"And you love me anyway."
"Yeah." She wipes her eyes. "I really do. What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing." I pull her into my arms, holding her close. "Absolutely nothing."
We stand there for a long time, just holding each other in the snowy woods while the sun sets and the world goes quiet around us.
Finally, she shivers. "We should probably head back. Your mother will worry."
"Let her worry." But I start walking back anyway, keeping her tucked against my side. "One more thing."
"What?"
I scoop up a handful of snow and shape it quickly.
She sees what I'm doing and her eyes go wide. "Don't you dare—"
I throw the snowball. It hits her shoulder, exploding in a puff of white.
"Konstantin!" She stares at me in shock. Then she grins. "Oh, you're dead."
She bends down, makes her own snowball, and throws it at me. Her aim is terrible—it goes wide by at least two feet.
"Pathetic," I tell her.
"I'm from Vancouver! We don't do snow sports!"
"Clearly."
She makes another one. This time it hits my chest. She does a victory dance that's so cute I want to tackle her into the snow and kiss her senseless.
"Better," I concede.
"I'm a natural!"
I make another snowball. She squeals and runs. I chase her, and we end up in a full snowball fight that devolves into me tackling her into a snowbank and both of us laughing like idiots.
"I'm freezing," she gasps.
"I told you I'd keep you warm."
I pull her up, brush the snow off her coat, and we head back to the house. By the time we reach the back door, we're both soaked and shivering and grinning.
My mother takes one look at us and throws up her hands. "You take her in snow! She is wet! She will catch cold!"
"She's fine, Mama."
"Upstairs! Both of you! Hot shower! NOW!"
We escape upstairs, dripping snow the whole way. In our room, I lock the door and turn to Jemma.
"Shower?" I suggest.
"We're going to be late for dinner."
"I don't care."
I strip her out of her wet clothes, then my own. In the shower, the water is hot and perfect. Steam fills the bathroom as I wash her carefully, taking my time.
