“I don’t have any siblings, and my parents decided to go on a cruise.” She tips her glass in mock salute, golden liquid nearly sloshing over the rim. “And I’m not a runner, but Iama sucker. Which is how Holly convinced me to come here, despite the fact that I’ve never expressed an interest in operating a wood stove, or having zero cell service, or snow. In fact, I’ve always been morally opposed to those things.”
“You’remorally opposedto snow?” I raise an eyebrow. Can’t wait for her reasoning here.
“Yes,” she says, glass clunking on the table. “For one, my name means snow in Welsh. It’s exhausting having to constantly correct pronunciation or deal with people being like,‘Oooh that sounds so foreign, where are you from?’and I have to awkwardly tell them I was born and raised here.”
“I think it’s beautiful,” I respond honestly.
“Plus, snow is awful. Would you like me to list the ways snow wreaks havoc on everything?”
“Nah, I work outside. I know all too well. Winter’s a pain in the ass. But if you get the chance to go into town again, take a drive past the elementary school and look at the snowmen lining the yard. That’s my favourite thing about winter.”
“The snowmen?” There’s that adorable nose scrunch again. “Fun fact, I’ve never made a snowman before.”
I propel forward, leaning far enough across the table, I can practically taste the bourbon on her breath. “Youhaven’t?”
She shakes her head with a small shrug.
Before I know what I’m doing, my chair’s scraping across the hardwood and I’m standing, clutching the liquor bottle and my glass while beckoning her to follow.
“Where are we—”
“You’ve lived in Canada your entire life andnevermade a snowman?”
“No snowmen, snow angels, igloos… basically all snowy activities.”
“I think that’s illegal, and we’re righting your wrongs immediately. Can’t risk you getting caught.” I hold out her jacket so she can slip her arms in then zip the front for her as she tugs on a toque. The scarf she’s been wearing isn’t going to cut the cold. I hold it up with an eyebrow raised, ignoring her insistence that it’scute, and grab one of my thick wool scarves to wrap around her neck.
“It’s dark out, you know,” she says, but the realization isn’t slowing her down. Soon she’s fully bundled, following me into the night.
We both pound back the last bit of liquid in our glasses, and everything about the world is hazy except her. She’s in full technicolor, smiling at me with a muted crescent moon at her back, full lips slightly parted and in desperate need of kissing. My gloved hands wring together to fight the urge to grab her arm and drag her into me.
“The snowman?” she asks hoarsely.
Right. The fucking snowman.
“Yeah. So, you start with a small ball, like for a snowball fight, and keep rolling it across the snow until it’s big enough.”
Squatting down, she packs a ball between her mittens. “I’ve never been in a snowball fight, either.”
“Of course you ha—” My sentence’s cut off by a snowball hitting hard in my chest.
The obvious culprit’s sitting with a sweet smile on her face, daintily putting together a new ball. Testing my resolve. All I want to do when I see that glimmer of mischief in her eyes is press into her with a brazenness I haven’t felt since the hotelelevator. But this is a friendly late-night snowball fight. That’s all.
“You’re a little shit,” I choke out. “Expect payback. You’re looking at my family’s snowball tournament champion.”
With a disgusted look, she lobs another my way. “Family snowball tournament? Suddenly the marathon-running in-laws are sounding more appealing.”
“Except violence is frowned upon in running. This is a full-contact sport.” I lightly toss a snowball in her direction, and she gawks at me when it explodes across her thigh.
“You mean I could tackle you?” There’s a terrifying glimmer in her eyes now. Knees straightening, she brushes powder from her legs.
“You could sure try.”
With that, Eira’s barrelling toward me in slow motion, held back by the shin-deep powder. And when her palms collide with my chest, I stagger backward, wrapping my arms around her instinctively. Nowhere close to a tackle. But now she’s pressed against me. A few errant strands of her hair tickle my nose, her heart slams against mine, and she looks up at me with the sweetest tipsy giggle.
“Oof, big guy. You’re built like a brick shithouse.”
At that, my head lolls back with a gut-busting laugh. When Eira joins in, I realize this is the best night I’ve had since… well, since the night at the bar with her. Before that? I’m unsure.
