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Winter arrived early that year. The first snowfall covered the ground like a timid blanket, barely a white whisper over the rooftops of Cicely. From radio station K-BHR, Chris Stevens's voice floated through the icy air like a poem without an owner.
"Sometimes love doesn't scream, or demand. Sometimes love is just a shared cup of coffee, or a look that can't be held because it burns too much," he said, as if speaking to someone in particular.
Downstairs in the workshop, Ed listened silently. He adjusted an old Super 8 camera, but his attention was focused on the radio. He didn't know if Chris was talking about anyone... but his heart did that little leap it used to make whenever he spoke.
Ed was clumsy with words. He knew how to talk about Fellini, visions, ancestral spirits... but he couldn't say "I love you" without getting the syllables tangled up. Chris, for his part, was all charisma and freedom, but with certain silences that still weighed on him. Especially when those silences took the form of Ed.
One afternoon, they went up to the frozen lake together. They carried a thermos of hot chocolate, an old flashlight, and that gentle habit of seeking each other out without saying anything. They sat under a fir tree, wrapped in a blanket.
"You know, Ed?" Chris said, looking at the sky. "There are things you don't say out of fear, but they feel like a lighthouse in the fog."
Ed looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
"I... sometimes I dream that you and I live in a tiny house. With a wood stove and a cat. And you read poetry to me before we go to sleep."
Chris smiled. It ached with tenderness. It burned with sweetness.
"Hey... that doesn't sound like a bad dream. It sounds like something I want too."
Then, in that undisturbed silence, Chris took his hand and held it carefully, as if it were something fragile. Their noses touched. It was clumsy. It was sweet. It was a small kiss, barely a touch… but one of those kisses that are given with fear and love at the same time. One of those that you remember forever.
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The next morning, at Holling's Café, Maggie was flipping through a newspaper. When Ed walked in, smiling and nervous, she watched him without looking up.
"Hi, Ed."
"Hi, Maggie..." he replied, lowering his gaze as if he'd just been mischievous.
She smiled faintly.
"Are you okay?"
"Me? Yeah. Sure. Fine. Normal... why?"
"I don't know... you have the face of someone who just kissed someone and is still floating."
Ed froze. He tried to reply, but only managed to make loose sounds as if his vowels had evaporated. Maggie put her cup on the table and came closer.
"Don't worry, Ed. You don't have to say anything. Just... you look happy. And that's okay."
Ed wondered how Maggie knew, but, of all people, Maggie seemed to have eyes everywhere, as if she was always hovering in her small plane over things happening in town at just the right moment. Finally, he asked, "Doesn't that seem odd to you?"
She thought about it for a second.
"Ed... we're in Cicely. The sanest guy in town is a moose crossing the street. If you and Chris are getting along... it makes me happy. Honestly."
Ed smiled, his eyes twinkling.
"Thanks, Maggie."
"Also," she added, winking at him. "It's about time someone managed to shut Chris up with a kiss."
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A few days later, they climbed the old observation tower together. Chris said he wanted to film the sky, but the last thing he cared about was the sky itself, and the camera ended up forgotten in a corner. There, among creaking boards and clean air, they kissed again.
This time, longer. More true.
They didn't hear the footsteps. They didn't feel the creak of the stairs.
"Chris! Are you up there? I need your opinion on the dispensary generator!" Maurice's voice cracked through the air like thunder.
They broke apart suddenly. Ed's heart sank. Chris jumped up. It was too late.
Maurice appeared in the opening on the upper floor. And he saw them. Together. Still flushed, their lips barely trembling.
The silence was longer than any of his patriotic speeches.
"What the hell…?"
Chris stood up. He took a deep breath.
"It's not what you expected to see, I know. But it's not something we're ashamed of, either."
Maurice looked down. He swallowed. He pressed his lips together.
"Ed... are you all right?"
The boy nodded bravely, with a firmness that came from his soul.
"Yes, sir. I'm happy."
Maurice took a deep breath. He took a step back. Then another.
"Well... I guess... there are stranger things in Cicely."
And he left.
The footsteps coming down sounded heavy but slow. No hatred. No scandal.
Chris sat back down next to Ed. He took his hand.
"Was that acceptance?" Ed asked.
"I don't know. But it wasn't rejection. And that... that's a lot," Chris replied before capturing his lips again.
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That night, on the radio, Chris read Walt Whitman:
"You gave me the purest part of yourself without speaking, and I knew that true love needs no embellishment."
And in the warm darkness of his room, Ed smiled with his eyes closed.