"Nah, just figured my natural charm would keep me warm." He brushes snow off his shoulders, but I notice how his hands have started turning blue from cold.
Something in my chest twists. Because this is the worst part about Caleb. Even when I'm mad at him, even when I've promised myself I'm done caring, I stillcare.
"Here." I dig through my bag, pulling out the spare mittens I always carry. They're bright red with little snowflakes, probably too small for his hands, but better than nothing. "Before you lose a finger."
Our palms brush as I hand them over, and that familiar electricity shoots through me. His hands are ice-cold, but where our skin touches burns. I should pull away, but I don't.
"Thanks." His voice hits a register that makes my stomach flip.
He steps closer and I stay rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on the slow sweep of his tongue across his bottom lip. My heart hammers so loud I swear he must hear it. His eyes are fixed on mine, that perfect winter-sky blue darkening as his gaze drops to my mouth.
Another step. He's close enough now that I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. I catch his sharp intake of breath when I unconsciously wet my lips. His hands twitch toward me, trembling slightly, like he's fighting the urge to reach out.
"Ivy, I need to . . ."
He leans in, and my eyes flutter shut. I feel the heat of him, the slight brush of his breath against my lips. My hands fist in the front of his flannel shirt without my permission. Months of missing him crowds into this single moment, this fraction of space between almost and everything—
A snowball explodes against a nearby tree and kids laugh somewhere behind us. Caleb jerks back like he's been shocked, and cold air rushes between us.
"Put the mittens on before you get frostbite," I say quickly, releasing his shirt and stepping back. "Let's keep looking."
I spin on my heel before he can catch how badly I'm shaking. But not before I notice his expression—pupils blownwide, jaw clenched, chest heaving. He looks exactly how I feel. Desperate, frustrated, and nowhere near done.
We walk deeper into the farm, and I'm acutely aware of him behind me. He matches his stride to mine like muscle memory, the three feet between us aching with absence and restraint.
"Watch your—" His warning comes too late as my hair snags on a low-hanging branch, and I yelp as pine needles tangle in my blue waves. "Hold still."
I freeze, not daring to move as he steps closer. His hands hover near my head, hesitating. "Can I?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. He moves behind me, and his fingers work through my hair with surprising gentleness, separating strands from the sticky pine needles.
"You always did find the most creative ways to get into trouble," he murmurs, his breath stirring the hair near my ear.
"The tree attacked me," I protest, trying to ignore how my pulse jumps when his knuckles brush my neck. "Completely unprovoked."
"Sure it did." There's a smile in his voice, but he keeps working, methodical and careful. Nothing like the heated almost-moment from before. This is clinical. Professional. Like he's proving he can be trusted with just friendship.
It shouldn't hurt. But it does.
"There." He steps back quickly, that careful distance returning. "All set."
I reach up to touch my now-free hair, missing his warmth already. "Thanks."
"Yeah." His voice sounds rough. When I glance back, he's staring at his hands like they've betrayed him. "We should, uh, keep looking for that perfect tree."
And then I see it.
"This one." I stop so suddenly he almost runs into me.
It rises before us, not quite perfectly symmetrical, but somehow better for its slight imperfections. Full branches, rich green needles, and just the right height for the town square.
Caleb studies it, head tilted. Snow is still melting in his hair, dripping onto the collar of his flannel shirt, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"Yeah," he says finally. "This one feels right."
I thought I wasprepared to see her again. To handle whatever this new dynamic between us was going to be.
I wasn't.
