Page 22 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

"She sounds remarkable."

"She was." His fingers trace her photograph once more before carefully returning it to the shelf. This time, he leaves it visible rather than hidden. A small but significant change.

Night approaches rapidly, darkness gathering in the shelter's corners despite the lantern's valiant efforts. The temperature drops further as the sun abandons us, cold seeping through walls designed to withstand wind but not to retain heat.

"We should conserve the lantern fuel." Jackson eyes the flame critically.

Darkness falls completely when he extinguishes the light, leaving only the woodstove's orange glow. Our world narrows to this small circle of warmth, the boundaries of the shelter fading into shadow.

"Come closer to the fire." Jackson's voice emerges from the dimness. "Body heat is critical tonight."

We arrange blankets on the floor near the stove, necessity overriding awkwardness. The shared vulnerability of our earlier conversations lingers, creating a different atmosphere than previous nights.

Jackson settles beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. The contact sends awareness skittering across my skin despite the layers between us.

"Thank you." His words emerge so quietly I almost miss them. "For listening. About Emma."

"Thank you for telling me."

Minutes pass in companionable silence, broken only by the fire's occasional pop and crackle. The darkness creates a strange intimacy, as if we exist in a world unto ourselves, separated from reality.

"I've never told anyone the full story." His confession emerges quietly. "Not even the investigation team."

The trust implied in this admission sends warmth through me, unrelated to the fire's heat.

"Why me?" The question emerges unbidden.

Jackson shifts slightly, his profile illuminated by flames. "Because you push. Because you don't accept the surface answer. Because..."

He pauses, struggling visibly with words.

"Because I shouldn't want to tell you anything, but I do." The confession emerges rough-edged, reluctant. "I shouldn't notice how your eyes change color in different light. Shouldn't care about your childhood or your parents or your career ambitions. Shouldn't think about your mouth when I'm collecting firewood."

My breath catches, and my heart accelerates wildly.

"But I do." His voice drops lower, rumbling through the darkness. "God help me, I do."

The confession hovers between us, impossible to ignore or dismiss. Heat that has nothing to do with the woodstove floods through me.

"If we’re being honest, I shouldn't wonder what would have happened if the generator hadn't broken last night." My admission emerges slightly breathless. "I shouldn't replay that kiss every time I close my eyes. I shouldn't imagine your hands on me instead of just your shoulder against mine."

Jackson's breath audibly catches. "Cloe?—"

"But I do." The truth flows easier in darkness. "I know it's inconvenient and complicated and probably temporary. But whatever it is—it feels more real than anything I’ve known."

His hand finds mine in the shadows, fingers intertwining with deliberate intent. The simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm.

"This is a terrible idea." His voice has roughened, deeper than before.

"Absolutely terrible."

"You're leaving in days. Back to your life."

"And you're staying here. Back to yours."

Our hands remain connected despite these practical objections, neither willing to break the tentative contact.

"So what do we do?" The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities.

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