The thing about blurting out mortifying truths in the middle of a blizzard was that you could almost pretend the wind had whipped away your words and no one would ever know you’d said them.

Almost.

That’s what Abbie did, anyway, in the aftermath. She could feel Will’s all-seeing gaze burning the side of her face with typical intensity, but there was enough snow between them to cool her fevered skin as soon as his eyes touched it, so that was easier than usual to handle. She set the most difficult of her words free, then bent down to examine the brambles and thanked whatever god was listening for this precise series of events—because she had a sneaking suspicion that, in any other circumstance, she’d have spent a solid twenty minutes working up to that confession.

She was starting to think Will might take a solid twenty minutes figuring out how to reply.

His silence was … significant. The fact that he’d let go of her hand when she’d dropped down to search the brambles was also significant—even though it was exactly what Abbie had hoped he’d do. Any connection between them, even one so minimal, felt electric and important and far too much. She was working hard at this emotional honesty thing, but she wasn’t about to completely overwhelm herself.

She also wasn’t about to take back what she’d said. Or stop talking, now she’d finally started.

“It’s been a long and weird experience,” she said as she parted various spiky branches. “I thought it was just a crush, and then I kind of realised it wasn’t, but I really wanted it to be a crush because that was way less complicated, so I convinced myself it was. And then I just stayed there, mentally, for years and years because I was a stupid teenager and you were my best friend and avoiding my feelings seemed a lot safer than doing something about it and not knowing what might happen. It was all too high-stakes, I think. Then life happened and suddenly we were in completely different places and stages and—and it didn’t matter anymore. I mean, I thought it didn’t matter anymore. But… You’ve always mattered too much to me. You scare me. I’m not—”

Will fell to his knees beside her so suddenly, she was worried he’d actually collapsed. Then two things happened at once: the first was that his gloved, snow-damp hand cupped her face and he said with a voice like the storm around them, “Abbie.”

And the second was that something beneath the brambles startled, its movement drawing her eye.

“Gravy!” she yelped.

“…What?”

“It’s Gravy! She’s over here.” Abbie shuffled on her knees, further to the right, and reached beneath the mass of thorns only to have Will catch her arm.