36. Chapter 36
Cate
January - Ten Years Ago
The truck climbed the mountain road too fast for my comfort, and I grabbed the door handle like it might save me.
“John,” I yelped, squeezing my eyes shut as he rounded another sharp turn, “watch out!”
He laughed, warm and unbothered, one hand steady on the wheel, the other briefly brushing my knee. “Relax. I’ve driven this road a thousand times.”
“A thousand?” I scoffed. “Is that an exact number? And both hands on the wheel. Now.”
He grinned, slowing just enough to humor me. “If you’re this nervous already, the ski lift is going to destroy you.”
I inhaled deeply, then let it out. “You’re right. I can do this.”
I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.
When he finally told me I could open my eyes, I did slowly, carefully, and the breath caught in my chest.
Silverpine came into view, familiar and somehow brand new all at once. I’d seen it before - once, unexpectedly, when a storm had forced us off the road and into its warmth. Back then, it had felt like we were just taking shelter.
Now, it was our destination.
Snow blanketed everything, smoothing the edges of the world. Lampposts glowed softly along the sidewalks, and the lodge rose against the mountains like it belonged there, steady and unmovable.
“It’s still beautiful,” I murmured.
John smiled, watching me instead of the road. “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”
I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck, smiling despite myself. “You’re very confident for a man who once got us stranded here by accident.”
He parked in a wide open lot and handed me my coat. “Come on. Wait until you see the room.”
Inside, the lodge was warm and quiet, wood-paneled and softly lit, the kind of place that felt like it was meant for fires and long conversations. John checked us in while I stood there taking it all in, already feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
Our room was even better.
A sitting area with deep red furniture, an enormous fireplace, tall windows looking out over the snow-covered slopes. It felt intimate, comfortable in a way that made you want to stay.
“I love it,” I said.
“I was hoping you would.”
I kissed his cheek, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “You know me better than you think.”
That night, we slept tangled together beneath heavy blankets, the wind rattling softly outside the windows. There was no urgency, no pressure - just warmth, quiet laughter, and the steady comfort of his arms around me.
The next morning smelled like coffee and snow.
We ate breakfast together, French toast for him, orange juice for me, laughing over how badly skiing was going to go. He surprised me with a purple ski coat, and though I protested at first, I gave in, realizing how much warmer it made everything feel.
On the beginner slope, I fell more times than I could count.
John stayed close, catching me when I wobbled, pretending to lose his balance just to make me laugh. By the time I managed a clean run down the hill, I was flushed and breathless and grinning like an idiot.
“You’re getting good,” he said, impressed.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I had an excellent teacher.”
As we stood there, snow clinging to our clothes, a man with a camera stopped in front of us.
“Can I take your picture?” he asked cheerfully. “It's complimentary, of course. You can pick it up in an hour.”
John looked at me, eyebrow raised. “What do you think?”
I smiled and pulled him closer. “Absolutely. Proof that I survived.”
We stood shoulder to shoulder, his arm warm around my back, my cheek pressed lightly to his jacket.
“Say cheese!” the man called.
And we did.