Page 59 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
Liliana glowered in his direction. “One of them was part of the mob that hanged Florence Midwinter.” Both Rowan and her father winced at the reminder, and Joe visibly shrank an inch or two. “They exist to push us down when we try to stand tall.”
There was a flicker of something that passed through Rowan at that. Like a chill winter wind. Everything in her body ran cold, right down to her fingertips. She wanted to insist that Gavin would never, but something held her back. Something pushed her to heed her mother’s warning.
“It’s just breakfast,” she said finally, rushing to don her cold-weather gear. As if she might actually lose her nerve and stand him up if she hung around long enough.
Her mother’s voice was one last time demanding of attention. “Does he know what we are?”
“Everyone knows what we are,” said Rowan, flippant as she shoved on her coat.
And then her mother was there beside her, arms across her chest, gaze fixed. “But there’s knowing and there’sknowing.Does he understand weactuallyuse magic? Does he believe it?”
The words took Rowan and forced her to look at the situation from the angle she’d been desperately avoiding ever since the moment their lips met and she had felt sogood.Good in a way she couldn’t remember having felt in years—fully in her body, present and accounted for. With him. No second-guessing, just blissful sensation.
“No. I don’t think so,” she admitted, finally, her heart falling. The phraseharmless self-actualization practicedanced in her head in Gavin’s voice, but it wasn’t clear exactly when she’d heard him say it.
“Well, Dennis does,” said her mother, finally stepping away and releasing Rowan, “and that’s why he’d love nothing more than for us to leave Elk Ridge.”
The warning was clear.
Rowan arrived in town assuming that they would hunt down the least miserably crowded breakfast spot together. Instead, Gavin waited near his Subaru. When she got close, he sprang off the car and opened the passenger door, gesturing her inside.
“Okay, where are we going?” she asked with a bubbling laugh.
His eyes danced. “It’s a surprise.”
The highway guided them up the side of the mountain. The higher they climbed, the more the snow deepened, and the forests thickened, the sides of the mountain growing ever more sheer and sharp. She tried to trace pathways down the slopes, wondering how anyone determined which were safe to ski on and which led to certain doom.
“Feel free to put on some music,” said Gavin. He reached over to unlock his cell phone before darting his hand back to the wheel. The phone’s wallpaper was an image of him with his father. They were smiling together in ski gear, but it was not the Elk Ridge Ski Area they posed in front of.
Catching her studying it, he said, “Switzerland.”
“Fancy. Do you two travel together much?”
He nodded. “Every year. Usually somewhere with skiing.”
“No beach vacations for you two?”
“I let my ex drag me to Hawaii, but otherwise, no. The scuba diving was nice, but too crowded. Warm-water dives always are.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying you willingly spend time in cold water?”
He chuckled. “That’s what dry suits are for, and yes, I do. Better visibility, and no crowds. When it’s just you and your diving partner down there, you feel like you’ve actually left the human world behind. It’s the closest we can get to experiencing the unknown—even the mountains are tamed by comparison…” His voice trailed off. He glanced her way and cleared his throat. “So, how about you: mountain or beach?”
“I don’t vacation much. I’ve gotten to the beach a few times since I moved to Orange County, though. It’s a long way to go by bus, but I was dating someone with a car, and he loved to surf.”
“Did you ever try surfing?”
“We have discussed my center-of-balance troubles,” she said with a laugh. “No. I mostly read. Swam a little. Tried not to spiral on images of him emerging lifelessly from the water every time he fell off the board.”
He glanced her way with a curious look but didn’t pry. The relentless nature of intrusive thoughts was more of a second- or third-date conversation, she guessed.
Finally opening the music app on his phone, she was shocked to find an enormous catalog of playlists. All labeled not only byactivity but also by subactivity. From a glance, it seemedExercisehad at least ten different subcategories, as didCookingandWork.She chuckled at the one labeledWork—De-rage.
Tapping his phone, she said, “This is, uh, kind of a lot, Gavin.”
His brow creased. “How do you organize yours?”
“I have a few for different moods, but mostly I kind of…”
