Belle
He flew out last night for a meeting he had this morning, and then he’s flying back here tonight. So he told Holden to keep me company.
Claire
Please tell me you are breaking up with him as soon as he gets back.
Ethan
Send me his number. I’ll break up with him for you.
Ethan might have been my younger brother, but that didn’t make him any less protective.
Belle
I need to get ready for the snowman-building competition. I’ll text you two later.
We ended the chat with both of them making me promise to give them the play-by-play of the snowman-building activity afterward, to which I reluctantlyagreed. They could be a lot sometimes, but I loved them dearly.
I set down my phone with a sigh and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were still a little pink from scrubbing the frosting from them—or maybe from talking about Holden—and my hair was a little messier than usual. But I didn’t bother fixing it. For once, I didn’t want to. It felt good to not have every hair in place.
I slipped on my coat and boots, heading down to the courtyard where the competition was being held. The air was crisp and smelled like pine and snow, and I could already hear the buzz of people gathering outside. Laughter. Christmas music. The crunch of fresh snow underfoot.
My eyes searched the crowd, and knowing that I’d soon be with Holden had my stomach doing funny things.
After my sibling group chat, I just hoped I could get through this snowman-building contest without overanalyzing every glance or smile he gave me. Or worse, letting myself want more of them. It didn’t help that both my siblings were rooting for me to get together with the hot hockey player.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind me.
It probably wasn’t a good sign that I already knew the deep timbre of his voice and that hearing it raised goosebumps on my skin. Thankfully, my coat hid the effect he had on me.
I turned to find Holden making his way over, a knitbeanie pulled low over his ears. He looked ridiculously good in the winter light, smirking like he didn’t know the kind of effect he had. Or maybe he did.
“I hope you’re ready to show off your snowman-building skills,” he said, falling into step beside me. “I don’t like to lose.”
“I’ll have you know I am the reigning snowman-building champion in my family,” I said haughtily. “If we lose, that’s on you.”
His smirk grew. “A Christmas-sugar-cookie–decorating connoisseuranda snowman-building champion?” He was clearly amused, and I found that I loved that expression on him. “Is there anything Christmas related you can’t do?”
“Nope,” I smiled. “I don’t think so. Christmas is my specialty.”
He chuckled. “Bold talk for someone who had frosting all over her face an hour ago.”
I laughed, swatting at him playfully as we walked toward the activity area, but it only made him smile.
The courtyard had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Several roped-off sections of snow marked where teams could build their snowmen, each one with a little wooden sign displaying a team number. Tables lined the edges of the space, filled with scarves, hats, buttons, carrots, and all kinds of creative decorations. A speaker played upbeat holiday music, and someone was passing out cups of hot cocoa to the participants.
The entire setting felt like something out of aholiday movie. Wholesome, festive, and absolutely magical.
And maybe a little dangerous too—at least, for a woman who was trying not to fall for her boyfriend’s cousin.
But I wasn’t going to think about that. I was going to focus on building the best snowman and winning this competition.
“Let’s be team nine before someone takes it,” I said, passing the other available numbers and heading over to the sign that had the number nine in front of one of the sections.
“Why nine?” he asked.
“Because it’s your jersey number.” I’d seen people wearing his jersey here, as well as people bringing him their jerseys to sign at the VIP event—including the one he had signed for me. “Hopefully it will bring us luck.”
