Page 49 of Seeds of Christmas
“Sounds good.” I pull out my field notebook, flipping to the page where I’ve been tracking our progress. My handwriting is terrible but, at least, it’s consistent. “We’re making really good time. Professor Bam’s going to be impressed.”
“You think so?”
There’s something vulnerable in the way she asks—like my opinion matters more than it probably should.
“Yeah. Definitely.” I look at her over the rim of my mug. “The data we’re collecting is solid. We’re ahead of schedule. And we haven’t killed each other yet, which I think deserves bonus points.”
She laughs. “The trip’s not over yet. Don’t jinx it.”
“Fair point.” I flip another page. “But seriously, Rhi. You’re really good at this. The fieldwork. The organization. All of it. You should be proud.”
She ducks her head, but I catch the pleased expression before she hides it behind her coffee mug. “Thanks. You’re better than you give yourself credit for too.”
“High praise from Rhiannon Pierce.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. My ego is already insufferable.”
“I have a feeling that your ego has always been insufferable,” she says, but she’s smiling.
And okay, fine. Maybe I’m in trouble here.
Maybe spending five days in a remote cabin with Rhiannon Pierce is going to be a problem.
The weird thing is—I don’t hate this.
I hate lectures. I hate labs. I hate sitting at a desk analyzing mineral compositions until my eyes cross.
But this? Hiking through snow to collect water samples? Working with my hands? Being outside where I can actually breathe?
This I could do.
Not the data analysis part. Not the research papers or the academic bullshit. But the being outside, doing physical work, solving problems in real-time part?
Yeah. I could do this forever.
10
CARTER
After dinner in the cabin, we hang out on the sofa by the fireplace.
It’s warm. Rhi is snuggled up in the corner with a blanket tightly wrapped around her.
“So,” Rhi says. “Carter?” Her voice is quiet.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For telling me about Dominic. For being honest about how hard it is. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“Thank you for listening.” I set the plate down. “And for not trying to fix it. Or tell me it gets better. Or any of that stuff people usually say that makes me want to set things on fire.”
“Does it? Get better?”
The question is gentle but direct. Very Rhi.
“I don’t know yet.” I turn to face her. “But being here helps. Not having to pretend helps.”
