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A soft, complicated laugh escaped her. “It was the ugliest tree I’ve ever seen.”
Cal said nothing, just held her hand a little more securely.
"We didn't really… this is my first one without her." She shrugged one shoulder, still watching her feet. "So I don't know what it is yet. Christmas is just kind of a day I guess. I don't know… it's a birthday for God or something? Seems weird." Her voice trailed off.
She was already moving on, pulling him into another slow turn, her voice lighter again. “Okay, you’re actually getting better. Don’t look at your feet, look where you’re going—”
“I know where I’m going,” he said, already steering them back toward the cabin.
“You absolutely do not know where you’re— hey!” She laughed as she followed him. “Where are you going!?”
“Home,” Cal said. “There’s hot chocolate.”
Sage grinned, still holding his hand. “Fine, but you have to play a board game with me tonight.”
He grunted.
“Great! I’m so glad you agree,” she said cheerfully, already tugging him toward the edge of the pond.
Cal paused mid-step. “Wait. That wasn’t an agreement grunt—”
He realized what he’d just said and stopped short.
I cant believe I just said that…
Sage burst out laughing, bright and helpless, squeezing his hand as they reached the snowy bank where their boots waited. Soft flakes had started drifting down around them, catching in her hair and melting on her flushed cheeks.
Cal just shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
By the time they’d traded skates for boots and started the walk back, Sage was already chattering about something else, red-cheeked and bright-eyed, the heavier thing from earlier tucked safely away again. Soft snowflakes had begun drifting down around them, catching in her lavender-streaked hair and melting on her flushed cheeks. The late afternoon light had gone soft and golden, painting the fresh snow in warm hues. Their breath steamed in the cold air, and their boots left twin tracks behind them — his enormous and steady, hers small and still slightly unlaced, with that familiar shuffling drag.
He carried both pairs of skates in one hand.
She walked beside him with her gloved hand tucked in his, talking animatedly about his second fall with dramatic reenactments and sound effects he felt were entirely unnecessary.
Cal listened, the cold biting at his nose and ears, the snow crunching softly underfoot, that quiet warmth in his chest growing deeper with every step.
He had some planning to do.
19
MICHAEL
Michael Barrington had a problem.
It wasn’t mathematical. It wasn’t crypto. And it was definitely not financial.
No… he thought as he looked at his assistant. This problem was… something else.
Isabelle Sanford stood at the marble kitchen island, both hands planted flat on the cool stone. At five-nine with generous curves and the kind of confident posture that made board rooms pay attention, she looked every bit the sharp, no-nonsense force she was. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled into a loose but somehow still elegant braid, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Late twenties, fit, radiating that blend of sweetness and steel that made her both disarming and terrifying when she wanted to be.
Michael looked back at his laptop, the anime wallpaper and scrolling crypto feed suddenly felt… stale. He couldn’t quite name what was wrong. Couldn’t quite pin it down. All he knew was that Isabelle had started occupying an unreasonable amount of space in his head lately, and how irritatingly difficult that made certain things.
He was skinny, a little awkward in most social situations (okay, a lot awkward), wearing his favorite worn Dragon Ball Z t-shirt, comfortable jeans, and simple sneakers that had seen better days. Thick black-rimmed glasses perpetually slid down his nose—he pushed them back up with his middle finger, a habit so automatic he barely registered doing it.
She was currently cycling through several stages of exasperated disbelief as she stared at him.
“You’re not making sense,” he said, with the confidence of a man who believed he was making complete sense. “You asked if I believed in soulmates. Well. First I’d have to believe in a soul, which I’m still working through philosophically, and you can make a reasonable argument either way if you look at the neurological literature on consciousness and—”
