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“Whatever you say.”

The living room opens toward the windows, the mountains spreading beyond them in shades of white, gray, and deep evergreen. A fireplace sits against the stone wall, and the sofas look soft enough to swallow us whole. I can already see him sprawled out, watching hockey as snow falls heavily outside.

Then it hits me. “How will you survive without a television?” I ask, pulling my phone out of my pocket and wondering if there’s even service here.

“Satellite internet,” he says with a chuckle. “And I’ll find a place to get a television. They sell them here, right?”

“They do,” I say with a laugh. “The TV store is right next to the tow shop.”

“Perfect,” he says with a smirk, shaking his head and looking at me like—well, like he’s missed me.

I’ve missed you, too, Daniil Reznik, I think, rubbing my hands up and down my arms to warm myself.

He looks at the thermostat. “I should start a fire. We can hang your wet coat up to dry before you…” He lets the thought trail off as he heads toward the kitchen. “Explore some more?”

I nod. “Of course.”

Rez finds a control panel near the kitchen and studies the labels.

“Geothermal heating,” he says. “Solar panels with battery storage. Backup power if the batteries run low.”

I lean against his shoulder to look at it with him. “You read the listing very carefully.”

“I like knowing what I’m paying for.”

“And the spring-fed water?”

“That’s what it said.”

I turn my head to look at him. “You know, most people book a place like this because it looks pretty.”

“It does look pretty.”

“But you were interested in how it works.”

He shrugs, his arm slipping around my waist again. “Makes sense to use what’s here. The ground, the sun, the spring. Why fight the place you’re building in?”

I look around at the timber, the stone, the windows that bring the landscape into every room. He’s right. The house feels as though it belongs to the mountains rather than sitting on top of them.

“It's thoughtful,” I say.

His eyes meet mine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He brushes his thumb over my cheek, and my thoughts scatter.

“There’s a hot tub outside,” he says. “Wood-heated. Spring-fed.”

My head snaps toward the windows. “There's a hot tub?”

“Apparently.”

“Reznik.”

He laughs at my indignation. “What?”

“You've been holding out on me.”