“Steph.”
“I know,” she said. “I know all the reasons this is complicated.”
“So do I.”
“The club. The race. The fact that we’ve spent months being each other’s problem.”
“You were never a problem. I never even knew how you felt until recently.”
She sighed. “And I’ve been telling myself for weeks that you were easier to deal with as an obstacle.”
“I know.”
She held his gaze. “You’re not easier as an obstacle.”
“No.” He exhaled slowly. “And you definitely aren’t an obstacle.”
For a long second, neither of them moved.
Then her hand lifted, somehow moving without crinkling the mylar blanket. Her mitten brushed his jaw—tentative, testing.
His hand came up and closed over hers where it rested against his face.
He leaned forward before he could think himself out of it.
Their lips met.
Soft. Careful.
Her mouth was cold at first—winter cold—and then it wasn’t. The kiss lasted only a moment, just long enough for him to feel the reality of it before he forced himself to stop.
He didn’t chase it further, didn’t ask for more. He just stayed there with his hand over hers, holding it against his jaw, staring into her eyes.
Jack was aware of his own heartbeat, steadier than he expected. He’d been bracing for the familiar reaction, the pull-back, the reassessment of costs and distances. It didn’t come.
What came instead was simpler—a flood of thoughts and realizations all at once that changed everything.
He wanted to tell her about the girlfriend he’d lost, and about the way he’d spent years living around the edges of that wound, careful never to touch the center of it.
Tonight had been different. Out here with her, pulling the sleds and working together in the dark and cold, it was the first time in a long time that he’d stopped calculating what something might cost him and simply lived inside the moment.
She impressed him more than anyone he’d met in years. That admiration was only partly because of the way she moved through the winter wilderness with a sled behind her.
What he wanted to say the most, though the words felt too risky to release, was that there was no one he’d rather be hiding from potential killers with than her.
He wasn’t going to say it all. No way. But maybe some. More than he usually said, which was zero. That had to be a start. A start toward something with Steph.
He didn’t know yet what it looked like on the other side of this night, in daylight, in the world where running clubs and endurance races and all the practical complications of his life with hers were still real.
But he was done calculating the distance.
“Maybe we get out of here in one piece,” he said.
“Maybe. I’m not sure if we should stay here. There hasn’t been a response from SARs. I think the rock might be messing with the GPS signal and could make it difficult for the rescuers to find us. We should probably move to another hiding place while we wait.”
He felt her lean slightly into him under the emergency blanket, her shoulder against his.
Leaving might be necessary, but not just yet. A few more minutes like this was what he wanted and needed.
