A sudden gust of wind swirls snow around us, and Sloane shivers slightly. Without thinking, I step closer, using my body to shield her from the biting cold.
"Storm's picking up," she says, voice oddly breathless. "We should head back."
I nod, but neither of us moves. We're standing too close again, like in the locker room, but this time there's no phone to interrupt, no meeting to rush to. Just us, the mountains, and the growing awareness that something fundamental is shifting between us.
"Atticus," she says softly, my name a question in her lips.
Before I can think better of it, I close the distance between us, cupping her face with my gloved hand. Her eyes widen, then darken as I lean in, my lips finding hers in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly ignites into something far more hungry.
She tastes like mint and coffee and possibility. Her hands fist in my parka, pulling me closer as she rises on her toes to deepen the kiss. I slide my arm around her waist, eliminating any space between us, lost in the sensations of her mouth moving against mine, her body pressed to mine even through layers of winter gear.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, clouds of vapor mingling in the cold air between us. Her lips are slightly swollen, her eyes wide and searching.
"That was..." she starts.
"Unexpected," I finish, though it's not the right word. Because if I'm honest, I've been thinking about kissing Sloane Parker for longer than I care to admit.
She studies my face, as if seeing me for the first time. "Was it?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with years of friendship and the unspoken awareness that's always simmered beneath.
Before I can answer, a snowflake lands on her cheek. Then another. And suddenly, the sky opens up, the predicted storm arriving in full force.
"We need to get back," I say, reluctantly releasing her. "Before the visibility drops."
She nods, pulling her goggles back into place. "Race you back?"
"Haven't you lost enough for one day, Parker?"
She laughs, the sound carrying despite the rising wind. "Maybe I let you win."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Guess you'll never know." She revs her engine, taking off down the main trail before I can respond.
I follow, my mind racing faster than the snowmobile. The kiss replays in my head; the softness of her lips, the small sound she made when I pulled her closer, the way she kissed me back without hesitation.
What happens now? We have three weeks of forced proximity, a high-stakes business launch, and three years of friendship suddenly complicated by whatever this is between us.
And lurking behind it all is the uneasy knowledge that I'll eventually return to New York, to board meetings and corporate politics, while Sloane's life is firmly rooted in Hope Peak.
By the time we reach the HQ building, the snow is falling in earnest. We store the snowmobiles in the equipment shed and hurry inside, stomping snow from our boots in the lobby.
"That was..." she begins.
"Reckless?" I offer. "Getting caught in the early stages of a blizzard?"
Her eyes meet mine, and I know we're not talking about the weather. "I was going to say exhilarating" she says quietly.
The moment stretches between us, charged and fragile. Then Marcus appears, tablet in hand as always, his timing impeccable.
"Mr. Morgan, the team is assembled for dinner at Skyline Bar & Grill. Ms. Park and Ms. Bennett are already there, and I've arranged for the car to take you and Ms. Parker whenever you're ready."
Sloane clears her throat. "Thanks, Marcus. We'll change and be right down."
As we head toward the locker rooms, she keeps a careful distance between us, the easy closeness of our friendship suddenly complicated by boundaries neither of us is sure how to navigate.
"Sloane," I say, catching her arm before she can disappear into the women's locker room. "About what happened...”
