The porch was a rectangle of orange light and moving snow. Callum shoveled with more force than technique. Briar took the spare shovel leaning on the railing and worked the other end of the steps without preamble. For a while there was only scrape and breath.
"I was wrong to aim at you like that," she said finally. "You didn't turn me into entertainment. I hated feeling seen in a room full of strangers, and you were standing close enough to catch the blast."
Callum rested on the shovel handle. Snow flecked his dark hair. "I was wrong to enjoy the applause even for half a second. I did. That's the part that stung when you named it."
Briar blinked. Most people defended. He inventoried.
"I still don't want a translator," she said.
"I still don't want to be cast as the generous man in someone else's crisis," he said. "Even when I choose the generous thing."
They shoveled until the steps were a rough compromise with the storm. Inside, Piper was restocking tea bags with the intensity of penance. Briar stopped at the desk.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you in front of people," Briar said. "The assessment is private. The ski mix-up is already too public. If anyone asks again, you can say the mountain closed and leave my résumé out of it."
Piper nodded hard, eyes wet. "I'm sorry I merged the lists. And the announcement. I wanted to fix something visible."
"Fix the cocoa," Briar said, gentler. "You're already good at that."
Redmond, passing with a mug, muttered, "Repair completed. Try not to break the lobby again before dessert."
Dessert was canned peaches and a cake someone had found in the freezer and resuscitated. The Keanes reappeared. Conversation resumed at a lower altitude. Callum sat two chairs away from Briar at first, then one, then—when she angled her body in invitation—across the corner of the same table. Nearby, renegotiated.
After the children went up, Brendan asked Callum about doors, and Callum talked about grain matching and why cheap hinges announced themselves in the night like guilty consciences. Briar listened and learned the sound of his competence when it was not aimed at her. She offered, in turn, a story about teaching a group of teenagers to read avalanche reports without turning fear into theater. Redmond corrected two of her metaphors and endorsed three of her methods, which from him was a standing ovation.
Evening brought a power flicker that made Sable squeak and Arlo cheer and Piper swear under her breath in a way that suggested she had learned swearing from professionals. The lights steadied. Callum appeared at Briar's elbow with two mugs again—tea this time, because he had asked Piper what Briar had requested at breakfast and Piper, traitorously helpful, had remembered.
"You can spend the evening being competent," Callum said. "I was hoping you'd let me sit nearby while you do."
Briar's small smile from the night before returned with interest. "Nearby is still negotiable. Competence is not shared custody."
"I wouldn't dare."