Chapter 62: A Walk in the Snow

Lisa’s POV

The morning after the town hall felt quieter than normal, almost suspiciously so. Ottawa had a strange way of wrapping itself in silence after a storm, as if the city knew when to hold its breath. I arrived early to the meeting spot—an old stone courtyard behind the coalition building—my boots sinking softly into the fresh snow.

It was still snowing, but gently, lazily, like the sky was tired too.

I hugged my coat tighter and glanced around. Nobody else had arrived yet, which made sense. It was still early, and after last night’s emotional chaos, nobody wanted a dawn meeting.

Nobody except Leo, apparently.

I heard footsteps to my right. Slow. Steady. Self-assured. And then he appeared from around the corner, perfectly unbothered by the cold, hands casually in his coat pockets.

My breath faltered.

He looked… different in the morning. Softer somehow. His usually sharp expression was still there, but muted by the pale light and falling snow.

“You’re early,” he said as he approached.

“So are you,” I replied.

“I told you to call when you got home last night,” he reminded me.

“I did.”

“And I didn’t like how tired you sounded,” he added, almost quietly.

I blinked. “Is that why we’re meeting at dawn? To check if I’m still alive?”

“No,” he said, then after a beat, “Partially.”

I sighed, but my lips curved anyway. “Leo, we could’ve met inside where it’s warm.”

He tilted his head, looking at the snow drifting between us. “I thought a walk would be better.”

“A walk,” I repeated slowly. “In this weather?”

“Yes.” His eyes softened. “You need fresh air more than you need a conference table today.”

The strange thing? He was right.

Without waiting for my approval, he started walking toward the open walkway beside the courtyard. I hesitated, then followed, the snow crunching softly under both our feet.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The world around us felt muted—just white rooftops, frozen branches, and the sound of our steps marking a rhythm neither of us rushed. It wasn’t an awkward silence; it was… grounding.

Leo walked a little ahead, his strides long, confident. I noticed the small things — the way his breath misted the air in slow, controlled puffs, the way he occasionally looked back to make sure I wasn’t walking too far behind, the way snowflakes clung to his dark hair and didn’t melt right away.

I didn’t know I was staring until he glanced sideways at me.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head quickly. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.” His lips twitched, barely a smile. “It’s fine. Stare all you want.”

The heat rising up my neck had nothing to do with the cold wind.

I looked away, pretending to be interested in a nearby lamppost dripping with icicles. “Focus. We’re supposed to talk about strategy.”

“We will.” His voice dropped lower, warmer. “But for now, just walk.”

So I did.

We walked side by side along the quiet street, our breaths filling the air like little ghosts. Every few steps, Leo’s arm brushed mine—not enough to be intentional, but enough that each touch sent a tiny spark through my body.

“So,” he finally said, “about Andre.”

My shoulders tensed automatically. “What about him?”

“I’ve been following everything,” he said. “The interviews. The backlash. The reactions from his team.”

“You have?” I tried to hide the surprise in my voice.

“Yes.” He slowed his pace slightly so we were aligned. “You’ve made more progress in three weeks than most activists make in a year.”

A flicker of pride warmed my chest, but I pushed it down. “It’s not enough yet.”

“It will be,” he said confidently. “You’re relentless.”

“And is that a compliment?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

His honesty felt heavier than the cold around us.

We turned toward the riverside path, the snow crunching louder now. Leo put his hands back into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the icy wind. For once, he wasn’t filling the silence with orders or sharp comments. He was just… here.

Present.

Listening.

I glanced up at him again. “Why are you so quiet today?”

“Because you need someone who listens more than someone who speaks,” he said simply.

The words slid into me gently, warm and disarming.

“Since when do you listen?” I asked lightly, trying to deflect the emotion rising in my throat.

He exhaled a soft laugh. “Since I met someone worth listening to.”

I froze. Just a little. He didn’t notice—or maybe he did but pretended not to.

The snow kept falling around us, quieting the world even more. It felt like we were walking in our own little bubble, sealed off from reality.

“Lisa,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a tone too careful, too measured. “I meant what I said last night.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

That didn’t help. I swallowed. “You said a lot.”

He slowed again, almost stopping, turning toward me fully. Snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, making him look unfairly human.

“I said you sounded like you were carrying the world,” he reminded me. “And I hate that you think you have to do that alone.”

I looked down at the snow, kicking it lightly with my boot. “I don’t trust easily. You know that.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But trust builds slowly. Like this.”

“Like walking in the snow?” I asked.

“Like letting someone walk beside you,” he corrected.

My throat tightened. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear something like that until he said it. I’d been walking alone for so long, pushing through storms and silence and grief, that having someone next to me felt… foreign.

And frightening.

And strangely comforting.

We continued walking, our pace slower now, our steps more synchronized. I found myself stealing glances again—the way Leo’s jaw clenched against the cold, the way his voice softened only when he spoke to me, the way he occasionally looked at me like he was cataloging every detail of my expression.

“Lisa,” he said softly, “I’m impressed.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“By you.” His eyes held mine, unwavering. “You think this fight is eating you alive, but you forget something.”

“What?”

“You’re winning.”

A breath escaped me—a shaky one I wasn’t prepared for.

“Don’t say things like that,” I whispered. “It makes me feel…”

“Feel what?” he asked quietly.

“Something.”

His lips curved just slightly, almost teasing, but his eyes were warm. “Good.”

A small flicker in my chest grew warmer, brighter, harder to ignore. It spread slowly, like heat under cold skin. I didn’t pull away from it. Not this time.

We walked a little farther until the river came into view, half-frozen and shimmering. I stopped to look at it, and Leo stopped beside me without needing to be asked.

Snow kept falling, delicate and quiet.

“Lisa,” he said again, voice low, “I’m on your side.”

The warmth grew stronger.

I didn’t say anything back—not yet. But I didn’t need to.

And for the first time, warmth didn’t feel like betrayal.

It felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t ready for…but maybe, finally, willing to want.