February 14th, 2000

The sun lied to us.

It hung in a sky so blue it looked like a painted backdrop, the kind of day that belonged in July. But it wasn't warm, at all. Every breath plumed in front of me.

Makaylah was a few steps ahead, her back to me. The red and black plaid of the overshirt she'd thrown on this morning was bright against the sky. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail that swayed with each step, exposing the nape of her neck.

I adjusted the straps of my backpack. Inside, nestled between two bottles of water, was a small thermos of my mom's leftover cha, still lukewarm, and two Ziploc bags containing a slightly squashed egg salad sandwich and a handful of chocolate chip cookies that I'd swiped from the cookie jar.

"You planning on staring at my ass all day?" she called over her shoulder, not even turning around.

A grin spread across my face. "Just admiring the view," I shot back. "It's the highlight of this nature walk."

She stopped, turning to face me. She propped one hand on her hip, a playful challenge. "Nature walk?" she scoffed. "You're so full of it, I can tell you're getting tired." She started walking again, but this time she waited for me to fall into step beside her.

"Full of it, huh?" I said. "I seem to remember someone who was full of it on Saturday morning."

She shot me a look. "Don't be gross."

"Right," I said, nodding solemnly. "My bad."

We walked in a comfortable silence for a while. The only sounds were the crunch of our boots, the whisper of a light breeze, and the distant caw of a crow. The trail was steep, a winding path that climbed steadily up the side of the mountain. My thighs, still sore from Saturday's game and yesterday's practice, were starting to burn.

We rounded a bend, and the trail opened up into a small, flat clearing. A fallen log, stripped of its bark and worn smooth by years of weather and backsides, sat in the middle of the clearing. This was it.

"Well, well," Makaylah said, walking over to the log and running a hand along its surface. "Mr. Dhami, you've outdone yourself. Five-star accommodations."

"Only the best," I said, slipping the backpack off my shoulders and dropping it onto the snow with a soft thud.

I unzipped the main compartment. "And for your dining pleasure..."

I pulled out the thermos and the two Ziploc bags, arranging them on the log like a gourmet spread.

"Egg salad," she said, her voice flat. "You brought me egg salad on Valentine's Day."

I looked up. She was grinning.

"What?" I said. "The eggs were laid with love. The bread was sliced with affection. The mayonnaise was mixed with tender devotion."

She let out a throaty laugh. "You are such an idiot."

"Your idiot," I said, handing her a sandwich.

She took it, her fingers brushing against mine. We ate in silence, sitting side-by-side on the log. The sun was high enough now to provide a sliver of real warmth. I could feel it on the back of my neck.

The sandwich was exactly what you'd expect an egg salad sandwich that had been in a backpack to be. A bit squashed, and a little damp. We ate in comfortable silence, sharing a bottle of water, the sun warming our faces. The valley spread out below us. The town of Fernie was a distant cluster of roofs, smoke curling from chimneys into the air.

I finished the last bite and crumpled the plastic bag, stuffing it into a pocket. Makaylah leaned her head against my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

"Thirteen years," she said.

"Thirteen years," I repeated. "Since the swings."

"You had cooties," she said, a smile in her voice.

"I did not," I shot back. "You were the one with cooties. I was just trying to be nice and push you."

"You pushed me right off the swing," she laughed. "Landed face-first in the woodchips. Had a splinter in my chin for a week."

I grinned, leaning down to kiss the spot where the splinter had been. "My bad."

She tilted her head up, her brown eyes finding mine. "Remember our first 'real' date?"

I groaned, hiding my face in her hair. "God, don't remind me. I wore that stupid shirt. And way too much gel."

"You looked like a greasy Backstreet Boy," she teased, poking me in the ribs. "You were so nervous. You kept stepping on my feet."

We were quiet for a moment, the weight of all those shared years settling between us. I thought about the other girls, the ones Sean was always chasing. The fleeting, temporary connections that seemed to be the norm for guys our age. What we had wasn't like that at all. It was a history.

"You remember after my dad left?" she asked.

I tightened my arm around her.

"Yeah," I said. "I remember."

My dad had already been gone for a few years by then, but her dad leaving was different. It was louder, messier.

"My mom tried to make it better with pancakes," Makaylah said. "But she just stood at the counter and cried. So I left. Walked all the way to your house," she continued.

"And I was making a mess in the garage," I said, the memory crystal clear. "Trying to build that stupid go-kart out of a lawnmower engine."

She let out a soft laugh against my shoulder. "It was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen."

"Hey! It had potential," I said, feigning offense.

"You found me in your driveway," she said, her voice getting softer still. "And you didn't say anything. You just handed me a wrench."

"I was lost," I said. "Figured you could help."

She was quiet for a long moment. "We just worked on that stupid thing until the sun went down. Your mom made us grilled cheese."

Makaylah shifted, turning her body to face me more fully. She looked up at me, her eyes shining with an unshed tear. She reached up, her cold fingers tracing the line of my jaw. She leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were cold.

When she pulled back, her gaze was intense. She had that look in her eye. She swung one leg over me, straddling me, careful not to lose her balance on the log. I put my hands on her hips, steadying her. Her eyes never left mine.

She kissed my neck, a trail of soft, warm kisses that made my whole body tense up. Her hands found the hem of my hoodie, her cold fingers slipping underneath and tracing the warm skin of my stomach.

Her kisses moved up my jawline, her lips soft and insistent. I tilted my head back, giving her better access. Her tongue flicked against my earlobe, and a low groan escaped my throat.

