It’s only seven, but dark as midnight. It gets dark early in Montana, so I’ve been told.

Still, I can see the mountains—white-tipped and rolling—like a frothy wave in the distance.

When Gabe puts his hand on the small of my back, I lean into it.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Okay.”

Once inside we knock the snow off our boots, and Gabe cleans out the frozen globs that have formed between Teddy’s toes.

I hold my coat against my chest as Gabe starts a fire. I’m still standing in the entryway when he finishes. He comes over, takes my coat, and hangs it up.

“Chani,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

“We don’t have to…” he says.

“I…”

The room warms. Gabe puts his hands on my arms, his thumbs stroking my biceps as if I’m a scared animal he’s trying to soothe.

It’s not entirely incorrect.

“I’m not in any rush,” he says.

He’s not talking about tonight. He is, but also, he isn’t.

I push back. Move away. A few inches.

That tight, scared, panicky feeling presses against my ribs. My confidence falters.

“The last time we did this…” I gesture between us.

“Yeah,” he says. “About that.”

There’s something in his voice that makes me stop. He sounds embarrassed, and I don’t know why.

“About what?”

“About what happened between us on the couch,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

We’re getting into weirdly intimate territory. We’ve talked around that weekend but we’ve never talked about what actually happened. Or didn’t happen.

“I shouldn’t have…” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “It’s just, I felt like such an idiot.”

Apparently, the call wasn’t the only thing we still needed to discuss, only this time I’m the one in the dark.

“Why?”

“Because,” he says as if I know what he’s talking about.

“Because what?”

Then, to my complete astonishment, I watch as a flush spreads across his cheekbones.

“You know,” he says.

“I don’t,” I say.

He looks up at the ceiling. For a moment, the only sound is the crackling fire, the room nice and warm and cozy.

“That night,” he said. “When we were…when things got…”

I’m staring at him, and he’s staring at the beams overhead.

“We were kissing and you were, you know, underneath me, and it was really hot, and then…” He trails off. “You know.”

I don’t. I don’t know. It’s clear that whatever memory I have of that night is not the same one he has.

He glances down, catches the expression on my face.

“Come on,” he says. “Are you really going to make me say it out loud?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.