“But you turned out so perfect,” Alix said into her hair.
Grace laughed quietly, flustered. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” Alix said. “But I’m also right.”
Matt’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Since you two are still up, you wanna playRock Band?”
Alix groaned. “Still no, bud.”
“I could play a song or two.” Grace smiled. “As long as I don’t have to be on the drums.”
Later, after ruining many classic rock songs and ensuring Matt would never ask them to playRock Bandagain, the house was finally, blessedly quiet. Grace sat in front of the fire on the couch, wrapped in a borrowed flannel and blanket. Alix sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“This has been kind of wonderful,” Grace said.
“Really? I think everyone here is acting absolutely insane.”
“Maybe they were waiting for someone to see them right.”
Alix turned toward her, smiling faintly. “That your professional opinion?”
“My personal one.”
The quiet stretched until even the fire seemed to hold its breath. Alix leaned closer, eyes flicking to Grace’s mouth. Grace could only hear the charred logs popping and hissing when Alix was inches away. Close enough that a random Wolf wandering by would make them jump back. Close enough for Grace’s mouth to ache for the press of Alix’s lips.
And then:Mrrrp.
Paul jumped onto the couch, tail smacking Grace across the face.
That shocked Grace out of making the move, even if she was certain Alix was also feeling the same way.
“We should get to bed,” Grace said instead of screaming.
“I think I’m gonna stay up a little bit,” Alix said. “Watch the snow.”
“Sounds quaint. Have fun.” Grace was still smiling when she stood. “Good night, Alix.”
“Night, Gator.”
As she left, the sound of Alix’s quiet sigh followed her down the hall. Outside, the snow kept falling, silver and endless.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ALIX
Alix woketo the smell of coffee and the whispers of a house that knew winter by heart. Pipes ticked. Floorboards sighed. Somewhere downstairs a spoon chimed against a mug. For a long breath she lay still and watched pale light sift through the curtains, and let the first conscious thought rise the way it wanted to.
Grace.
She pictured her in the guest room down the hall, hair mussed, one cheek creased by a pillowcase, feet bundled in the blanket because those poor boots had chewed her up last night. The memory of carrying her in through the snow made Alix grin into her pillow. She felt ridiculous and buoyant and sixteen, all at once.
She pulled on an old Larimer County Fairgrounds sweatshirt that had seen better days and walked down the hall in socks. The air smelled like cinnamon and something nutty. In the kitchen, Helen stood at the counter in a red plaid robe with an apron tied over it, hair half pinned up, pecans spread like a little brown lake on a baking sheet.
“Morning, kiddo,” Helen said, not turning yet. “Coffee’s fresh.”
“Thanks,” Alix said, and meant it. She poured a mug and leaned against the counter with both hands wrapped around the heat. The warmth worked down into her fingers, into a place she had forgotten to warm for a very long time. “Poor Grace’s feet,” she added, wincing at the memory of angry skin.
Helen glanced over, mouth curved. “They looked rough. I was thinking I might have some tiny shoes that would work for her today.”
