Page 49 of Keeper of Talon Mountain

"Yeah," I tell him. "That's what I want."

He kisses me then, gentle and sure, tasting like coffee and sawdust and the promise of something that might actually last. Zeke whoops from his spot by the railing, making us both laugh against each other's mouths.

When we break apart, Gabe's smiling, really smiling, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes him look younger than his years.

"So we go to Montana," I say. "Meet with Cross. See what she's offering."

"And if it's something that requires me to be there full-time?"

"Then we figure it out. But I'm guessing a woman smart enough to build Echo Ridge is smart enough to know that some operators work better with roots than wings."

He pulls me close, rests his chin on top of my head. We stand like that for a long moment, wrapped in morning sun and possibility, while Zeke pretends to be very interested in his coffee.

"You know this won't be easy," I tell him eventually. "The nightmares, the memories, the trial testimony still coming. We're both still figuring things out."

"I know."

"And there's no guarantee this works. We might drive each other crazy."

"Probably will." He links his fingers through mine. "But I'd rather figure it out here than be anywhere else."

Not poetry. Just honest—two damaged people choosing to heal together instead of apart.

That evening, Sadie and Zeke come by with dinner from the café—pot roast and fresh bread that fills the lodge with smells that feel like home. Nate and Wren show up shortly after with wine and stories about a bear that got into someone's garbage on the north trail. Zara arrives last, bringing dessert and news that tourists are already making summer reservations.

We crowd around the lodge's big table, passing plates and bottles and conversation. The kind of easy gathering that happens when people genuinely like each other, when friendship isn't obligation but choice.

Gabe's quieter than the others, still learning how to be social again, how to exist in spaces that aren't about survival. But his hand finds mine under the table, holds on. When Sadie asks about the Montana trip, he says "we're going" and "Mara and I will drive up" like it's the most natural thing in the world.

My heart skips.

"About time," Sadie says with a knowing smile. "Mrs. Lancaster saw you buying her flowers at the market last week. By noon, everyone knew."

"They were just wildflowers."

"They were wildflowers from a man who fixes her roof at dawn." Zeke grins. "Whole town's been watching, you know. Wondering when you'd both stop pretending this was temporary."

Gabe looks at me, eyebrow raised. "Were we pretending?"

"Apparently."

"Huh." He squeezes my hand. "Guess we should stop then."

Later, after everyone leaves, we clean up together. Him washing, me drying. No discussion needed—we've found our rhythm.

Later still, we stand on the porch watching stars emerge in the clear spring sky. The air is cold but not bitter, carrying the promise of summer hidden beneath winter's last breath. Down in the valley, lights from town twinkle like earthbound stars. Our town. Our mountain. Our life, slowly taking shape from fragments and determination.

"Thank you," Gabe says finally.

"For what?"

"For pulling me out of that blizzard. For not giving up. For giving me a reason to stop running."

I lean into him, his arm coming around my shoulders automatically. "You would have done the same for me."

"Yeah. I would." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "But you did it first. That makes all the difference."

Tomorrow there will be more repairs, more healing, more decisions about Montana and Victoria Cross and what the future might hold. But tonight there's just this—warmth and safety and the beginning of something that feels like it might last.

Three months ago I pulled a stranger from a blizzard. Tonight his hand finds mine in the darkness, and I don't let go.

Simple as that.