Page 5 of The Mountain Man's Secret Star
The path climbed steadily through stands of pine and aspen, snow crunching under our feet while our breath formed clouds in the crisp mountain air. Twice my boots slipped on loose rock hidden beneath white powder, and both times Gavin's hand appeared at my elbow, steadying me with the same careful attention he gave his cooking—competent, protective, sending warmth racing up my arm even through our coats.
The third time I stumbled, he caught my hand properly, his fingers warm and callused against mine. "Here," he said simply, and didn't let go.
The contact sent harmonics through my chest—not just attraction but recognition, as if my body had been waiting for his touch without knowing it. When his thumb brushed across my knuckles, I had to bite back a soft sound that would have revealed far too much.
"So what made you leave Calgary?" I asked as we climbed, partly curious and partly needing distraction from the way his touch was rewriting my internal rhythm.
"You really want to know?"
Something in his tone made me pause. "Only if you want to tell me."
He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "Burned out. Had a breakdown in the middle of service one night. Threw a pan across the kitchen and walked out."
The raw honesty caught me off guard. Most people dressed up their career changes, made them sound like brave choices instead of desperate escapes.
"Spent three days on my apartment floor, listening to..." He stopped walking. "This is going to sound crazy."
"Try me."
"Your music.Small Town Dreams. Played it on repeat until my neighbors complained."
My heart stuttered, missing a beat entirely. That album had been my most personal, written during a period when I was questioning everything about the path I'd chosen. I'd poured my doubts and hopes into those songs, never knowing who might need to hear them.
"That song, the title track, was like you were singing directly to me. About finding peace in smaller places, about dreams that don't require you to lose yourself." He started walking again, faster now. "Gave me permission to want something different."
"Gavin." I caught his arm, feeling the solid strength beneath wool. "That's not crazy. That's exactly why used to I write music."
His pewter eyes found mine in the darkness. "Used to?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implications. Instead of answering, I said, "Show me this beautiful thing you promised."
We crested a ridge, and the view opened up before us in a crescendo of wonder. Silver Ridge spread below us in a constellation of warmth, Christmas lights twinkling between bare tree branches, the ski runs tracing silver lines down distant mountainsides. Above us, the sky was velvet black and studded with more stars than I'd seen since childhood.
But it was the comet that stole my breath completely.
The comet, C/2022 X1 Kringle, hung in the northern sky like nature's own Christmas ornament, its warm glow pulsing against the darkness while its tail stretched behind in a delicate stream of cosmic dust and gas, shimmering like the most ethereal tinsel imaginable. The whole celestial display lookedlike sheet music written in light across the darkness—a melody too beautiful for earthbound instruments to capture.
"Oh," I breathed.
"Gets brighter every night," Gavin said softly, his breath warm against my ear as he stepped close behind me. "Reaches its zenith on Christmas Eve, then starts its journey back into deep space by Christmas morning."
He led me to a fallen log that made a perfect bench, then pulled the thermos from his pack. The scent of spiced cider rose into the cold air as he poured it into two metal cups, steam curling up like incense. I settled beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his thigh where it pressed against mine.
"This is incredible," I said, accepting the warm cup gratefully. "How did you find this place?"
"Hike all over these mountains when I need to think. This spot felt like the center of something important."
For the first time in months, the constant pressure in my chest eased, like I could finally take a full breath. The beauty of the scene, the warmth of the cider, Gavin's solid presence beside me—it all combined into something that felt like coming home to a place I'd never been.
"There's a local legend about the comet," Gavin said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "They say if you make a wish under Comet Kringle's light, it has to be authentic, the comet sees right through to your heart."
I turned to look at him, noting the way the celestial light caught the silver in his pewter eyes. "What would you wish for?"
"Haven't decided yet." His gaze dropped to my mouth for just an instant before meeting my eyes again. "What about you?"
The question I'd been asking myself for months rose to my lips before I could stop it. "I wish I could remember why I used to love music."
Gavin nodded. "So," he said, his voice careful, "going to tell me why you're really here?"
