She looked at the floor. “We should go back in.”

“Something’s upsetting you,” he said. He didn’t know what to do with all the feelings fermenting inside his chest, but this was easy. She was in trouble, and he wanted to fix it. “Tell me what it is.”

“Professor Moore—”

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing. Merely a—a slight irritation.”

“More than, I think. Let me be your friend. I think you might need one.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” she said, with a hint of frustration. “With your perfect family, and your parents who’ve been in love for four decades, and your general goodness. It would be like trying to explain capitalism to someone who’s never seen money before. The concepts wouldn’t make sense.”

“Try me.”

“Love isn’t always like that, you know. Good and lasting and true. It isn’t even usually like that. Sometimes it’s an illusion that baits a trap.”

“Were you caught in a trap, Alva?”

“I still am,” she said, standing. “And I don’t know why I told you that, but we need to go back now.”

“Let me help you,” he said, standing as well. He moved towards her, taking her gently by the arms. “Please. Let me fix it.”

“You assume all problems have solutions,” she said.

“We can’t know they don’t unless we try,” he said, pulling her closer. “Let me try.”

Briefly, she relaxed against him. Her body fit against his like they had been formed at the same time; he rested his chin on her head.

Then she stepped away.

“No.” One word, but it was like ten tons of wall landing between them.

“Alva—”

“It’s not your problem to solve.” She took a deep breath, dropping her shoulders. “We should go back. It really is freezing out here.”

Sam had pushed her today, more than he’d meant to. He’d wanted to cheer her up, and he was afraid he’d only reopened wounds she hadn’t wanted to consider.

He gestured towards the door. “As you wish.”

It was fully dark when they stepped back outside, lit solely by the reflection of the moon on the thin layer of snow. Snowflakes twisted in lazy twirls before landing softly on the ground. The only sound was the crunching of their footsteps.

Alva walked stiffly, every sense open to the man next to her—his smell, peppermint and leather and Sam, the heat radiating through his shirtsleeves into the space between them. He made her feel awkward without trying to. His vision of the world was such a positive one, powerful. Why couldn’t her world be the same? Why couldn’t she be the sort of person who trusted others, who could risk openness and not fear pain?