Page 9 of It’s Me, but Different (Merriweather Sisters #3)

Esme

The cable car sways gently as we ascend toward The Peak, and I can't help but feel this is a perfectly prepared ambush by River.

The way she announced, along with Ivy that they'd take Ana Sofia and Theo all day, leaving Sloane and me “to watch the sunset from the restaurant without rushing, taking advantage of the day off,” sounded too innocent to be coincidental.

Still, here I am.

And if I have to be completely honest with myself, part of me appreciates this opportunity. All week I've been avoiding being alone with Sloane, aware that something is starting to change between us. Something that terrifies and attracts me in equal parts.

“Nervous?” she asks, leaning against the cable car window with that smile that used to melt me when we were twenty.

“Just curious,” I lie, though the sweat on my hands inside my gloves gives me away. “I've read that the views from up here are spectacular.”

“They are. You haven't seen anything like it, I assure you,” she nods. “Especially at sunset.”

Our eyes meet for an instant, and I feel that familiar tingling in my lower belly that I hadn't felt in years. The way she looks at me, as if memorizing every detail of my face, transports me directly to our college days.

“Sloane…” I whisper, but she shifts her gaze toward the mountains.

“We're almost there,” she announces, though I detect some tension in her voice.

The restaurant emerges before us like something out of a dream, hanging among the clouds.

A structure of glass and steel that seems to float over the mountains, defying gravity.

As the cable car approaches, I can see the enormous windows that promise unbeatable views of the snowy valley stretching far below.

“My God,” I sigh. “This is incredible.”

“River has cared for every small detail of this place,” Sloane comments as the cable car doors open. “It's like her baby, you know? What do you think?” she asks while guiding me toward the restaurant entrance.

“That your sister is a genius. This is… this is art.”

The interior of The Peak leaves me speechless. The panoramic windows create the illusion that we're suspended in the air. The decoration is elegant and at the same time warm, with rustic touches that remind you of the mountain environment without losing the sophistication of a high-end restaurant.

“River has prepared our table in the private dining room. From there you get the best views,” Sloane indicates, nodding toward a door that remains closed.

Of course she has. Now I'm sure this is an ambush.

We sit facing the enormous windows, and for a few moments, I forget to breathe. The mountains extend to infinity, bathed in the golden afternoon light. The valley unfolds far below like a white canvas dotted with the snowy rooftops of the town.

“It's… it's like being in heaven,” I hiss, pressing my palm against the glass.

“Do you remember that time in college?” she asks suddenly. “When we went skiing in Vail and went up from Lionshead Village to the summit. You said something similar.”

The memory hits me like a slap. Vail. Our first trip together. We spent perfect days skiing, laughing, making love, discovering that what we felt for each other wasn't just friendship, but a passion we could barely contain.

“You told me you wanted to live in the mountains forever,” she continues, and her voice becomes almost a whisper. “That cities overwhelmed you.”

“And you told me you'd build me a cabin on the highest peak we could find,” I add, surprising myself by remembering every detail of that conversation. “That we'd live off snow and pure air.”

“We were very young,” she smiles, though I can notice the nostalgia in her eyes.

“Very young and very naive. Then life interrupted all those dreams.”

We stay quiet for a good while. Neither of us sure we want to advance in that direction, though part of me begs her to do so.

“How are the kids doing?” Sloane asks in an attempt to return to safer ground than memories of that time.

“They're having… a much better time than I expected,” I confess. “This place is doing them a lot of good. Ana Sofia is obsessed with skiing, and Theo… Theo smiles more now. It's been a long time since I've seen him so relaxed.”

“Silver Peaks has that effect on people,” she comments. “Harper always says it's a magical place. As if these mountains could heal the soul.”

I can barely concentrate on the flavor of the first course.

Scallops over roasted butternut squash cream, decorated with leaves that look like small works of art and accompanied by an excellent white wine.

The taste is extraordinary, but I'm too distracted by how Sloane's lips curve over the fork or the memory of her fingers inside me.

“River experimented for months to achieve this texture,” she tells me. “She says every dish should tell a story.”

“And what story does this one tell?”

“Wait, I have it written down,” she confesses, taking out her phone to read the text. “It's the first thaw of spring. The softness of melting snow mixed with the promise of something new that's about to come.”

Shit.

Those words hit me straight in the heart. Because it's exactly what I feel right now. It's as if something inside me is melting after years. As if something new is about to emerge, though I don't dare name it yet.

River has left everything too well prepared. Now I understand why she had that reputation for driving any woman crazy.

And when the main course arrives—lamb cooked at low temperature with black truffle puree—Sloane ventures into more personal territory.

“Are you happy in Colorado?” she asks suddenly, while pouring me a glass of red wine.

