The Fire Lookout – Part 2: Clear Sky

The storm broke at dawn.

Rachel woke to light flooding every window, a clean golden blaze over a washed-clean sky. The range lay below them in endless folds, blue and silver, mist rising from the valleys like smoke from chimneys. She stood at the glass in Wade's flannel shirt with a mug of coffee and forgot to breathe.

"Good morning," said Wade, behind her.

"Wade. Look."

"I know. I see it every day. It's never the same."

She leaned into the glass. He stood beside her, not touching, but near, his warmth along her arm.

They spent the day on the catwalk. He showed her how to read smoke, how to use the firefinder, how to tell weather from the smell of the air. In the evening they cooked on the little stove and ate on the steps, watching the sun melt into the far ridge. The sky turned orange, then rose, then violet. The first stars came out hard and bright.

"Can I ask you something?" said Rachel.

"Yes."

"Is it very selfish to want to stay another night?"

"It's the opposite," said Wade. "It's the kindest thing anyone's said."

"May I kiss you?"

He let out a soft breath. "Yes. And if you say stop, you must finish the trail and come back and tell me about it."

"That's the best punishment I've ever heard."

She kissed him, gently, in the last light, her hand against his bearded cheek. He kissed her back with slow, unhurried care, tasting of coffee and woodsmoke. The wind sighed round the lookout, and below them the whole sleeping valley glowed.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Rachel. "Very green."

She finished the trail in October. On the last day, she hiked back to the summit, and the door was already open.

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