Page 73 of The Words Beneath the Noise

“No,” he agreed. “I'm really not.”

We sat there, hands still touching, and the silence felt like a conversation all its own.

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens. After, I mean. Whatever the world looks like when this is over.” I took a breath. “I want you to know that this, right now, sitting here with you, this is the closest I've ever felt to happy. Real happy, not just absence of misery.”

He was quiet for so long I thought I'd said too much. Then his fingers tightened around mine, deliberate and warm.

“Same,” he said. “For what it's worth. Same.”

But he did not finish the thought. Just shook his head slightly and took the bottle back, and the moment passed like a cloud across the moon.

We stayed until the beer was gone and the cold had become genuinely uncomfortable. My fingers were numb, my nose running, my toes aching inside boots that were never quite warm enough. But I did not want to leave.

“We should head back,” Tom said finally, though he did not move.

“Probably.”

“Before we freeze to death out here.”

“That would be inconvenient.”

He laughed, a soft huff of breath in the darkness. “Inconvenient. That's one word for it.”

“I have others, but they're less polite.”

“Go on then. Let's hear them.”

“Catastrophic. Untimely. Deeply annoying.” I pretended to think. “Inconsiderate, given the amount of effort I've put into not dying so far.”

“Inconsiderate.” He was grinning now. “Freezing to death would be inconsiderate.”

“Extremely. Think of the paperwork.”

“Always practical, you.”

“Someone has to be.” I stood, stamping feeling back into my feet. “Come on. If I lose any toes to frostbite, I'm blaming you entirely.”

“Why me?”

“Because you suggested we stay outside in December with one bottle of beer and no blankets. This was clearly your fault from the beginning.”

“You agreed to come.”

“Under duress.”

“What duress? I asked and you said yes immediately.”

“Emotional duress. You looked at me with those eyes.”

“What's wrong with my eyes?”

“Nothing. That's the problem.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I felt heat flood my face despite the cold.

Tom was quiet for a moment. Then: “Art.”