“Mint chocolate chip?” Kai repeats.
“Ice cream. The good kind. With actual chocolate chunks, not chips.” I set down my coffee. “Sorry. Random craving. The estate kitchen has vanilla and that fancy gelato, but I’m dying for real mint chocolate chip.”
“The kind from that place in town?” Donovan asks. “What’s it called—Mountain Creamery?”
“Yes!” I lean forward. “That’s exactly the kind I mean. They make it fresh daily. I haven’t had it in years.”
Grant checks his watch. “We could go today. Roads are clear enough.”
“Really?” I look between them. “You’d drive all the way to town for ice cream?”
“Why not?” Kai’s already standing. “I’ll drive.”
“Absolutely not,” Grant says immediately.
“Come on, Dad. I’m a great driver.”
“You’re a maniac.” Donovan stands, pulling out his phone. “But fine. Let’s go. I need to pick up supplies from town anyway.”
“I’m driving,” Grant announces. “Everyone, get your coats.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re bundled up and heading toward the garage.
The temperature has dropped significantly in the past few days. My breath comes out in white clouds, and the cold bites at my exposed skin despite my heavy coat. Snow blankets everything—the trees bent under the weight of it, the ground buried under at least two feet of fresh powder. Every surface sparkles in the weak December sunlight.
Kai insists we take the Range Rover instead of something sensible, and now he’s arguing with Grant about who gets to drive.
“I literally just said I’m driving,” Grant says, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“You drive like a grandpa.”
“I drive safely.”
“Same thing.”
I slide into the passenger seat, and Donovan and Kai settle into the back. The heated seats kick in immediately, and I sigh in relief.
Grant starts the engine and heads down the private road that connects the estate to the main highway. The road has been plowed, but snow still clings to the edges, piled high on either side like walls.
We’ve barely made it half a mile when Kai leans forward between the seats. “You could go faster. We’re not going to slide.”
“I’m going the speed limit.”
“The speed limit is a suggestion.”
“Kai, I swear to God?—”
“Just saying. At this rate, the ice cream will melt before we get there.”
Donovan sighs from the back seat. “We haven’t even reached the highway yet. Can you be annoying later?”
“I’m not being annoying. I’m being helpful.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
I hide my smile and look out the window. The mountain landscape is stunning in winter. Pine trees heavy with snow. Rocky outcroppings dusted white. The sky is that particular shade of gray that promises more snow later.
We reach the main highway, and Grant merges smoothly.
