Page 64 of Love Under Snowfall

“Stop.” His command echoed along the walls of the valley but barely penetrated the pulse-pounding between his ears. He just wanted her to quit with the attempted retribution, not because he didn’t deserve it, because he really did, but because he was desperate to explain that he wasn’t like that. He didn’t screw around. He didn’t get hooked on other women and call them pet names. It was all her. Only her. And he was doing what needed to be done.

“One last thing,” she said as she spun around and wagged a finger in his face, cheeks suddenly pink from more than just the cold. “My brother and Lucy’s wedding is in three days, and I swear if you screw with it by either leaving quietly the night beforehand or acting all weird about this . . . this non-thing we had, I will go straight to the dean andactuallyruin you. Am I crystal clear?”

At least they were in agreement on one thing: preservingthe joy of Johnny’s big day. He nodded because he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his best friend’s happiness.

Satisfied, Francesca fell silent and Benajmin trailed behind, still reeling from the turn of events.

“I see them!”

The bellow broke through the awkward silence like dropping an armload of pots and pans in the middle of a library.

They’d spent the better part of the morning crunching through the smooth snow in a southward direction. Benjamin followed Francesca unquestioningly because he knew full well that she was going to be the one to lead them to safety. Maintaining a distance so as not to distract her or cause any more turmoil, he felt like dead weight as she surveyed the terrain, consulted her compass, and tested channels on her radio every few minutes. Eventually, as the sun beat down and their water supply dwindled, voices obscured in thick static sounded through the walkie-talkie.

Francesca’s beaming grin was short-lived, however, because the moment she turned back and glanced at her “snowshoe buddy,” the edges of her lips pulled down into a remembering frown. The way she looked at him pierced like a spear to the heart, and Benjamin wished ferociously that he could turn back time and keep his hands to himself.

Two bundled forms wearing snowshoes moved steadily toward them, sunlight reflecting off their jackets just as brightly as the surrounding snow.

“Any injuries?” a man in his early forties wearing a brightgreen jacket with reflective stripes across the chest called. Was his name Miguel? Benjamin recognized him from the welcome dinner and the start of the snowshoeing trip two days ago. God, had it only been forty-eight hours ago?

“None, aside from the little cut I got on my head from rolling ass over teakettle into the valley on Sunday.”

Maybe-Miguel nodded then stumbled to the side as Johnny, wearing a similarly flashy coat that was clearly too small, shoved past him, barreling straight for Francesca.

“Frankie. Holy hell.” He swept his sister up and hugged her tightly, her feet dangling a few inches above the snow. “We’ve been freaking out. I’m so glad you’re ok.”

“Woah there, big brother,” she coughed, arms pinned at her side. “Air’s super important.”

“Right, sorry.” He gave another squeeze and set her back down. “God, I kept playing out the worst-case scenario. It took Lucy, Miguel, and Zac to keep me from searching for you two in that storm.”

“I know the feeling,” Francesca said as she looked up at her brother with a sad grin. Was she referring to last year when Johnny had gone missing?

“And you,” he pushed past his sister, marched over to Benjamin, and wrapped him in an equally impassioned hug. “Thank you for taking care of my sister.”

All three men turned at Frankie’s offended scoff.

“She’s right.” Benjamin patted his friend’s shoulder. “She did all the work. I followed along and did what I was told.”

Johnny grinned. “Way to go, sis.”

“Thanks.” Her smile pulled tight with words unsaid.

“Here.” Miguel handed each of them a spare pair of snowshoes then relayed into the radio at his shoulder that they’d found the missing hikers and were due back in about an hour. “This reunion is lovely, Jon, but I’m sure these two want to get back to town sooner rather than later.”

“You can fucking say that again,” Francesca groaned, glancing over at Benjamin then quickly back to the straps of her snowshoes as she clicked them in place.

Her expression said it all: The last two days didn’t happen.

And while he craved to take back everything he said about their encounter being a mistake, he knew he couldn’t. Because even if he decided to take the leap and risk her downfall, it was crystal clear he’d done irreparable damage. Francesca was hurt, angry, and perhaps even a little embarrassed. But fiercer than that, the loathing that danced in her eyes proclaimed her opinion.

He was nothing to her.

Benjamin let his gaze linger, taking in Francesca’s rosy cheeks, pink nose, and tangle of honeyed hair. He recalled contributing to those wavy snarls as he licked and touched then thrust into her. Imagined the heady passion rippling over her face as she threw back her head and moaned into the warm air.

A throat clearing beside him dissolved the memory.

Johnny studied him with raised brows, glancing from the surly professor to his younger sister. “Do we need to have a discussion?”

If he only knew. The discussion would be light on the words and heavy on the fists.

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