“TJ! Walk,” I say, laughing.
“Demanding.” He clicks his tongue. “You’re proving my point, Lu. Proving. My. Point.” He spins and treks further into the trees, and I fall into step behind him.
I will neither confirm nor deny how often my gaze falls to his tush. In my defense, it’srightthere.
TJ’s humming something that sounds like the music they play during football games on the sports channels. I don’t know for sure, since I’ve been a football fan for all of three weeks, but I think that’s where I recognize it from. It makes me smile. He’s such a suave, confident man, but he’s also not afraid to square dance with his grandparents and sing a little tune out here in the wild.
I wasn’t kidding when I said this setting is enchanting. McGregor Tree Farm is straight out of a romance novel, and I make a mental note of my surroundings so I can record them and use them in a book somewhere down the line. The crisp blue sky. The feathered tree branches, coated with white snow. The well-trodden paths between the trees, filled with footprints of those out enjoying the tradition of cutting down their Christmas trees. It’s this sort of place that I love bringing to life on the page because there’s something so accessible about it for me, and I want to share it with readers. I want to make them feel like they’re here when they read my tree farm scene.
The snow crunches under my boots, and without thinking, I bend and ball up a handful of it. “Hey, TJ?”
He turns, and I launch my snowball at him. It hits him in the stomach. He yelps. “What was that for?”
I grin. “Dad and I used to have epic snowball fights when we’d go tree shopping.”
“In that case.” He drops the saw and bends to collect some snow of his own. He launches a snowball at me, and I squeal, darting behind the trees to my right.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Lu,” TJ taunts.
“Watch me!” I call out before ducking to get some more ammunition. When I stand and peek around the tree, my breath coming in quick bursts, I don’t see TJ anywhere. I scan the tree line, and it’s ridiculous that I can’t find the giant football player somewhere around here. “Who’s hiding now?” I call out.
“Not me!” TJ jumps out from behind the tree nearest to me and pancakes a snowball right on top of my head. The ice crystals cascade down my neck, getting inside my jacket.
I scream, my breath stolen by the cold. “You didnot!”
“Sorry.” He smirks, not looking sorry at all. He slings his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket and rocks back on his heels. “This is something you should know about me: I’m fiercely competitive, and I play football in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Half our season is like one giant snowball fight, and”—he leans forward—“I always,alwayscome out on top in snow games.”
I pout, shaking the bottom of my coat out so the snow can escape. “Pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?”
“When it comes to taking you in a snowball fight? Yeah, yeah, I am.” He grins.
“Well, then, you leave me no choice.” I charge at him, letting out the cry of a snow-warrior. I open my arms out wide, going in for the tackle. I collide with his chest, and instead of taking him down into the snow, he barely budges.
I ram my shoulder into his abdomen and grunt, but rather than moving, his arms come up and wrap around me. He lifts me off the ground, hoisting me up so my face is level with his.
“TJ!” I squeal, kicking my feet but hitting only air. “Put me down. I was supposed to takeyouout.”
He chuckles, and his breath is warm on my cheek. “You really thought you could, huh? Did you forget that I dodge grown men who are trying to tackle me for a living?”
I lean back so I can look into his eyes. “I was hoping to use the element of surprise in my favor.”
His blue eyes dance, and I try to frown, but I can’t help but smile.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t make fun of me! I tackled my dad into snowbanks all the time, but I’m realizing now that’s because he let me take him down.”
I lean back, and TJ looks at me with warmth in his gaze. “We can go again, and I’ll let you tackle me this time.”
“Are you kidding? I’m better than a pity tackle, thank you very much.” I stick my nose up in the air like I’m offended. “You can put me down, though. I’ll plan a different form of attack. You better watch your back. I’m coming for you.”
TJ loosens his grip, and I slide down his body. What a tripthatis. I swear, I feel the ridges of his abs through our winter jackets, and his arms flex around me, making sure I land softly. Our eyes lock, and even after my feet are firmly on the snow again, TJ doesn’t release his grip around my waist.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.” His voice is a low rumble, and his gaze flicks down to my lips. I lick them without thinking, and his eyes darken before bouncing back up and meeting mine. His arms tense around me, and I could so easily lean toward him right now. If he dipped his chin and I went up on my tiptoes, our lips would brush. There would be an explosion of color, like paint splattering the crisp white snow around us with bold, bright strokes. I’ve written this moment so many times, but the words on the page are like a drop of water in comparison to the ocean of feelings being this close to TJ is stirring up inside me. I’m hot and cold all at once, and it has nothing to do with the sun beating on my face or the melting snow making my back damp. I want to lean in, and I want to run away. I want him to kiss me.
His words from the night we met pop into my head:I want to kiss you.
He wanted me at the gala, when I was brave and outgoing and flirty and fun. Is it possible he could still want me now? Now that he knows I babble when I’m uncomfortable in conversations. That I made myself a public fool. That I’m awkward and not smooth at all.
A man who knows you. A man who’ll savor you. Don’t settle.
