"Let's talk about it later," she interrupts, her voice gentle but firm. "After dinner. When we're not surrounded by the entire Blackwood team."
I nod, releasing her. "Later, then."
She disappears into the locker room, leaving me standing there, still feeling the ghost of her lips on mine. I change quickly, swapping snow gear for dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that Sloane once said brought out the silver in my eyes.
Not that I specifically packed it for that reason.
The drive to Skyline is quiet, the silence between us not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken words. Snow blankets the streets of Hope Peak, transforming the already picturesque town into a winter wonderland that even I have to admit is breathtaking.
Jenna waves us over the moment we enter the restaurant, where she's secured a large table near the roaring fire. Marisol Bennett from HR is already there, deep in conversation with Brynn over festive cocktails.
"There they are!" Jenna calls. "We were starting to wonder if you got caught in the storm."
"Almost," Sloane says, sliding into the empty seat beside Marisol. "Someone thought taking the steeper trail was a good idea."
"And someone lost the bet," I counter, taking the only available chair, directly across from her.
"Bet?" Brynn perks up, her interest visibly piqued. "What kind of bet?"
"Nothing exciting," Sloane says quickly. "Just a friendly wager on the snowmobile race."
Jenna laughs. "Let me guess. Atticus won, and now you're going to have to wear something horrifically corporate to a local event?"
Sloane's eyes meet mine across the table. "Something like that."
The server arrives with menus, and the conversation shifts to safer topics, the storm preparations, the upcoming charity auction, and Jenna's children's pageant rehearsals. Yet throughout dinner, I'm aware of Sloane's every movement; the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's thinking, how her fingers curl around her glass, the slight flush in her cheeks whenever our eyes meet.
After the plates are cleared and the team disperses; Brynn and Callum heading to the bar for another round, Jenna and Marisol discussing holiday decorations by the fire, Sloane and I find ourselves momentarily alone at the table.
"Should we talk about it now?" I ask quietly.
She glances around the crowded restaurant. "Not here. Walk me home?"
The snow has stopped temporarily when we step outside, the town hushed and glittering beneath streetlamps. Sloane's apartment is only a few blocks away, and we walk in silence, our breath visible in the cold night air.
"So," she says finally, "that happened."
"It did." I keep my eyes forward. "Do you regret it?"
"No." Her answer comes without hesitation. "Do you?"
"No." I find her gloved hand with mine, lacing our fingers together. "But I'm not sure what it means."
She squeezes my hand. "Does it have to mean anything right now? Can't it just be... what it is?"
"And what is that, exactly?"
She stops walking, turning to face me under the glow of a streetlamp. Snowflakes begin to fall again, catching in her hair like tiny stars.
"It's us, Atticus. It's three years of friendship and whatever's been simmering beneath that all this time." She gestures between us. "I don't know what to call it either, but I know I'm not ready to ignore it anymore."
The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. Sloane has always been the brave one between us, unafraid to say what she thinks, to feel what she feels, while I hide behind corporate restraint.
"I don't want to ruin what we have," I admit, the fear I've been avoiding finally surfacing. "You're too important to me."
"So don't ruin it." She steps closer, resting her hands on my chest. "But don't pretend that kiss didn't mean something, either."
I cover her hands with mine. "It meant something."
