EDGE OF GOODBYES

JAKE

The world felt quieter here.

Maybe it was the snow, falling in a slow, endless hush as if someone had pressed mute on everything else. Or maybe it was the way Lily walked beside me, her laugh still clinging to the air like the tail end of music. Whatever it was, I wished I could trap it, keep it and live inside it forever.

We had just finished another lesson calling it a lesson was generous. She taught, I stumbled, we laughed, and somehow I learned more than I expected. Now, trudging side by side toward the lodge, skis balanced over our shoulders, I felt like I belonged here. And that was dangerous.

Because I didn’t.

“Hey, disaster” Lily said, grinning as she reached over and shoved something into my chest. My gloves. I hadn’t even realized I’d left them on the bench.

“You’re my hero” I said, stuffing them into my jacket pocket. “Imagine the headlines if I’d frozen to death twenty feet from the lodge.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’d have been fine. Worst case, I would’ve sledded you down on your skis.”

“Romantic.”

“Practical” she corrected, though the corners of her mouth curved up.

We reached the path leading toward the lodge, the windows glowing orange against the purple-blue evening sky. A few people shuffled past us, the scent of hot chocolate and wood smoke wafting out every time the doors opened. Aspenridge in winter  was the kind of postcard life most people dreamed of.

Most people.

Not me.

I slowed my steps, letting the crunch of snow under my boots fill the silence. The truth was swelling inside me, pressing against my ribs. I’d been ignoring it for days, pretending this was just a break, just a temporary pause in the chaos of my real world. But tonight, watching Lily tuck her hair into her knit hat and smile at something as small as a kid throwing snowballs by the entrance, I knew I couldn’t pretend forever.

“Lily” I said quietly.

She turned, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Yeah?”

I exhaled a cloud of breath that vanished instantly into the dark. Words weren’t my strong suit but she deserved something. Some  sort of warning.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”

Her smile faltered, just a little, but she didn’t look away. “Oh?”

I nodded, gripping my skis tighter. “This… isn’t really my world. Aspenridge. Ski lessons. Quiet days. I came here because I needed to get away for a while.”

Her gaze searched mine, like she was trying to read what I wasn’t saying. “Get away from what?”

I hesitated. The honest answer sat heavy on my tongue: the endless meetings, the constant headlines, the billion-dollar empire I never asked for but couldn’t escape. But I swallowed it down. If I told her, everything between us would change.

“From the noise” I said instead. “From expectations. Back home, there are a lot of people who think they know me. Who need me to be a certain version of myself. It gets… exhausting.”

Lily was quiet for a beat. The snow kept falling, steady, patient. Finally, she asked , “Do you want to go back?”

Her voice was soft, but the question hit harder than anything else she could have said.

Did I?

I thought about my phone, probably buzzing in my room right now with missed calls and urgent texts. I thought about my assistant, who had begged me to cut this trip short. I thought about shareholders, board members, press. The constant performance of being him.

Then I thought about today. About the way Lily had cheered when I made it down the hill without falling. About the way she’d laughed, bright and unrestrained, when I’d compared my skiing to a wounded penguin. About the granola bar she’d shared with me like it was some priceless delicacy.

Did I want to go back? No.

But did I have a choice? That was the real question.

“I don’t know” I said finally. My voice was low, almost lost to the wind. “Not really. But it’s not that simple.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. She didn’t press, though. She didn’t ask for details, didn’t push me to explain. Most people would have. Most people always did. But Lily just accepted it.

That nearly undid me.

We reached the steps of the lodge. The lanterns above the door threw soft circles of light onto the snow, catching in Lily’s hair. A few flakes had landed there, sparkling like they belonged. Without thinking, I reached out and brushed them away. My fingers lingered just a fraction too long.

Her breath caught.

“You make this place harder to leave” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Her eyes widened, just slightly, but she didn’t look away. She smiled. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

“It’s true.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. The snow kept falling, the world around us carrying on as if nothing monumental had just passed between two people on the lodge steps. But to me, it felt like everything had shifted.

She pulled her hat down tighter over her ears and gave me that teasing smile again, though softer this time. “Goodnight, Jake. Try not to fall out of bed.”

I managed a laugh, though my chest ached. “Goodnight, Lily.”

She turned and walked into the lodge, disappearing into the golden glow. I stood there for a long time, skis heavy on my shoulder, hands cold even in my gloves.

I’d come here to disappear. To escape the world that demanded too much of me. But with her, I felt more seen than I had in years. More of myself.

A clear sign of how painful it will be to leave her.