chapter 9 continuation
852 Words
They didn’t talk much on the walk back.
Not because there was nothing left to say, but because both of them were carrying words too fragile to release too quickly. The lodge appeared between the trees, its dark wood standing firm against the white landscape, familiar now in a way that surprised Emma.
Inside, Noah greeted them with a grin that faded slightly when he noticed their quiet mood.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked immediately.
“No,” Emma said at once, crouching to his level. “Not at all.”
Liam ruffled Noah’s hair. “We were just thinking. Grown-up stuff.”
Noah made a face. “That’s always the sad stuff.”
Emma smiled gently. “Not always. Sometimes it’s the brave stuff.”
That seemed to satisfy him—for now.
As the afternoon stretched on, the inevitability of leaving pressed closer. Emma began packing slowly, folding clothes with unnecessary care, as if neatness could delay time. Liam did the same in his own room, moving through familiar routines that suddenly felt foreign.
Every item into the suitcase felt like a decision.
Emma paused when she reached the sweater she’d borrowed from Liam during the storm. It still smelled faintly of him—clean, warm, grounding. She held it for a moment before folding it carefully and placing it on top.
She would return it.
She would.
Outside, the sky dimmed earlier than expected, clouds rolling in low and heavy. Not another storm, just the mountain reminding them it still had a voice.
Dinner was quiet but gentle. Noah talked about school and asked if Emma’s city had snowmen bigger than cars. She laughed and answered patiently, grateful for the simplicity he brought into the room.
Afterward, Noah fell asleep quickly, worn out by the emotional weight of the day even if he didn’t fully understand it.
Emma and Liam sat by the fire.
The flames cast long shadows across the walls, turning the lodge into something intimate and enclosed, as if the outside world had temporarily loosened its grip again.
“I don’t want this to feel unfinished,” Emma said softly.
Liam looked at her. “Then tell me what you need.”
She thought for a moment. “I need to know that when I leave, I’m not just walking away with memories. I need to know this isn’t something we’re both pretending didn’t happen.”
He nodded slowly. “And I need to know you’re not staying out of guilt or confusion.”
“I’m not,” she said immediately.
“Good.”
He stood and walked to the bookshelf, pulling out a small notebook. Emma recognized it—she’d seen him write in it late at night when he thought she was asleep.
He handed it to her.
“What is this?” she asked.
“My thoughts,” he said simply. “The things I never say out loud. I started writing after my wife died. It helps me stay honest.”
Emma hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She opened it carefully, flipping through pages filled with neat handwriting. She didn’t read much—just enough to understand the weight of the gift.
“This is trust,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said.
Emotion pressed behind her eyes. She closed the notebook and handed it back. “I won’t read it now. But thank you.”
They sat closer then, knees touching, the fire crackling softly between moments of silence.
“When you go back,” Liam said, “what happens?”
“I go back to work,” Emma said. “To my apartment. To deadlines and meetings and pretending I’m not thinking about snow-covered mountains and a man who makes me feel grounded in ways I didn’t know I needed.”
“And what about us?”
She turned to face him fully. “I don’t want a dramatic goodbye. I don’t want promises we can’t keep. But I want communication. Honesty. Effort.”
He reached for her hand, slow and deliberate. “You’ll have that.”
The touch sent warmth up her arm—not electric, not overwhelming. Steady.
That night, they didn’t share a bed, but Emma slept lightly, aware of the hours passing too quickly. Dreams came and went—some of snow, some of cities, some of a future she couldn’t yet picture clearly.
Morning arrived quietly.
They loaded the car together. Noah hugged Emma tightly, burying his face in her coat.
“You’ll come visit again,” he said, not asking.
“I will,” she said, voice thick. “I promise.”
Liam watched them, emotion carefully restrained.
When the moment came, Emma stood beside the car, keys in her hand.
“This isn’t goodbye,” she said.
“No,” Liam agreed. “It’s a pause.”
She smiled at him, then leaned in, resting her forehead against his.
No kiss.
No rush.
Just presence.
As she drove away, the lodge shrinking behind her, Emma felt the ache—but also something stronger.
Hope.
- Writer
