Page 42 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells
I turn to him.
He is still spinning in circles, absorbed with the feeling of flying, of freedom. There is no one like him, I am sure of it. No one who glows quite as he does with such a steady, warm light. I take another breath and push off to skate beside him. There’s no one else on the ice, I notice distantly. There’s only us.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at him.
“Hey,” he says.
He slows, reaching for my hand, and we slowly spin to a stop.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to be kissed on the middle of a frozen lake.”
“What, like this one?”
“Just like this one.”
“Oh,” he says, his eyes growing dark. “Who are you going to kiss?”
I shrug, looking round. “I don’t know yet...”
Matthieu chuckles, turning my chin toward him with his fingertips. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I murmur.
Matthieu raises his eyebrows in question before leaning in to kiss me. I laugh against his mouth, drawing my arms around his neck and giving in to this moment he’s created, just for us.
“Carrie...” he says softly, running his mouth gently along the line of my jaw. “I think we should do this first date thing again. It’s pretty good.”
I tip back my head, sighing in delight as his kisses trail down my throat. “I agree.”
And right there, under the watchful eye of the mountains, with just the two of us on this vast frozen lake, Matthieu’s mouth on my skin, and his arms wrapped around me, I fall a little.
I fall into that place of perfect first dates, of dappled light and frost and slow dances. I fall into it with Matthieu.
We build the last of the furniture the next morning. He’s in the upstairs front bedroom, and I’m in the lounge putting a set of shelves up in the alcove next to the fireplace. He drops something and I hear him swear. There’s a thump, like an angry fist or a boot, then silence. I pause, place the screwdriver on the floor, and walk to the hallway.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, just...” He mutters something I can’t quite catch.
I take the stairs two at a time, turning on the landing to rush into the room he’s in. I push the door open and find him sitting on the floor, one hand cradled in the other as he stares absently at the wall. There are shadows beneath his eyes, like charcoal with the edges smudged. “Your hand?”
“Caught it between the slats.” He shrugs, attempting a smile, then closes his eyes. “Didn’t sleep well. I don’t know. Careless.” There is a heaviness to him. A tiredness I haven’t really seen before. Perhaps caused by hurting his hand, or not getting enough sleep. Then he blurts out, “It’s the anniversary today.”
“Anniversary?” I sit down beside him, taking his injured hand to check it over. It’s just as rough as my own are now, and there’s an angry red mark along the joints of his thumb and index finger.
“You know I told you I used to come hiking with my brother? Henri?”
I still, wondering if this is the moment. The moment when I’ll find out more about the map, the twine, the cabin. “Yes.”
“Well, this is the day we lost him.” Matthieu sighs. “I heard it gets easier, and I guess it has over the years. But this day...”
I bring both my hands around his, looking up at him. Noticing the way his hair is a little wild at the edges, his eyes dull beneathhis heavy brows. I try not to register any surprise and instead allow him a moment to collect himself. That’s the thing with Matthieu. He’s quiet, thoughtful. In his manner and in the way he treats me. I don’t want him to feel rushed in this moment. I want him to share a piece of himself with me.
He keeps his gaze trained on the wall, as though seeing a thousand memories there. “Henri was older than me by a few years. But now I’m older than he ever...” He swallows. “He would have teased you. Relentlessly.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “I’d love to hear more about him. If you want to tell me.”
Matthieu takes a minute, and I wonder if he’s not quite ready. But then he blows out a breath, his fingers curling back around mine, and begins to talk. To tell me about Henri.
