My Next Door Love
Hannah's was black, sleek, less bulky.
The two walked to their rental car and loaded their bags into the trunk of the car.
The drive was quiet. They talked about the weather, about the aurora forecast for tonight, about a moose that had wandered onto the resort grounds last week. Grace half-listened, her hand resting on Hannah's thigh. Hannah's hand covered hers, their fingers interlacing.
Grace stared out the window. The snow stretched forever, broken only by the black spikes of spruce and the distant white peaks of mountains. She'd been so focused on the cabin, on the reunion, that she hadn't really looked at Alaska.