14. Leo #2
"Did you have fun?" I ask, setting down a basket of clean towels.
She laughs softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I would definitely need lessons if I wanted to ski properly."
I grin, the words coming out before I can stop myself. "I'll train you for free when you're ready." My brain immediately slaps me, wondering why the hell I'm flirting with her. She catches the edge of my grin and smiles back, the corner of her mouth lifting just enough to make my pulse skip.
"I can help Margaret around the café," she says, "but maybe we could go out for lunch?" Her eyes flick to mine, warm, expectant, innocent in the way that makes me want to agree. I glance down at the counter, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
My phone buzzes sharply, cutting the tension in the air. I glance at the screen. Nina. "One second," I mutter, stepping into the hallway.
"Leo?" Nina's voice is light, teasing, and it makes something in my chest twist.
"I saw it was you," I say, sliding into a chair, phone to my ear. "Everything okay?"
"I'm back in town for a couple of days to close out my apartment," she says, "and I was wondering if we could hang out? Go dancing?"
I can't help the smirk that creeps onto my face. "Is that what you're calling it?" I tease. I glance back through the doorway and notice Mara leaning against the counter, watching me. The heat of the memory from earlier makes my chest tighten, my jaw set.
I need distance from her. I need a buffer between us.
"That would be fun," I say, trying to keep my voice easy, breezy, casual.
After hanging up, I walk back into the lodge to find Mara folding a clean dish towel in her hands. I clear my throat. "I kind of have a date, so maybe we can get lunch together some other time."
She nods, folding her arms lightly. "It's okay," she says, voice steady, casual. "I'll hang with Margaret, then maybe I'll see you later."
I watch her walk away, the sway of her hips, the confident way she carries herself. This is for the best, I tell myself. A little distance won't hurt. Not when it's needed.
I roll up my sleeves and start cleaning, stacking chairs, wiping counters, letting the mundane task absorb my thoughts for a moment.
But the pull of what I've left behind nags at me.
By the time I grab the car keys, the thought of leaving is almost painful.
I drive to the Bluejay, heading for Nina, the streets slick and bright from the snow that hasn't let up.
The place is bustling when I arrive. I catch Nina's smile, easy and familiar, and I push a grin back, but my chest feels hollow.
The conversation begins with small jokes and trivial talk, but my mind drifts.
The beer in front of me doesn't taste like anything, the music is too loud, and the laughter sounds distant.
I keep checking my phone, half-wishing it would buzz with a message from Mara, half-cursing myself for thinking it.
I wish I had stayed for lunch with her. The thought keeps gnawing, making every word I say to Nina feel artificial. I glance out the window, imagining Mara at the lodge, moving between tables, smiling, warm, alive. I want to be there with her, not here, in a space that feels too large, too hollow.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally excuse myself, murmuring a quick "catch you later," and head back into the snow-filled streets.
The drive back is a blur, my mind still anchored on her.
The car heater hums, snow tapping against the windshield, but I can't shake the pull of her, can't push away the warmth of last night and the memory of her laugh.
Back at the lodge, I step inside to find Margaret humming as she arranges more chairs. "Mara went to the store," she says, eyes lifting to mine with a faint smile. "She said she needed a few things."
My pulse picks up. I don't need a reason. I just need to see her. "Right," I say lightly, glancing at the door. "I, uh… need to make sure the back storage is sorted. I'll check it while she's out."
Margaret nods, unsuspecting. I grab my coat, sliding into it with urgency hidden under casual movements. The snow bites at my cheeks when I step outside. My boots crunch through the drifts as I head toward the store, keeping my hand on the basket I brought and my mind on finding her.
Mara.
The wind whips around my face, but I barely notice.
Every step through the snow, every turn down the familiar streets of the town, is anticipation, a magnetic pull drawing me closer.
When I finally reach the store, she's there, scanning shelves, oblivious to my approach.
Her hair catches the light, glinting with wet strands from the snow.
She's bending slightly to reach something, and I pause just to take it in, the simplicity of her movements making the ache in my chest twist sharper.
I clear my throat softly. She turns, and her expression shifts to recognition, then a smile flickers across her face. "Leo," she says, voice like silk, and it's enough to make the tension inside me unwind just slightly.
"Hey," I say, stepping closer, careful not to invade her space but wanting to. "Need a hand?"
She laughs, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. "You're a lifesaver," she says, and I see the warmth in her eyes, the subtle spark, the way her presence can pull me into her orbit without a single word.
I follow her through the aisles as she picks up items for the lodge.
Every glance, every touch of her hand against a product, every movement she makes sends a jolt through me.
I want to lean closer, want to feel her warmth against mine, but I hold back, savoring the tension, the thrill of being near her.
By the time we finish and step back into the snow, the cold hits us, crisp and biting, but nothing can dull the heat between us.
She loads her items into the basket I brought, and I let the warmth of her nearness settle over me.
We walk back toward the lodge, each step crunching over snow, each shared glance carrying a weight of unspoken words and desire.
I keep my thoughts to myself, careful, deliberate. I know Mara notices them anyway—the small shifts in my expression, the faint tension in my shoulders, the subtle way I linger near her.
By the time we step inside, the lodge is alive with activity.
Margaret glances up with a soft smile. I place the basket down, feeling the satisfaction of having seen her safe and content.
But the ache of wanting more, of wanting her, doesn't fade.
It sits in my chest like a living thing, tethered to every laugh, every look, every brush of her hand against mine.
I tell myself to be patient. To wait. But every glance at her, every small laugh, every step she takes across the lodge is a reminder of the pull between us, a tension that refuses to ease. And I know that sooner or later, the restraint will break, and I'll want more than just proximity.
For now, though, I focus on the work, on helping her, on keeping her in sight without letting the ache take over completely. But I know I'll follow it anywhere, through snow, through work, through every small moment, until the time comes when restraint is no longer an option.