“No man has ever said that to me.”
He looked almost angry at the world.
The Young Woman touched his face.
“Stay.”
The Mountain Man kissed her.
This time without hesitation.
Their intimacy remained theirs.
Not something the mountain needed to witness.
Not something the story needed to turn explicit to matter.
The important part was choice.
Every touch began where fear once lived and ended somewhere different.
She learned that desire could exist without surrender.
He learned that protecting someone did not mean deciding for them.
Sometimes she initiated.
Sometimes he did.
Sometimes either stopped.
No punishment.
No insult.
No wounded pride.
Only trust.
For the Young Woman, that was more radical than passion.
Spring arrived slowly.
Snow retreated from the lower ridge.
Water returned to the creek.
The Young Woman stood outside in one of the Mountain Man’s shirts, watching the first green appear beneath dead grass.
The Mountain Man came beside her.
“Pass opens soon.”
She nodded.
“You still going south?”
He looked toward the horizon.
“Usually.”
Her chest tightened.
“Usually.”
“Yes.”
She hated that word.
He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bad liar.”
She glared.
He smiled.
She had heard that once from another man.
The difference hurt.
The Mountain Man immediately saw something change.
His smile disappeared.
“What did I say?”
The Young Woman shook her head.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
She looked toward him.
“He used to say that.”
The Mountain Man waited.
She continued:
“Bad liar.”
He nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Still.”
The Young Woman looked toward the valley.
“Are you leaving?”
The Mountain Man answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
That hurt worse than yes.
She turned.
“After everything?”
He looked at her.
“After everything is exactly why.”
She stared.
He continued:
“If I stay, I need to know I’m not staying because you need a guard.”
“If I go, I need to know I’m not running because I’m afraid of wanting this.”
The Young Woman’s eyes narrowed.
“You make everything difficult.”
“Yes.”
“You could simply say you love me.”
The Mountain Man froze.
She had not planned the sentence.
Neither had he.
Silence.
The Young Woman’s face flushed.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
She started walking.
He caught her hand.
She stopped.
He did not pull.
Only held.
“I love you.”
The Young Woman turned.
The Mountain Man looked terrified.
That made her smile.
“You look miserable.”
“I hate this.”
She laughed.
He continued:
“I love you.”
“I don’t know how to be good at it.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“What if I leave?”