Page 86 of Music Mann

Wide. Open. Limitless.

Like there are no boundaries to the world, and heaven is as close as reaching.

The view in front of me isn’t bad, either. Jack and Perrin, sharing a steamy thermos as we wait for everyone to meet up. Another Sunday ski with my brothers. All of them. The men Rita and Ellen made a family and my new brothers that have joined us since.

And Cas.

I blink, just to make sure, but he’s no ghost. Not anymore.

He waits for me, joking with Theo and Matt, who are in turn teasing Quinn and Bish who just cut through the trees to join us.

Cas’s smile lights up everything, that secret charisma infusing even something as simple as a smile.

“Oh, I know that look.” He hands me a glove I left with him on the lift. “Baylor’s a million miles away.”

My brothers’ attention turns to me, but I keep my eyes on Cas.

“There’s no look.”

“Definitely is,” Quinn adds unhelpfully.

“I say we ski.” Matt grins as he rises up from unnecessarily checking Theo’s bindings on his snowboard. “That will get you in the present pretty quick, Bee.”

Cas and I pull on our gloves as we watch our group peel off to start down the run. It’s the first truly perfect powder of the season, all new, sparkling white and untouched, having fallen overnight and we are up here hours before the lifts open to the public.

“You are thinking about something, gonna share?” Cas asks.

“You gonna ask me about it until I do?” I shoot back.

He grins wider, enjoying every minute of being right that my head was somewhere else.

“Just tell me, the song you are writing in your head — it’s for me, right?”

“They are all for you, Caswell.”

He leans over, cold lips with a warm press and a heated, tempting tease of tongue.

“Good.”

He takes off, turning the first bend of the run. I can easily catch up, so I take a moment, gratitude to the entire fucking universe about to bowl me over.

There’s a man on this ski run that’s made just for me.

There are promises we have whispered and sang to each other.

There’s a ring tucked in a drawer back home.

There’s a house visit for a baby of our own on the calendar.

And there is this indescribable feeling that no words will ever touch. Not completely.

But, if they could . . .

IfI could find the words.

Well, there might be a song in it.

THE END.