Page 46 of Landing Liam

“Same energy,” I counter, grinning as I grab a flashlight from the small emergency kit on the desk. “Come on, Cooper. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“Oh, I’m in,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “But if we get caught, this is all on you.”

I laugh as I open the door, motioning for her to follow. “Deal. Let’s go, partner-in-crime.”

Maggie steps into the dark hallway beside me, her earlier tension seemingly forgotten. Her shoulder brushes mine, and the subtle warmth of her presence sends a thrill through me. The only light filling the space are the emergency lights and the red EXIT sign at the end of the hall. It’s intimate and cozy. Actually, any space I’m in with Maggie feels intimate and cozy. I’ve never felt that way with someone before. She really is different.

“Alright,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Let’s find some snacks before we both starve.”

I glance at her, my grin widening. “You really know how to keep the stakes high.”

She laughs quietly, and I can’t help but think that this is the kind of night I’ll be replaying in my mind for a long time.

I shine the flashlight down the long hall, the beam cutting through the darkness like a beacon. At the end, the faint outline of a sign for the stairs glimmers. I tilt my head toward it, motioning for Maggie to follow as we quietly begin walking.

The silence is interrupted by the unmistakable groan of a door creaking open somewhere behind us. My pulse spikes as I immediately switch off the flashlight and grab Maggie’s hand. She grips mine firmly, her tenderness grounding me even in the sudden tension.

“Run!” I whisper, my voice low but urgent.

We take off, our hurried footsteps muffled by the carpeted hall. Laughter bubbles out of both of us as the adrenaline kicks in, the thrill of our impromptu adventure more exhilarating than anything I’ve felt in months. We reach the door to the stairs, and I swing it open. Maggie jumps through first, her hand still locked in mine, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Shhh!” I press a finger to my lips, tugging her close as I softly push the door shut behind us.

I back her up against the cold concrete wall, my body instinctively shielding hers. My arms rest on either side of her, and I lean in just enough to hear the faintest sounds beyond the door. The air is thick with the quiet anticipation.

“I think I heard someone,” I whisper, my breath fanning against her cheek.

She swallows audibly, her free hand landing against my chest. The feel of her touch through my shirt makes me hyperaware of the way our bodies are pressed together, the space between us nonexistent.

Her breaths are shallow, matching mine, and the air between us shifts. For the first time in years, the thought of not snowboarding doesn’t twist my stomach into knots. For the first time, I’m struck with the realization that life can offer something more—a connection deeper than the rush of a perfect run or the thrill of winning.

“Maggie,” I murmur softly, almost afraid to break the fragile tension hanging in the air.

She inhales sharply. And just like that, the world outside the stairwell fades, leaving only this moment, this feeling, and her.

I flick the flashlight back on, its beam slicing through the dim stairwell as I force myself to step away from Maggie. The cold air fills the space between us, but it’s not enough to cool the heat still simmering from our proximity.

“You think the coast is clear?” she asks quietly, her voice carrying a breathless edge that sends a ripple through me.

“Yeah,” I say, though my focus is split between the faint sounds beyond the door and the way she steps toward me, bridging the gap I just created. Her closeness makes it impossible to think straight, and for a moment, I’m overwhelmed by the urge to close the distance entirely.

I take a steadying breath and nod toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

The chill bites harder as we descend, wrapping itself around us. Maggie shivers beside me, her arms pulling closer to her body, and I instinctively shine the flashlight ahead, illuminating the way.

We’re quiet as we move, our steps careful on the worn stairs, but I can practically feel the buzz of Maggie’s thoughts. She’s somewhere far away, lost in her own mind. I want to ask what she’s thinking, but something tells me that if I’m patient, she’ll share on her own.

When we reach the first floor, I push the door open gently, the creak cutting through the stillness of the darkened lobby. A faint glow from the fireplace in the corner casts shadows across the room. A few people are huddled near it, wrapped in blankets, their faces pinched with exhaustion or frustration. They’re likely the ones who couldn’t get a room before the power went out.

“At least we only have one flight of stairs to climb back up,” Maggie whispers, her tone light but tired.

I nod and motion toward the kitchen. “This way.”

To my surprise, the kitchen door isn’t locked, and we slip inside without a sound. The faint scent of spices and baked goods lingers in the air, a welcome change from the cold. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask.

“Chocolate,” Maggie answers immediately. “And something salty.”

“Sweet and salty?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to hide my amusement.