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Reality crashed back with brutal force, the guilt hitting me like a physical blow. Sam was a good guy—kind, loyal, uncomplicated. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve me kissing someone else, wanting someone else, while he sat here waiting for me, completely oblivious.

"Hey, you," he said, scooting over to make room for me. "Sleep well?"

The question was so innocent, so normal, and yet it sent a flush of heat to my cheeks. Did I sleep well? Wrapped around Brooke, her breath warm against my neck, her arm a comfortable weight across my waist? Yes, I'd slept better than I had in years.

"Yeah," I managed, sliding onto the bench beside him. "Really well, actually."

"You look different," Victoria said from across the table, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. "Are you glowing? Why are you glowing?"

"I'm not," I replied quickly, busying myself with pouring a glass of orange juice.

"You definitely are," Audrey agreed, leaning forward to examine me more closely. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," I insisted. "I'm just in a good mood."

"Since when?" Victoria pressed, not ready to let it go.

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Can't a girl just be happy?"

"Not without a reason," Victoria countered, suspicion clear in her voice. "Especially not you, especially not after how weird you've been this whole trip."

Before I could respond, Julian jumped in. "Leave her alone, Vic. Maybe she's just excited about heading home today."

I shot him a grateful look, surprised by the unexpected rescue. Julian, for all his faults, had his moments. Though if he knew the real reason for my "glow," he'd probably be the first to throw me under the bus.

The conversation moved on, shifting to plans for the final morning on the slopes, who had packed already and who was procrastinating until the last minute. Sam's arm draped around my shoulders, a familiar weight that now felt strangely intrusive. I let it stay there, too afraid of raising suspicion if I pulled away, but each minute it remained felt like a betrayal—of Sam, of Brooke, of myself.

I couldn't focus on the chatter around me, couldn't join in the excited planning for one last day on the mountain. My mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of last night, wondering where Brooke was now, if she was thinking of me too. Despite the guilt churning in my stomach, despite the knowledge that I had a difficult conversation ahead with Sam, despite the uncertainty of what came next—underneath it all, I was happy. Genuinely, irrationally, terrifyingly happy.

"Earth to Madeline," Julian said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You with us?"

I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. "Sorry, what?"

"We're heading out," he said, gesturing to the group already standing, gathering their things. "Last chance to hit the slopes before we leave. You coming or what?"

"Yeah," I nodded, standing quickly. "Let me grab my stuff and I'll meet you guys at the lifts."

As we exited the dining hall, I fell into step beside Sam, hyperaware of his presence, of the easy way he reached for my hand without thinking. His fingers interlaced with mine, warm and familiar, but all I could think about was how different itfelt from Brooke's touch, how his hand didn't send that same electricity racing through my veins.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, concern etched across his features. "You seem distracted."

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just... processing that this is our last day, you know? It's been a strange trip."

He nodded, accepting my explanation without question, his trust in me another twist of the knife. "I know what you mean. But hey, we had fun, right?"

"Right," I agreed, the word sticking in my throat.

We parted at the lodge entrance, Sam heading to the equipment check to get his skis while I returned to our room for my gear. The walk through the quiet resort gave me a moment to breathe, to try to sort through the chaos in my chest. I needed to talk to Sam. I needed to end things. It wasn't fair to him to continue this when my heart was so clearly elsewhere. But the thought of that conversation, of the hurt I would cause, made my stomach clench with dread.

Back in our room, I changed quickly into my snow gear, my gaze continually drawn to Brooke's side of the room, to her empty bed, to the tiny traces of her presence that now felt so significant. A hair elastic on the nightstand. A book left open, spine up. The faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.

I tucked her note into the pocket of my jacket, a talisman against doubt, against the fear that last night might have been a dream. Then I grabbed my board and headed for the slopes, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

The resort was busy, everyone trying to squeeze in one last run before check-out. I scanned the crowds as I made my way toward the lifts, searching for a glimpse of dark hair, for the unmistakable grace of Brooke on her board. Sam and the others were already in the lift line, waving me over, but I pretended not to see them, continuing my search.

And then—there she was.

Brooke stood near the ski lift, alone, adjusting her gloves, her dark hair pulled back beneath a blue beanie. She moved with that quiet confidence that had first caught my attention on the slopes, that had drawn my eye even before I understood why. The morning sun caught in her hair, highlighting strands of hidden gold, and even from a distance, she was breathtaking.