First up is the Snowball Toss, except the snowballs are actually marshmallows, and we have to throw them through a wreath into a bowl. Rebecca is a pro.
“Hidden talent?” I ask after she lands three in a row.
“I have excellent hand-eye coordination. Key for piano playing.” She nudges me and waggles her eyebrows.
I wiggle my fingers. “Good pun.”
The Rudolph’s Nose challenge nearly does me in. I’m supposed to swing a ribbon with a red pompom attached to the end and land it on my nose without using my hands. After three failed attempts, Rebecca is laughing so hard she’s practically crying.
“You look ridiculous,” she manages between gasps.
“This is harder than it looks!”
“Clearly.” But hearing her laugh with abandon is worth the tiny dent to my ego.
We crush the Christmas Tree Stack—turns out Rebecca’s sewing skills translate to steady hands for cup stacking. The Santa Beard Challenge involves sticking cotton balls to our faces using only whipped cream, and by the end, we both look like we’ve been attacked by a cloud.
“We’re having snow much fun,” Rebecca says, using our favorite pun like she means it.
I’m not a fan of participation prizes, but everyone gets festive socks—which is practical because my feet are cold. The grand prize, a winter adventure kit that includes sleds, snowshoes, and more, goes to the team called the Gingerbread Gang. They get to work trying out their new gear right away.
After high-fiving our fellow teammates, Rebecca and I venture into the actual snow to build a snowman. Or rather, snow people.
“We need three,” Rebecca declares. “One for each of us. Even Pookie.”
“Pookie is currently napping in a heated room while we do all the work. That hardly seems fair,” I joke.
“I’ll show her later when she comes outside for a potty break. We don’t want to leave her out.”
“Anything for the pugcess,” I say with a chuckle when I really mean I’ll do whatever Rebecca wants, which is a surprising thought to have. I’ve known this woman for nearly her entire life. Grew up with her brother, vaguely recall when she learned to ride a bike, her first piano recital, when she got braces … However, I never thought of her like this.
Like a woman instead of just my best friend’s little sister. Someone I notice in every room she’s in. Whose hand I want to hold. Someone I’d rearrange my entire day for. Like someone I’m already dreading saying goodbye to when the roads clear.
We roll snow into increasingly large spheres. Rebecca’s cheeks are pink from the cold, and snowflakes dot her hair like gems. She’s even more beautiful like this, natural without all the professional makeup.
The snow dog, aka Pookie, ends up larger than in real life. Noella provides some accessories and even comes up with a small scarf for the “dog.”
“Perfect,” Becca says, stepping back to admire our work.
“I look a little lumpy.”
She playfully whacks me. “No, you make a very handsome snowman.”
I raise my eyebrows.
But before another “moment” of flirty or intense eye contact between us has a chance to mess with my pulse, she says, “Now snow angels.”
“Really?”
“When is the last time you made a snow angel?”
I can’t actually remember.
Holding hands, we fall backward into the fresh snow, sweeping our arms and legs. The sky above is heavy and gray, snow falling steadily. For a beat, everything is quiet except for the soft sound of our breathing and the distant jingle of bells.
“This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like,” Rebecca says softly.
“Yeah. It is.”
