“That’s enough of the tour,” Joel says when he’s shown me the last bedroom and after we’ve placed our luggage in the main bedroom to unpack later.
“First, we need to fill our stomachs before I take you out on the snowmobile.”
“On the what?” I gasp and whip around from staring out of the bedroom’s window to face Joel.
He wears a smile the size of Texas, and my damn heart that was just in my throat melts at the sight of it.
Joel approaches, temporarily short-circuiting my thoughts by kissing me.
“Food first,” he calls over his shoulder as he exits the bedroom.
“What snowmobile are you talking about?” I rant as I follow him down the hall toward the kitchen.
The entire time he’s chopping vegetables and preparing the meat sauce for our spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread lunch, I make it clear to him that we will certainly not be climbing onto a snowmobile.
“Vacation is for relaxing,” I say a moment before biting into probably the most delicious buttery, garlicky piece of garlic bread I’ve ever had.
The whole time Joel nods and tosses a few half-grins my way.
“And don’t give me that look. I’m serious,” I admonish while stuffing our lunch dishes into the dishwasher to clean later.
Joel takes my hand and kisses it with all of the assurance and confidence of a man who knows he’s about to get his way.
CHAPTER 23
Ellyn
“Now, turn to the right a few inches,” Joel directs as I sit on the red and black snowmobile he’s pulled out from the residence’s garage.
I might’ve complained and griped a little about not climbing on a snowmobile, but I was done for when Joel took my hands into his, looked into my eyes, and promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
Not while he was driving.
It felt exactly like that moment when he picked me off of my bathroom floor. Except even more intense, like I was safe because he was here.
That’s how what’s now turned into a ten-minute photoshoot began. Yet, we haven’t even made it off of the property just yet. I knew pictures of me posing on the snowmobile in front of the house with the mountains as the backdrop would look fabulous on my social media feeds.
“Last one. Make a snowball and throw it in my direction,” Joel instructs, sounding oddly like a professional director.
I raise a suspicious eyebrow.
He lowers the phone to his side. “Last year Gabriel took a few candid shots of Lena throwing snowballs, and when she posted them on her Instagram feeds they went super virulent.”
“Viral?”
He grunts. “Yeah, that. With that smile of yours, you’ll garner as many viewers and new subscribers from a short reel.”
I didn’t know whether to be impressed or to jump this man’s bones. Was he offering to help grow my business? I had shared with him that posting on certain social media platforms often helped grow my YouTube channel.
I had to concede that his logic made sense.
With that thought in mind, I hopped off of the snowmobile and formed a few snowballs with my hands still insulated in my black wool mittens.
“That’s it,” Joel croons as I toss the first snowball.
I look him in the eye and aim directly at him, making a fire light in his eyes. He silently goads me, and I take the challenge, tossing the ball made of firm, white snow in his direction.
At the last second Joel jumps out of the way. But not before getting the shot.
