“Are you sure you want that?” I asked quietly.

That seemed to catch him off guard because he loosened his hold on my chin.

I half expected him to say that he did want that. To beg me to talk to him. To say something real and ask me what’s going on. But Oliver being Oliver, he did none of that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone pained.

Suddenly, the tiles of his kitchen floor were the most fascinating thing in the world to me. My head felt heavy and the idea of meeting his eyes twisted my insides.

Oliver’s fingers brushed underneath my chin. He used the tiniest bit of force to tilt my face up. While his eyes still looked dark and serious, the corner of his mouth twitched. “You can’t even look at me now? Damn. I must have really messed up.”

“You didn’t mess up,” I said.

“The fact that I can’t even imagine you smiling right now says otherwise. You’re looking at me like I’m a huge disappointment, and I can’t take that.”

“I just…” I started before biting my lip.

Oliver moved his hand from my chin to cup my cheek. “Go on.”

“I never know what to say to you. You’re like my favorite person I’ve met since moving here. My life is completely falling apart right now, and you’re the one thing keeping me from crumbling.” I trembled as I continued to talk. “But I don’t feel like I can say that to you. And I don’t feel like I can ask you any questions about yourself or tell you anything real because you might bolt again. And I’m terrified that winter is ending, and I have no idea what that means for you. Are you leaving Key Ridge? Are you even planning on saying goodbye? But then I feel like an obsessive creep for even caring that much. I should be cool and say see you when I see you. Or stay in touch. But I’m not the cool girl. I’m the girl that obsesses. And right now, the idea of you leaving is all I can think about. I don’t want to ruin tonight, but I can’t fake some small talk or joke around with you, because it hurts too much not to know.”

Oliver’s hand didn’t drop from my cheek like I was worried it would. Instead, his grip tightened as his fingers moved to wrap around my neck and his thumb remained on my cheek.

“You can talk to me, Frankie. I’m sorry I made you feel like you can’t.” He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m…” His words trailed off before he groaned and tipped his head back, letting out a bitter laugh in the process. “Fuck. I’m so bad at this. But you already knew that.”

“I don’t care if you’re bad at it,” I said, inching closer to him. “We don’t have to have these serious, deep conversations where we dissect your past.” Even as I said the words, I knew desperately that I did in fact want to do just that. “I want to know if you’re leaving when the ski hill closes and your lessons are over,” I finished.