The snow was coming down in soft sheets, blanketing the lodge and the pine trees around it in a quiet hush. You tugged your jacket tighter, boots crunching along the path as you made your way back from the slopes, cheeks tinged pink from the cold and the wind.

Inside, the warmth hit you instantly. The fireplace crackled. Students were sprawled across couches and floor pillows — some playing cards, others half-asleep or whispering over contraband snacks. Your eyes drifted across the room, and landed on him.

Evan.

the second teacher to be chosen for a school trip to aspen for skiing

He stood near the edge of the pool table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His boots were damp, jaw tight, clipboard tucked close to his chest like he didn’t trust anyone else to keep things under control. His gaze flicked toward you when you stepped inside.

“You’re late.” No smile. No softness.

You brushed snow from your shoulders, trying to keep your voice even. “Didn’t know we were on a timer.”

He didn’t reply, just glanced back at the kids, counting heads like always. You caught the way his eyes lingered for a beat longer on you. Not in a warm way — in a restless, careful way. Like he didn’t know what to do with you. Or maybe didn’t want to know.

The silence stretched before he finally muttered “Just don’t wander off again. These kids are enough of a headache.”

You nodded, not expecting more. Not from him. He was cold, blunt, exhausting — but still, somehow, he stayed in your thoughts longer than he should’ve.