wavers. "It didn't end well."
"Then explain it," he says, taking one more step. His scent pulls through me like a tide rolling in.
Warm fingers lift to my jaw. His thumb grazes just below my cheekbone in a sweep that flips everything inside me. My knees feel loose, pliant, like my body has been waiting for this touch since the moment I met him.
I don't know which of us breaks the last inch of space. It feels mutual, inevitable, like gravity gave up pretending it wasn't dragging us together. His mouth finds mine with a heat that sends sparks rushing down my spine.
The kiss is deep and consuming, his hand sliding behind my head while my fingers dig into the muscle at his shoulders. His body is tall and strong and impossibly warm. I melt against him without thinking, the sound escaping my throat embarrassingly soft.
His mouth parts from mine for barely a second. His breath brushes my lips. "You wanted me to kiss you?" His fingertip traces the corner of my mouth. My head drops back a little from the sensation.
"Yes." The word falls out in a broken rush. "Hell yes."
His mouth comes back to mine, firmer this time, hungry. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, dragging a sharp bolt of pleasure straight to my center. My hands clutch tighter at him as my knees threaten to give.
I feel myself unraveling. Heat pushes through every nerve, swelling fast. The world narrows to his mouth, his hands, the deep sound he makes when I tug at his shoulders like I can't get close enough—
A noise echoes from the hallway. A clatter, maybe someone moving around near the laundry room. Daniel freezes, lips still brushing mine. He lifts his mouth away slowly, as if pulling himself back takes effort.
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. My eyes flutter shut at the gentleness of it.
"This isn't the last time we talk about it," he murmurs near my hair. "Not even close." Then he tilts my chin up and kisses me again, one firm press of his mouth against my lips that makes my chest tremble.
He pulls back before I can follow him into another kiss. His hand slides away from my jaw, leaving my skin warm and aching.
Then he leaves, boots carrying him toward the stairs. He doesn't look back.
I stand in the middle of the lodge with my pulse thundering, my lips tingling, my hands shaking like they're trying to break free of me.
I am so screwed.
And I want him so much I can hardly breathe.
I keep replaying Daniel's mouth on mine, the slow drag of his teeth, the warmth of his body pressed so close I could feel the shape of every breath. My lips still feel sensitive, almost swollen, and each time I swallow, heat flares in my chest like my body hasn't figured out how to calm down.
Margaret is already at the counter, tying her apron. The smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen, warm enough to soften the chill still hanging in the air. She lifts her head as I step in.
"You're up early," she notes, sliding a mug into my hands before I even ask.
"I woke early," I answer, taking a sip. The hot coffee hits my tongue and immediately relaxes something inside me. "Couldn't sleep."
She studies me—not in a prying way, more like she's trying to check if I'm steady enough to get through the morning. "Feeling all right?"
"A lot better," I say. My eyes drift toward the hallway that leads to the rooms. Daniel is somewhere in this building. Somewhere close. The thought sends a flicker of warmth through me, followed by full-bodied embarrassment. "Headache's gone."
Henry walks in carrying an armful of wood. He drops it into the bin next to the stove with a contented little grunt. "I'm glad Chris delivered more firewood," he announces proudly, dusting off his palms. "Good timing, too. Forecast says we're getting more snow tonight."
"That'll bring in more people from the highway," Margaret says, setting out mugs near the register. "Storm days always do."
"It'll keep us busy," Henry adds. He beams at the woodpile as if he personally wrestled a tree into submission.
Tess sits in one of the kitchen chairs, her phone in front of her, tapping her knee with a restless rhythm. Her hair is still damp from her shower, braided loosely over her shoulder. "I swear, if the Academy takes one more day to call me, I'm going to lose my mind."
"You'll get it," I say, nudging her shoulder as I pass. "They'd be insane not to hire you."
"True," Henry chimes in. "But also, this is the Academy. Bureaucracy is part of the package."
Tess groans into her mug. "Encouraging."
The hum of morning chores picks up. Margaret hands me a stack of menus that need cleaning.
Tess dries the last of the mugs. Henry organizes the foyer as if we're expecting a celebrity delegation rather than stranded travelers and ski junkies.
Snow falls outside in slow, drifting flakes, gathering on the window frames.
For a moment, the lodge feels like the center of the world—warm, bustling, and safe.
But even in the comfort of it, my mind keeps circling back to him.
Daniel's eyes last night. The look in them. The heat. The restraint snapping. The sound I made when he pulled my lip into his mouth like he couldn't help himself—
I force my thoughts back to the menus before my cheeks set themselves on fire.
The minutes blend into each other until Mrs. Lacey comes in from the front desk to grab her tea. She pauses beside the counter. "The boys aren't stopping by this morning," she says. "They headed up to go skiing."
The statement sinks into me with an unexpected mix of relief and disappointment.
"Oh." I focus on wiping a smear off a laminated menu. "All of them went?"