She pulled back, her breathing shallow. Her eyes held a challenging glint. She reached down, her fingers fumbling with the hem of the t-shirt she wore underneath the flannel. She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. The cold air hit her skin, and I saw the goosebumps rise on her arms. She tossed the shirt onto the backpack, not caring where it landed. But she left the plaid overshirt on, unbuttoned and hanging open.

She leaned back, her hands braced on my thighs for balance. She lifted one hip, then the other. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her denim shorts. She slid them down over her hips, down her thighs, and finally over the heavy hiking boots she still wore. She kicked them aside, and they landed near her discarded shirt.

"Fuck," I breathed out, the word a puff of white in the air.

A smile spread across her face. She liked that. She liked that she could do this to me.

She leaned in, her hair falling around our faces. Her lips found my neck, her kisses hot and demanding. My hands moved from her hips, sliding up the smooth skin of her back, feeling the shiver that ran through her. I pulled her closer.

My own clothes felt like a barrier. She helped me, her hands finding the zipper and pulling it down. I shrugged out of the jacket, letting it fall onto the log behind me.

She pulled back, her eyes dark. Her hands went to the waistband of my sweatpants. She hooked her fingers into the fabric, pulling it down just enough to free me. The cold air was a shock, but the heat of her hand as she wrapped it around me was even more intense.

She stroked me once, twice, her grip firm, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture at the tip. I watched her face, watched the way her lower lip was caught between her teeth, the way her eyes were focused on my reaction. She lifted her hips, positioning herself.

She sank down on me, slow. The initial stretch, the fullness of it, made us both gasp. Her head fell back, her exposed throat an elegant line against the blue sky. Her fingers dug into my shoulders.

For a moment, we were still.

Her moves started slow. Her hips rolled against mine, a grinding motion that sent jolts of pleasure through me. Her hands moved from my shoulders to my chest, her palms flat against me. She leaned forward, changing the angle. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

My hands slid down her back, gripping her ass, pulling her harder against me with every downstroke. The flannel of her overshirt was still on, flapping open around us.

"Christ," I grunted.

"Look at me," she commanded, her voice a husky whisper.

I did. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her eyes dark pools of desire. She increased her pace, her movements becoming more urgent.

My grip on her tightened. With a grunt of effort, I planted my feet and stood up, lifting her with me. Her legs, which had been braced against the log, automatically wrapped around my waist, her hiking boots hooking together at the small of my back.

My thighs, already burning from the hike and the memory of a hundred sprints, screamed in protest at the new strain. The air, which had been merely cold before, now felt like a thousand tiny needles.

"Holy shit," she breathed into my ear.

My answer was to take a step. I found my footing, my core tightening to anchor us. And then I drove back into her.

The angle was deeper. A choked moan escaped her lips, her head falling onto my shoulder.

I started to move. Each thrust was a deep piston of my hips, my feet planted for leverage. I held her, one arm banded securely around her lower back, the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head to the side so I could bite at the sensitive skin of her neck. I wasn't gentle. The bite was possessive. Her body arched against mine.

"God, don't stop," she begged, her words broken by the force of my movements. "Please, don't stop."

I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. The ache in my legs was distant. She was everywhere. The smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, the desperate sounds she was making.

Her own hips started to move, meeting me thrust for thrust, her legs tightening around my waist, pulling me deeper. She threw her head back, a silent scream caught in her throat. I felt her clench around me, a series of deep pulses. Her body went rigid in my arms, then slack, a full-body shudder wracking her frame.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice a raw, hoarse thing. "Stop."

I went completely still, buried inside her. The cold air burned in my lungs. I could feel the frantic beat of her heart against my chest.

"Too much," she breathed, her face still buried in my shoulder. "God... too much."

I just held her, my arms banded tight around her, supporting her full weight.

After a long moment, she stirred. She pushed herself up, her arms shaking. Her eyes met mine. They were hazy.

"Put me down," she said, her voice a command.

My legs screamed in protest, the muscles locking up. I stumbled as I bent my knees, gently setting her down.

She took a step back, her gaze holding mine. She turned away from me and bent over. She placed her hands flat on the fallen log, the worn wood cool beneath her palms. She presented herself to me, her firm, rounded ass offered up.

I took a step forward. I placed a hand on the small of her back, my skin warm against hers. I felt her shiver. With my other hand, I guided myself back to her entrance.

I pushed in.

I drove into her with a deep stroke. The sound she made was half gasp, half sob. My hands gripped her hips, my fingers digging into the firm muscle, holding her steady for what was to come.

This wasn't about her anymore. This was for me.

I set a brutal pace. The slap of my hips against her ass echoed in the quiet clearing. Each thrust was deep.

My fingers tightened on her hips. I was watching myself disappear into her, watching the flesh of her ass ripple with each impact.

I could feel it coming. My movements became erratic, my rhythm breaking. My breath hitched. I pulled out, the sudden emptiness a shock.

My own fist wrapped around my shaft, my strokes slick and fast. My head was thrown back, my eyes squeezed shut. The first spasm hit me like a fist.

I came. Hot, thick streams striped across her back. I watched as it painted her, marking her. My strokes slowed, milking every last drop, until I was completely empty.

My knees felt weak. I leaned against the log for support.

I saw her shiver. I reached down and grabbed the t-shirt I had been wearing. I gently wiped her clean, the fabric rough against her skin.

She turned, her movements slow. Her plaid shirt hung open, her body flushed. Her eyes were dark. She took a step toward me.

She leaned in, her lips finding mine. The kiss was slow.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I murmured against her lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, you idiot," she whispered back.