I arrive at his pile and begin picking up the snowballs as fast as possible, releasing them toward Boone, who is quickly closing the gap between us. I hit him not once, not twice, but four more times. I give a mighty war cry as I throw the last one. He’s only seven or eight feet from me, and it plummets into his face, covering his beard in beaded icicles.
But then Boone does something I don’t expect.
He tackles me to the ground. It’s gentle yet forceful as the snow curls around my body. And Boone is lying on top of me, smiling from ear to ear. “Cheater.”
“Not technically. And that’s nine to your three.” I smirk. “Loser.”
“You’re impossible.” He sighs as he stares at me, his blue eyes becomingone with the sky above him.
Then he lifts himself up just enough to use his hand to brush hair and snow from my face softly. His hand lingers as it traces down the side of my face to my chin, and my brain bypasses all facts to feelings as it plays an imaginative movie reel where Boone’s thumb gently brushes against my lips before he bends down and kisses me. And it’s warm, perfect, and makes me forget that my toes are freezing in Boone’s soaking wool socks.
But he doesn’t kiss me, even though I watch as his eyes flicker down to my lips, and I wonder if he’s imagining the same thing I am.
Instead, he jumps up, offering his hand to pull me up. “We better get you inside before you lose your feet to frostbite. You’ve already attempted that once.”
Boone isn’t going to break his promise, and I kind of wish he would, but I also know he shouldn’t. He can’t. I have a life back in New York City, and as many times as I’ve tried to puzzle Boone and I together in the last several hours, I can’t quite get all our edges to fit. Someone will get hurt, and I don’t want it to be either of us.
Chapter Sixteen
“Ibooked a flight for the twenty-sixth at six a.m.,” I state as I pull on a dry pair of Boone’s wool socks. I’m beginning to get used to this very low-key, comfy status I’ve developed in his cabin. Although, I really wish he would have thought to rescue my bag when he rescued me, if only for the mascara and facial scrub.
“Still going to fly to your mom’s?” he asks.
“Oh no,” I snap quickly. “Straight back to New York, and then I’ll go see my brother and his family for New Year’s.”
Boone nods his head as he stokes the fire. “I heard the roads will be cleared by this evening.”
“Oh,” I mutter. “There weren’t any flights on Christmas Day.”
“I didn’t mean you had to leave on Christmas,” Boone says swiftly before putting the iron poker back in its holder. His arms are crossed now as he looks down at me sitting on the couch. I wish I could read his mind, read the script that is typing out inside his head right now. “I was just letting you know the roads will be cleared. I’ll be able to get you to the airport.”
I swallow. “Oh, good. Perfect, actually, since I wasn’t sure how I was going to get there. I don’t suppose you have Uber here.”
“Afraid not,” he replies as Dog rubs up against his legs.
My eyes slowly trace upward, from the cat to Boone. He’s wearing another red-and-black flannel, and I’m positive that if I opened his closet there would be hangers full of the same outfit, but I like it. In fact, I can’t imagine Boone in anything else, especially scrubs. It makes me wonder how much of him has changed from who he once was or if he just dresses differently.
“So, have you always had a beard?” I question.
“What?” He uncrosses his arms and strides toward me. I quickly pull my legs up to my chest, twisting to face him as he sits down on the couch beside me. I at least need my legs to be a barrier after all the foolish friction between us today.
“It’s just, I can’t envision you in scrubs. You don’t seem like the doctor type that would be bending over with a scalpel and murmuring instructions to others around you as you work quickly to save someone’s life under fluorescent light,” I ramble. “I mean, I can’t see the mask and goggles and the beard exactly going together.”
Boone’s laugh is more of a sigh. “No, I didn’t have a beard.”
I squint my eyes, trying to pluck Boone’s beard from his face in my mind. I can’t do it. “I can’t see you without a beard.”
Boone reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. I glance over my knees, watching his thumb as it moves across the screen before he hands the phone over to me. “Here.”
And there is Boone, well, a version of Boone that looks more like a brother or cousin than Boone. His face is clean shaven, but those are his blue eyes. He looks smaller, younger, and yet, when I look atBoone now and Boone then, he still seems joyful, even after what he’s been through.
“Where did you live?” I question as I continue examining the photograph where he’s wearing slacks and a polo, his hands in his pockets, and he’s smiling the kind of smile that you only give to someone you love. I wonder if Becca was behind the camera.
“California,” he answers.
I nod my head. “Your sister is out in California.”
“She is,” he replies.