"All except Leo," she says. "He's still out front, talking to one of the garage guys about that rental of theirs. But the rest took off before sunrise."
Daniel is on a mountain right now, sliding through snow, hair pushed back by the wind, probably laughing at something Gray said. The image hits me in a way I'm not prepared for.
Margaret leans closer. "You all right?"
"Yeah," I say quickly. "Just tired."
Tess lifts her head from her phone. "You sure? You look a little… I don't know."
I shake off the concern with a small shrug. "I'm fine. Really."
I glance at her again. My best friend. The person who knows my life better than anyone. If I told her what happened last night, she'd ask questions I don't have answers for. She'd ask how far it went. She'd ask what I want.
And I don't know how to want something that feels like danger, heat, and longing all tangled together. I don't know what it means to let someone like him close again.
So I keep it to myself. For now.
The lodge stays slow for another hour. Then the first wave of tourists arrives in a gust of cold air and noise.
A family of four, cheeks flushed from the wind.
A couple in matching puffer jackets. Two college kids dragging skis behind them and dripping snow everywhere.
Margaret moves into host mode with smooth, practiced grace.
Henry jumps into the fray, guiding them to the counter to sign in, explaining where the boot warmers are, where the best fire pit seating is.
I help settle them, passing out keys and filling out reservation cards.
Names blur past me as I flip pages, switching between cheerful smiles and directions to the rooms. Tess handles the snack bar, pointing people toward the best trails for beginners versus those for people who think they're invincible.
The energy shifts, the lodge filling with chatter, boots stomping snow onto the rug, the smell of hot chocolate and melted gloves.
Busy season is waking up, stretching its limbs.
By noon the lobby looks like it's preparing for a small festival. Parkas in every shade of cold-weather fashion, kids bouncing around the fireplace, gear stacked against the walls. The register rings more in the next hour than it has all week.
"This is going to be wild," Tess mutters as she wipes down the counter between customers. "And it's not even holiday rush yet."
"I can already tell," I say. My hand aches from gripping pens and stapling paperwork.
But I kind of like the chaos. Movement distracts me.
Noise helps. I don't have to think about the way Daniel kissed me in the middle of the empty lodge.
I don't have to think about what he'll say to me next.
Or what will happen when our paths cross again.
"Hey," Tess says under her breath. "You hungry?"
"Starving."
We duck into the back for a moment, grabbing leftover muffins Margaret put aside. I tear mine in half, the sweet blueberry scent rising into the warm kitchen air. Tess leans against the island counter, scrolling through her phone again.
"No call yet?" I ask.
"Nope. But if they reject me, I'm hauling myself to their office and demanding they show me who got the position. I deserve to know."
"That sounds like something you'd actually do."
"Oh, I would. With a PowerPoint presentation titled 'Reasons You Messed Up.'"
"You terrify me."
"Good. I hope the Academy hears that."
Her voice is bright, but her fingers tap the metal counter, a small tell she thinks I can't spot.
I finish my muffin and check the lobby through the glass window. More cars pull up, headlights slicing through the snowfall as the afternoon gets closer.
"They just keep coming," I say.
"Money." Tess sighs, tossing her wrapper into the bin. "Think of the money. Holiday rates. Ski rentals. Extra services. Dad's already planning to raise the price of his terrible cocoa."
"It's not terrible."
"It tastes like dishwater."
"You're dramatic."
"And correct."
We head back out to help Margaret.
Henry gestures enthusiastically toward a map of the trails. The whole space feels like a hive, buzzing with arrivals and chatter and the scent of snow-soaked jackets warming by the fire.
But even with all the movement, all the people, all the distraction, there's an empty spot at the edge of my awareness. A space shaped like someone who isn't here.
A space shaped like Daniel.
I keep telling myself I'm relieved he's not walking through those double doors with flushed cheeks and cold hands and eyes that look at me like I make something inside him crack open.
I keep telling myself I need time.
I keep telling myself I should be grateful for the distance.
But as I hand a family their room keys, my gaze flicks to the front door. Just a quick check. Just a reflex.
My stomach does this faint, stupid twist when I don't see him.
I look at Tess instead, who is helping a couple fill out their waiver forms. She flashes me a small grin over her shoulder.
And I wonder what she'd say if she knew.
If she'd shake me. Or hug me. Or warn me. Or tell me I'm walking into something that could change everything in one rushed heartbeat.
But I keep it tucked inside my ribs, warm and trembling.
The lodge continues to fill. Voices rise. Boots stomp. Children shriek with excitement just because snow exists. The season has begun, and the building is settling into its rhythm.
I stay at the counter, checking in guests, offering smiles I don't fully feel, letting the hum of the day swallow the quiet parts of my heart that still remember the feel of Daniel's mouth on mine.
The kiss is like a pulse I can't ignore.
And even in the crowd, even in the noise, even in the chaos of winter travelers flooding through the doors…
I can feel the echo of him under my skin.