“Magic?” He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smirk.
“Not real magic,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Romantic magic. Like something out of those cheesy Christmas movies where the girl always gets kissed under the mistletoe while snowflakes fall around her. You know, the kind of stuff that makes people like you roll your eyes and call it ridiculous.”
“I do call it ridiculous,” he said, but there was a teasing warmth in his voice.
I laughed, a small, soft sound that felt too big in the stillness of the woods. “I knew it.”
We started walking again, and I felt him fall into step beside me. The silence between us was easy, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. But still, I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at him, from watching the way the snow clung to his hair and his coat, from wondering what it would be like to have him look at me the way the men in those Christmas movies looked at the women they couldn’t live without.
“It’s silly, I know,” I said, my voice quieter now. “The whole mistletoe thing. I guess it’s just one of those girlish fantasies that never really goes away. It’s not about the mistletoe, not really. It’s about… being seen. Being chosen. Feeling like you’re special.”
Ashton stopped walking, and I turned to face him, my cheeks heating despite the cold. His dark eyes were unreadable, his expression carefully neutral.
“I’m not the romantic type, Dove,” he said finally, his voice low and even. “I don’t do grand gestures or cheesy fantasies. That’s not who I am.”
“I know,” I said quickly, trying to brush it off, trying to pretend I didn’t feel the sting of his words. “I wasn’t asking?—”
“But,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his gaze locking onto mine, “that doesn’t mean you’re not special. It doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”
The breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was something raw in his voice, something that made my chest ache in a way I didn’t fully understand. He reached out, brushing a snowflake from my hair, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than they needed to.
“You don’t need mistletoe, Dove,” he said softly, his voicealmost a whisper. “Not to know that you matter. Not to know that someone would move mountains for you.”
I didn’t know what to say. The words I wanted to say felt too big, too fragile, and I wasn’t sure I could trust my voice to speak them. So instead, I just stood there, staring up at him as the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel cold.
The weight of Ashton’s words hung in the air between us, but I couldn’t let it settle for too long. It was too heavy, too raw, and if I stayed in that moment much longer, I’d melt into a puddle of feelings I wasn’t ready to confront. Not yet.
I stepped back, glancing around at the snow-covered clearing, trying to lighten the mood. A mischievous smile tugged at my lips as an idea sparked in my mind. Ashton was still staring at me, his brooding expression unreadable, when I bent down quickly and scooped up a handful of snow.
Without giving him a chance to react, I lobbed it right at his chest.
The snowball hit him squarely, leaving a small dusting of white against his dark coat. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t believe what I’d just done. Then, he tilted his head, his lips pressing into a thin line, and I could see the storm brewing in his dark gaze.
“Did you just… throw a snowball at me?” His voice was low, slow, like he was trying to process the audacity.
I grinned, my heart racing with a mixture of excitement and terror. “Yeah,” I said, stepping back a little. “What are you going to do about it, Mr. Not-Romantic?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he bent down with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine, and scooped up a handful of snow.
“Oh, no,” I breathed, taking another step back. “Ashton, wait?—”
The snowball flew through the air before I could finish my sentence, hitting me squarely on the shoulder. The impact sent a burst of snowflakes scattering around me, and I gasped in mock outrage.
“You are so dead!” I shouted, quickly bending down to gather more snow.
The woods filled with the sound of snow crunching underfoot as we dodged and threw snowballs at each other. Ashton, for all his brooding and seriousness, had an unfair advantage. He was fast—toofast—and his aim was deadly accurate. I, on the other hand, was more about quantity over quality, throwing snowballs wildly in his direction, half of which missed their mark entirely.
He was grinning now, the kind of grin that softened his hard edges, that made him look almost boyish. It was rare to see him like this, so unguarded, and I couldn’t help but laugh, even as another snowball hit me squarely in the back.
“You’re cheating!” I yelled, laughing as I ducked behind a tree.
“Cheating?” His voice carried through the trees, low and teasing. “You’re the one who started this.”
I peeked out from behind the tree, only to see him standing a few feet away, another snowball in hand. “You’re supposed to be the broody, serious one,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Not good at snowball fights.”
He smirked, tossing the snowball lightly from one hand to the other. “I’m full of surprises.”
