“Good enough?”
“Yes.”
He sucked in air. “Thanks.” Questions rose up, each one begging to be answered. How was the opening? What about the pacing? Could she visualize the setting?
He swallowed them all. “Ready for some hot chocolate?”
“Sure.” Keeping her head down, she reached for the wrapping paper and tore off a small piece to use as a bookmark. She tucked it between the pages and returned the manuscript to the box.
“The snow’s only a couple inches deep. Let’s get down and stretch our legs.” He hopped down.
“Works for me.” Setting the box aside, she folded back the lap robe and stood.
He held out his hand, hoping she’d take it, not sure she would. She’d climbed in by herself. But she put her gloved hand in his. Two layers of glove didn’t make for a very intimate connection, but she hadn’t balked at letting him help her out.
When she had her footing, he let go and reached in to grab the backpack. She wandered a few feet away as he took out the ceramic mugs and thermos.
Pulling off his gloves, he shoved them in his pocket before unscrewing the lid on the thermos and pouring them each a cup. Steam rose from the surface, along with the sweet smell of sugar and chocolate.
He recapped the thermos and put it into the backpack. She stood several yards away, hands shoved in her pockets as she surveyed the meadow, clearly not wanting to focus on him.
He carried the mugs over. “Here you go.”
She turned and accepted the mug he handed her. She’d ditched her gloves, too. “Smells delicious. Did you make it?”
“Granny did.”
“That was nice of her.”
“She’s special.”
“I think so, too.” She lowered her lashes as she took a cautious sip. “Mm. Temperature’s perfect.”
“Drink up. It won’t stay that way.” He took a long swallow.
“Nothing ever does.”
“Getting philosophical on me, Lani-lou?”
Awareness flashed in her hazel eyes, as it always did when he called her that. Then it was gone, replaced with a frown of disapproval. “See, this is why I don’t spend much time with you. You insist on calling me?—”
“Because deep down, you like it.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Tell the truth and shame the devil.”
She sighed. “I doubt it would work. You’re completely shameless.”
“You’re calling me a devil?” Not really a bad thing, in his estimation. Put the wordsexyin front of it and he’d take that compliment any day.
“You’re a sly, sneaky devil. You’ve never once mentioned you had an interest in writing.”
“Because I don’t.”
“The hell you don’t. You’ve?—”
“I don’t have aninterestin writing. It’s the core of who I am, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.”
