Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“We were undefeated,” I remind her, stepping beside her.
Her eyes flick toward mine. “Until the year I got pneumonia.”
I huff a laugh. “You got pneumonia because you threw snowballs at me for three hours straight.”
“That sounds like something I’d do,” she says lightly, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She’s nervous. Trying not to be, but I can feel it.
Probably because this is the first morning we’ve spent alone since our last kiss at the station. A kiss that felt like it might burn us both alive.
She doesn’t realize I’d let her burn me to the ground if it meant she didn’t have to be afraid of the flames anymore.
I nod toward the remains of the house—what’s left of it. The stone foundation half-buried under snow, the old chimney still standing like a stubborn monument. The Phantom River winds behind it, ice forming along the edges.
“You sure you want to do this today?” I ask. “We can start whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she says after a moment. Not instantly. Not easily. But she says it like she’s choosing courage on purpose. “I want to build something here again. Something good.”
I study her profile. The determination in her forehead, the softness beneath it. “Then we’ll build whatever you want.”
She swallows. “Thank you.”
The wind sweeps her hair across her cheek. I reach out without thinking to brush it back—and stop myself an inch away.
Boundaries. I know how fragile they are between us right now.
Savannah notices. I can tell by the way her breath hitches, the way her lashes lower before she pulls away first. “Let’s… get started.”
We work side by side clearing snow from the foundation, shoveling until my shoulders burn and my muscles warm. Savannah keeps pace with me, stubborn and strong, refusing help even when she starts to sweat.
She was always like this—fierce to the point of reckless.
“Savannah,” I say eventually, leaning on my shovel. “You don’t need to do all of it.”
She wipes her brow with her sleeve. “If I don’t do it, it doesn’t feel real.”
I nod, swallowing the emotion lodged in my throat. No argument could mean more than that.
We scrape layers of ice from the stones, revealing the shapes of old walls. I recognize them immediately—the kitchen corner where her mom used to warm tortillas on Sunday mornings, the bedroom she used to sneak out of to meet me under the porch light, the little alcove where her mother kept a bookshelf stacked with her favorite romance paperbacks.
Savannah kneels and runs her glove along the stones, breath trembling. “I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she admits quietly.
My voice drops. “You loved this place.”
She doesn’t look up. “I loved everything in it.”
“I know.”
“And I loved…” Her voice fades off, but the rest hangs in the air between us like steam rising from snow.
Me.
Did she almost say me?
But she stopped herself; I feel the words echo under my skin anyway.
Savannah suddenly pushes up to her feet, taking a few steps toward the river. “It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs, hugging her arms around herself. “Even now.”
“It’s always been beautiful because of you,” I say before I can stop it.
She jolts slightly, as if the praise touches something deep. “You don’t have to say things like that.”
“I’m not saying them to get something.”
She turns, eyes searching mine. “Then why?”
“Because they’re true.”
Silence expands between us, thick enough to feel. Her cheeks flush—not from the cold. I know her tells. I’ve always known them.
The tension crackles like a buried electrical line under snow.
Savannah exhales slowly. “Well. If we’re going to rebuild anything here, we should start by clearing the rest of this slope.”
She marches past me toward the shed I rebuilt years ago, pulling out two tool bags. I follow, letting her have the illusion of control even though every step she takes feels like it’s syncing with my own heartbeat.
We haul out planks, bags of nails, a leveler, gloves, water bottles. She kneels next to the old foundation again, pulling out a tape measure. The sight hits me like a punch.
Savannah, rebuilding her family’s home.
Savannah, choosing Devil’s Peak.
Choosing life here.
Choosing something she won’t say out loud yet.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I lie.
Her eyes narrow. “Axel.”
“Just… proud of you,” I admit.
Her entire face softens. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
She shakes her head and looks down at the stones as though they’re safer than looking at me. “You always had this way of saying things like you expected people to believe you.”
“I do expect you to believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never once lied to you.”
Her lips part, breath catching. “You lied by omission.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Savannah,” I step toward her, boots crunching. “I didn’t tell you about the letters because I thought I didn’t deserve you. But I never lied about how I felt.”
She looks up slowly, snowflakes catching in her lashes. “And how did you feel?”