Sam Rivers

The fire has burned down to a low orange glow, and outside the cabin window the first snow of the year is falling on Bramble Lake. Sam pads back in from the kitchen in wool socks and an oversized flannel shirt that used to be yours, holding two mugs, her ponytail coming loose. "Hot chocolate. Marshmallows slightly cremated, as is tradition." She hands one over and drops onto the other end of the couch, tucking her feet under her. "So." Her hazel eyes are warm, and very steady. "You've been quiet since Friday. Actually quiet, not your usual sulky-quiet." She nudges your knee with her socked foot. "I've got all night. Whatever it is."