We keep walking, the sound of our footsteps muffled by fresh snow. The conversation lingers, mirroring the space we pretend to keep.
“You’re a good mom.” He bumps my shoulder, this time on purpose.
It’s a simple phrase. One mothers hear all the time. But coming from him, it lands differently, because he doesn’t just see me as Anna’s mother. He sees me. The woman beneath all of it, with sharp edges, soft centers, and all the damn feelings I try to lock away.
“Is your wrist better?” he asks. “I noticed the rubber band wasn’t on it.”
There’s a gentleness in his voice, but the question is anything but casual. He’s not asking about my wrist, he’s asking what it means. Why did I take it off?
“Yeah. My wrist is fine.”
“Sydney…” His voice drops, dangerous truth hovering at the edge of his words, his hand soft against my elbow.
Voices drift from the back deck: Tom, Jules, Ivy, Mason. Laughing. Waiting. Margaret and Gary sleep unaware of the tremors shaking the cabin’s walls. And Anna. The one person I can’t let down.
I cut him off. “I think you should go up that way. I’ll go up the back stairs.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I hear what they betray. It’s an admission, plain and simple. That there’s something between us worth concealing. That no matter how innocent the walk was… it wasn’t innocent at all.
James stops walking and stares at me until he exhales a harsh puff of air. “Yeah. I’ll go around and wait a few minutes before heading out to the deck.”
His eyes hold mine a moment longer as he pulls off his beanie and runs his hand through his hair. He tilts his head, listening to the voices, and walks off into the trees. I tip my head back and slide my mask back into place. Pretend I’m not returning from anything more than a walk in the woods.
Jules spots me first. “She’s still out.”
“Thank you. Any wine open?”
“Here you go, love.” Mason hands me a glass, offering it as if this simple gesture could erase this morning’s sting. “How was your walk?”
“Fine.”
His smile falters when I don’t return it. I sink beside Jules, gripping my glass, trying to calm the storm inside.
“Hey, handsome. Where’d you escape to?” Ivy calls as James steps onto the deck.
“Ah, just relaxing for a bit.”
I keep my eyes on the flames, pulsing in the dark, a heartbeat too loud to ignore, matching my own.
God, if this were lust, it would be simple. Lust is easy, fleeting, physical. A spark you can burn through and walk away from. But this? This is something else entirely. It’s as silent and delicate as a web, spun tighter with every stolen moment.
A Pussycat Dolls song, sultry and provocative, cuts through the night. Jules stands in the center, hair blazing, hips already swaying.
“Come on, you sexy goddess.” Jules grabs my hands. “Time for a repeat performance.”
I hesitate, glancing toward Mason, rigid, hand gripping his glass. The ease from before is gone. Is he reacting to James? Or me? Did he notice our coincidental return? But tonight, I refuse to shrink beneath his disapproval. With a defiant lift of my chin, I surrender to the music and dance. Ivy hops in.
We become a tangle of limbs and laughter, casting aside inhibitions. My movements grow deliberate, sensual. My hands glide down my curves, tracing each dip as my knees bend and hips roll with confidence. I channel long-forgotten music videos and hazy college nights.
Am I doing this for myself? To see the look on James’s face? To make Mason see me?
Maybe all of the above.
The three of us dance wild under the stars, and I let myself get lost in the freedom.
Until Mason steps forward.
He grabs my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to make it clear it’s not a caress. His fingers press against my skin as he pulls me away.
