Page 45 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

"That's... impressive." His voice holds genuine warmth. "Everything you wanted, right?"

"Almost everything." The qualifier emerges before caution can censor it. "The interesting part is—it's remote. I'd only need to be in New York monthly for meetings. Could base myself anywhere."

The implication hangs between us, crystal clear yet deliberately unstated. I could stay. If given reason to.

Jackson goes utterly still, processing the revelation with visible intensity. His breathing changes subtly and becomes more controlled. "Anywhere."

"Anywhere with internet access and an airport within reasonable driving distance." My hands busy themselves with notebook pages, needing occupation to mask their slight trembling. "Gives me options I didn't have before."

His throat works as he swallows, his gaze still fixed on distant peaks rather than my face. "Options are good."

The non-committal response drops like a stone in still water. It is not an invitation, not an acknowledgment of possibility, just a bland acceptance of theoretical flexibility.

Disappointment sits heavy in my chest, foolish hope once again crushed beneath reality's weight. What had I expected? For three days of forced proximity and unexpected attraction to overcome three years of grief-imposed isolation?

"Yes, they are." My tone shifts to match his detachment. "Burlington's still the logical choice, though. My apartment, friends, and family are all within driving distance."

Now his eyes finally meet mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Logical."

"Unless there was reason to consider alternatives." The words emerge as a challenge rather than an invitation, pride demanding reciprocal vulnerability.

Jackson's expression shifts—conflict evident in the tightening around his eyes, the slight parting of lips as if words form but remain unspoken. For one breathless moment, possibility hovers between us.

Then his gaze drops, shoulders squaring slightly. "You should choose what makes you happiest, Cloe."

The evasion lands like a physical impact. It’s not a rejection, exactly, but the absence of the affirmation needed to justify upending my life. It’s not enough.

It’s not nearly enough.

"That's the plan." My notebook closes with deliberate finality, sliding into my pack alongside other necessities. "I should head down. Want to catch the afternoon light for some final photos."

Jackson rises with fluid grace, his height momentarily blocking the sun. "I'll walk with you."

Not a request or offer but a statement of fact. The mountain guide asserting professional authority regardless of personal complications.

"Not necessary. I'm fully prepared this time."

"Humor me." His expression brooks no argument. "Consider it my professional obligation."

The descent begins in strained silence, multiple feet of careful distance maintained between us on the narrowing trail. Each step away from the summit feels like a physical representation of opportunity slipping away, of connection breaking with deliberate severing.

Weather shifts subtly as we navigate downward—clouds gathering along distant ridges, temperature dropping incrementally, wind freshening against exposed skin. Nothing threatening, merely nature's constant reminder of its changeable temperament.

"Storm coming tomorrow." Jackson's observation breaks the extended silence. "Good timing for your hike."

"Lucky, I guess." The response emerges flat, emotionally depleted.

More silence follows, punctuated only by boot steps on increasingly muddy trail and distant bird calls. The awkwardness grows with each passing minute, two people with everything and nothing to say occupying the same physical space while emotionally retreating.

At the trail's midpoint, a fallen tree provides a natural resting spot. Jackson pauses, extracting water bottles from his pack, offering one without comment. The gesture feels painfully reminiscent of our shelter days—basic survival courtesies amid deeper currents.

"You're good at this." His voice breaks the silence unexpectedly. "Hiking. Adapting."

The compliment catches me off-guard. "Had proper motivation to learn."

"Beyond survival, I mean." His gaze sweeps across me, professional assessment rather than personal appreciation. "You move differently on the mountain now. With respect. Awareness."

"Again, good teacher." My water bottle suddenly requires intense focus, avoiding eye contact that might reveal too much.

---