The morning after I overheard the brothers’ argument, the cabin felt too small. Too full of unspoken things. I needed air—real air, not the pine-scented stillness of the mountain. When Christian knocked on my door mid-morning, holding two coats and a shy smile, I didn’t hesitate.
“Town’s twenty minutes down the road,” he said. “They have decent hot chocolate and a little Christmas market. Thought you might want to get out for a bit.”
I looked at him—really looked. Christian was always the polished one: perfect hair, easy charm, the kind of face that belonged on billboards. But today there was something unguarded in his eyes. A quiet plea.
“I’d like that,” I said.
We drove in his black SUV, windows cracked, cold air rushing in with the smell of snow and woodsmoke. He didn’t fill the sil