“I couldn't tell you,” I admit. “I think the quick answer is no. And you? Are you happy here?”

“I'm starting to be,” she whispers, taking my hand across the table.

The sun begins its descent behind the mountains as we finish the lamb dish. The sky colors change from blue to gold, then to orange, and finally to a soft pink that reflects on the snow as if the entire mountain were bathed in the light of a million candles.

“Come,” Sloane sighs, standing up and extending her hand. “From the terrace you can see much better.”

The contact sends an electric shock through my entire body, and from the way her fingers tense around mine, I know she felt it too.

The Peak's terrace is a marvel of engineering.

Protected from the wind, but completely open to the views, it allows us to contemplate the sunset spectacle without glass barriers.

The cold air makes me shiver, but the caresses on my lower back that follow make the low temperatures suddenly stop mattering.

“Fuck,” I mutter through my teeth when the sun begins to disappear behind the highest peaks.

The sky transforms into a canvas of impossible colors.

Deep reds mix with bright oranges and soft pinks, while the first stars begin to twinkle shyly in the distance.

The mountains are silhouetted like dark shapes against this symphony of light, and for a moment, the entire world seems to hold its breath.

“This is… the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” I admit in a whisper.

“It's much better being next to you,” Sloane adds, and when I turn toward her, I discover she's not looking at the sunset. She's looking at me.

“Sloane… please,” I hiss, but I don't know what else to say.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened?” she asks quietly. “If I hadn't been such an idiot… if I had chosen you and not the Olympics.”

“Many times,” I confess before thinking about what I just said.

“I wonder about it every day,” she admits, placing her hands on my waist and moving closer to me.

I know I should move away, take a step back, keep my distance. But I can't. It's as if I'm enchanted by her closeness, by the intensity of that gaze, by the way her hands cling to my waist.

“Esme…” she whispers my name as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

She moves closer, and I can feel the warmth of her body despite the freezing air. She releases one hand to caress my cheek, and I close my eyes at feeling the contact of her skin against mine.

“I haven't done this since…” I start to say, but I stop.

“I know,” she responds, moving closer until her forehead rests against mine.

We remain like this for moments that seem eternal. My heart races remembering her naked skin against mine, the heat of her sex when she was aroused, those little moans that drove me absolutely crazy.

She slowly closes her eyes, and I can feel her breath against my skin. My body responds in ways I had almost forgotten, every nerve ending between my legs wanting much more.

But a strong gust of wind gives me the perfect excuse to separate. There's no point in recovering for just a few days something I know won't continue.

“We should go inside, the wind is picking up,” Sloane suggests, trying to force a smile, though I can see she's clearly disappointed.

Inside the restaurant, we take off our coats with clumsy movements, avoiding looking directly into each other's eyes. Wanting to deny, without succeeding, what we just felt on that terrace.

“What's happening?” I ask, looking toward the enormous windows.

“A storm has picked up,” she explains. “Sometimes, the weather changes very quickly in Silver Peaks.”

“The kids,” I sigh, jumping up. “I have to get back.”

“They're with my sisters. They would have returned to the resort hours ago. They're safe, don't worry.”

But I can't be calm. The image of my children lost in a storm, scared, is more than I can bear. Luckily, Sloane's phone rings just at that moment.

“River, thank God. Are you…?” she pauses, listening. “Yes, we're fine. The kids…? Perfect. How long…? I understand.”

She hangs up and turns toward me with an expression that's a mix of relief and something else.

“The kids are perfectly fine. They'll spend the night with Lumi in Harper's penthouse. River will stay with them, so they probably won't sleep; they'll play console games all night and tell ridiculous stories.”

“Fuck,” I murmur, putting a hand to my chest.

“But…” Sloane continues. “We can't go down tonight. The wind gusts are too strong for the cable car. It's not safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“That we have to spend the night here,” she responds, trying to avoid my gaze. “River says there are blankets and an air mattress in the pantry for this type of emergency. Also flashlights in case the power goes out. As long as we stay inside, we'll be totally safe.”

My heart skips several beats.

Alone.

We're going to spend the night alone. In a restaurant on top of a mountain, surrounded by a snowstorm.

After what almost happened on the terrace.

“Are you… are you okay with this?” she asks, making an uncertain gesture around us, though I notice the nervousness in her eyes.

I prefer not to answer. Part of me is terrified about what might happen.

My body reminds me that we'll sleep together after eleven years of separation, and a certain area between my legs seems very excited about that opportunity.

My mind, however, screams that I'm no longer a college student, but an adult and, on top of that, mother of two children.

And something tells me that if I sleep with Sloane, I'll regret it the next day.

“I guess we don't have a choice,” I admit, shrugging.

“I guess not,” she repeats, though she doesn't seem bothered by the situation.