Her brow puckered. “Town electric.”

Xander: Okay. Stay safe. I’m at Dad’s, setting up the generator.

Xander: Gideon, shut the hell up. Cam, keep your hands on the throttle.

“I win. Town power is out, and I have a solar bank that can power a space station or a small doomsday cult. We’re going to my place. Shut off the car and let’s go before we end up here for the night.” I handed Willow her helmet, then opened the door and got out, not giving her the chance to argue. We were wasting time we might not have.

My phone buzzed repeatedly as I fastened my own helmet again.

Gideon: I believe that’s what I said.

Xander: You’re lucky it’s snowing.

Gideon: Yeah, yeah. Cam, text when you get there.

Cam: Will do on all accounts.

I zipped my phone into my coat and brushed the snow from the seats of the Cat, grateful that it was a 2-up and not a single.

She trudged over, the snow up to her knees as she buckled her helmet.

I checked it like she was eight again. Old habits and whatnot. I flipped the buttons on the helmets and then the dash, bringing the headsets online.

“Can you hear me?” I asked.

“Gotcha,” she acknowledged.

We climbed on, and Willow reached for the passenger handles as I settled into the driver’s seat.

I will never see Willow Bradley again. I was really going to have to modify that fucking vow. Maybe something like I’ll never touch Willow Bradley.

Yeah, that could work.

I gave the Cat some gas, and we left Willow’s 4Runner to the storm, heading back up the ridgeline. My earlier tracks were already gone. GPS told me we’d passed the hot springs down the ridgeline to the east, but I couldn’t see shit.

“We’re turning down the ridge,” I warned her.

“Okay,” she responded. “I can’t believe how bad it is. I can hardly see you, and you’re right in front of me.”

I could barely feel her, too. She was leaning back in the passenger seat, no doubt to give me space. We weren’t exactly snuggle buddies.

But we were about to be.

“Lean forward and hold on to me,” I ordered. It was better for turns and for traversing, and she knew it. At least, I hoped she did.

Her weight settled against me as we started downhill, and her hands clasped first at my waist, then into the fabric of my jacket itself.

I’d never been so glad for a snowstorm to distract me in my entire life.

“You okay?” I asked, using one hand to guide hers to the loops on the bright-orange vest I’d donned in case of emergency. “Is that easier?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her grip tightened.