Page 14 of Noel with the Mountain Man
His expression shifts. He understands immediately what I'm not saying.
"The roads might not be clear yet," he says.
"Maybe."
But we both know it's only a matter of time.
We get up and head downstairs. The cabin looks different in the daylight—cozy and charming instead of dark and isolated.
I hadn’t planned to stay past Christmas morning. The rental was only for one night—a spur-of-the-moment escape I figured I’d regret in the morning. But now, seeing the sunlight pouring through the windows, I wish the storm had lasted a little longer.
Our makeshift popcorn garland still hangs over the mantel, looking even more pathetic in the full light of day.
But I love it.
Kyler builds up the fire while I make coffee. We move around each other with the ease of people who've been doing this for years.
"I should check the road conditions," he says, pulling out his phone.
I busy myself with mugs, not wanting to see his face when he finds out we can leave.
"Plows are out," he says after a moment. "Main roads are clear. Mountain roads should be passable by this afternoon."
"Oh." I keep my voice light. "That's good."
"Noel—"
"I should probably call the rental company. Sort out this whole double-booking thing." I'm talking too fast, filling the silence before reality can crash in. "Get a refund or—"
"Noel." He's suddenly right behind me, hands on my shoulders. "Look at me."
I turn, and the expression on his face makes my chest ache.
"I meant what I said last night," he says quietly. "This isn't just the storm. This isn't just... convenient proximity or whatever you're telling yourself."
"I know. I just—" I shake my head. "This is crazy. We live in different places. We have different lives. What are we supposed to do, exchange numbers and hope for the best?"
"Yes." He says it simply, like it's obvious. "Exactly that."
"Kyler—"
"Where do you live?"
"Nashville."
"I'm in Lexington, Kentucky. That's what, three hours?" He cups my face. "I can do three hours. Can you?"
Hope flutters in my chest, fragile and terrifying. "You'd want to try? Really try?"
"I haven't wanted anything this much in two years." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "So yeah. I want to try."
I kiss him before I can talk myself out of it. Before logic can intervene and remind me of all the ways this could go wrong.
When we break apart, he's smiling. Actually smiling.
"Now," he says, "it's Christmas. And we have a few more hours before you have to leave. So what do you want to do?"
I glance around the cabin. At the fire. The popcorn garland. The morning light making everything golden.
