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“I can assure you he’s not.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Hannah telling me to come back to the cabin so we can discuss dinner.

“Back into the front lines, then?” Trevor asks, looking at me like a sad puppy.

I stand up. “How could you tell?”

He stands too, activating some intense core strength I definitely don’t have. He extends his arms and I smile, pulling him into a hug.

“If you and Henry want to hang out later, give me a call. He still owes me a drink for missing the other night. I know he got sidetracked with his surprise visitor, but tell that guy I better see him again before he goes back to New York.”

“I’ll mention it,” I promise, trying not to cringe internally at the mention of Gen. I’m honestly surprised that Trevor seems to know about her but not whatever’s been going on between me and Henry, though I guess I’m the one who insisted we keep it all under wraps. “It was good to see you.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but I feel his gaze on me as I head out to the cabin.

Chapter 14

After lighting the little LED menorah, Kristine ducks into the bedroom and returns with a stack of lumpy, wrapped gifts.

“We’ve loved learning all of your Hanukkah traditions,” Kristine starts as she hands out the presents. “Here’s one from our family that I wanted to share.”

Mom beams at Kristine, clearly knowing what’s coming next. And suddenly I do too. I tear open the paper to find cozy black-and-white plaid fleece. When I unfold the fabric, it’s exactly what I’d figured—a set of handmade pajamas that matches what everyone else is opening.

As far back as I can remember, Kristine made Henry and herself matching pajamas to wear on Christmas Eve. Then they would take their holiday card photos—always delayed, and usually mailed out (or hand-delivered to us by Henry) in late January.

As Kristine explains, Henry’s eyes are fixed on mine so clearly that I can’t imagine it isn’t telegraphing to everyone standing here. For years when we were growing up, I used to picture a future where I was on the Coles’ card, Henry’s arms wrapped around me. Another way I dreamed of being his. This isn’t how I envisioned myself getting onto the card, but it still feels like a step closer.

We all change into the matching pajamas to head to our dinner reservations at the Drop, the trendier of the two restaurants onsite. While we’d spent our first night here at the more casual eatery, today is, after all, Christmas Eve. Not my holiday, but it means something to the Coles. After the meal, we have a time slot with the lodge’s photographer at the giant tree in the lobby, hence the inherently cringe dinner attire. But it seems to make our moms (and Henry) so happy that I can’t even be too embarrassed about it all.

As we walk over to the lift that will take us to the Drop, I realize that, given my insider knowledge about Henry’s bright blue proposal suit, Kristine must be waiting until tomorrow, our last night at the lodge. We’re in the home stretch, and then Henry and I can figure out what all of this means for us.

Mom and Kristine get on the chairlift first, and I can hear Mom’s giggle as she starts up the incline. I get in next with Hannah, snuggled together for warmth, the pajamas not providing enough on their own, even with our coats on, but it’s a cute gesture all the same. As we ascend the mountain of snow, watching the ballsier night skiers still at it, zooming past floodlights, I glance behind me at Henry. His eyes are unabashedly locked on me, and I feel my entire body flush. I whip back around so abruptly that my dangling knees feel tingly and weak, and Hannah tells me that if I go catapulting out of the chairlift, she is not equipped to rescue me.

When we finally reach the top of the slope, we head into the Drop, which has floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out on the full scope of Great Blue Lodge’s property. I get the same fantastical sense of looking out an airplane window close to the descent as I do peering through the glass here as we’re led to our table. The restaurant has sleek, minimalist decor, the view itself being the real showstopper.

We sit down and order wintery cocktails. Henry and I both opt for the bourbon mulled cider, and it makes me think about him biting into that apple-juice-soaked pretzel rod back at that inn, the way his fingers brushed mine as he took it from me. The moment that started unspooling the nine years we didn’t talk into something made of hope and promise.

That must be why I down that first cocktail so quickly.

“We actually have some news,” Mom says as I pick at my Brussels sprout appetizer. “Girls,” she starts, turning to Hannah and me and taking Kristine’s hand. “Kristine and I are moving in together.”

“That’s great!” I say, mouth full. They’re about to be engaged. Living together makes sense.

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Mom continues. “With all you kids out of the house, both of our homes feel so big and empty. Henry’s been helping us run the numbers and figure out what’s feasible so—” She takes a dramatic pause. “We’re selling the houses and moving to a condo downtown!”

“City living! Sounds fun,” Hannah says, and I shoot her a death glare.

My fork drops onto the plate with a clatter. “You’re selling our house?”

“Well, yes, honey,” Mom says, fiddling with the stem of her wineglass. “It’s too much for even the two of us.”

I hear the words, but I can’t process them. “But that’s our home. That’s where we grew up. Where all our memories are.”

“To be fair, Norah, you haven’t been home in two years. We think it’s time for a fresh start.” Mom says it kindly, but her eyes narrow, telling me to stay calm.

I don’t know why I’m melting down. Mom is right. I hate going back to that house. But flashes of Dad run through my mind—him in the kitchen with his favorite cheesy apron that read Penne for your thoughts. Him lying on the floor of my bedroom when I’d wake him up in the night, crying from a bad dream. Him setting up flags in our backyard so we could run sprints together, zigzagging through the dying grass. It takes everything for me to not throw back Mom’s words from the night before about honoring Dad’s memory. Selling our house feels in complete conflict with that truth.

I glance at Henry across the table. His brow is furrowed but he’s taken a sudden interest in the grilled artichoke on the plate in front of him.