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“Did you think bears knocked? So polite.”

“Shut up.” She lowered the bear spray and stepped aside to let me in. Her cabin was identical to mine, warm and cozy, though she’d clearly been up for a while. Her laptop was open on the small desk, and there were papers spread across the bed.

“Working already?” I asked, handing her the coffee.

“Old habits.” She took a sip and her eyes closed in something like bliss. “Oh, that’s good. You made it exactly right.”

“I’ve been paying attention.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For the coffee and last night. You were really sweet.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

She took another drink of her coffee. I felt ridiculous. I was proud of myself for getting her coffee. Something she did for me on the daily.

“So what’s on the agenda?” she asked. “I assume you didn’t just come over to deliver caffeine. What’s up? Why are you up so early? Or wait, are you just getting home?”

I rolled my eyes. “I slept in my bed alone, thank you. I got up early and went for a run.”

“Alone? Without bear spray? Please tell me you didn’t go into the forest.”

“I stayed on the trail. It was amazing. You should come with me tomorrow.”

She snorted. “I’d say when hell freezes over, but I think it’s very possible that could happen.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

I sat down in the chair by the desk, warming my hands around my own cup. “We’ve got the morning to ourselves. I was thinking maybe you could help me with something.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Help you with what?”

“I want to build a snowman.”

She stared at me. “A snowman.”

“A snowman. And I want you to help. We talked about this.”

“Jeremy.” She shook her head slowly. “We were joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

“We’re adults. We have jobs. I have emails to answer and schedules to review.”

“Lucy, when’s the last time you did something just because it was fun? Not because it was on a schedule. Nothing to do with work. Just pure, pointless fun.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“That’s what I thought.” I leaned forward. “Look, neither of us got to do this as kids. You were stuck in a lodge with a broken leg. I was in Aspen drinking hot cocoa with adults who thought snowmen were beneath them. We missed out.”

“We were children. The time has passed.”

“Says who?” I set down my coffee and fixed her with my most earnest expression. “Right now, somewhere deep inside you, eight-year-old Lucy is screaming at adult Lucy to say yes. She’s been waiting her whole life for this. Are you really going to let her down?”

I watched the battle play out on her face. The practical side of her, the side that kept my entire life running smoothly, warring against something far less encumbered by adulthood.

“This is ridiculous,” she finally said.