“What,” I ask quietly, “do you think I’m going to do?”
Her pulse jumps at her neck.
The crew whispers behind us:
“Oh, this is getting good.” “God damn.” “Just kiss her already, Calder!” “Let Sparky take the reins!”
Lucy flushes scarlet. “Ignore them.”
“Trying,” I mutter.
“You’re not trying very hard.”
“No,” I say, stepping closer, “I’m not.”
Her back hits the railing of the gazebo before she realizes she’s backing up. I plant my hands on either side of her, bracketing her in. Not touching. Not yet.
She swallows. “Ash…”
“You’re a menace.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You blasted me with a snow cannon.”
“It wasn’t on purpose!”
“Liar.”
“Okay—maybe alittlepurpose?—”
I raise a brow. She bursts into laughter again. Soft, breathless, uncontrolled.
And damn it all— I feel my mouth twitch.
Just a twitch.
Then— Crystal clear in the cold air— her laughter melts into something quieter.
Gentler.
She reaches up—hesitant—and brushes a piece of fake snow from my hair.
Her fingers hover. Close. Too close.
“Ash…” she whispers.
“Lucy.”
Her hand drops. But her eyes—those soft, bright, infuriating eyes—don’t look away.
And for the first time in weeks, something inside me eases. Just a fraction. She whispers, “You almost smiled.”
I lean in, voice low. “Don’t push your luck.”
“You did.” Her lips curve. “A tiny bit.”
I step even closer. “You think you’re cute.”
