The kiss is soft and slow and perfect, snowflakes falling around us, and for just a moment, the chaos and stress and uncertainty all fade away.
When we pull back, I'm grinning. "We should get back."
"One more minute," he says, and pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me.
I lean into his solid warmth, pressing my face against his chest, and just…stay.
When did I become the kind of person who wants moments like this? When did I become the one who wants to stay?
I don't have an answer.
But standing here in the snow, in Ace's arms, with a ridiculous charity hockey game happening in less than fourteen hours, I think maybe I don't need one.
CHAPTER 31
ACE
THE HOUSE IS dead quiet when I wake up, which is wrong. There should be noise—people talking, equipment moving, someone doingsomething. Instead, there's just silence, heavy and unnatural, broken only by the wind howling outside like it's offended by our existence.
I check my phone. 5:17 AM.
I'm on Washington's couch, my neck protesting the angle I've been sleeping at, and for a second I can't remember where I am or why I'm here. Then it comes back.
Most people went home around midnight to get actual rest in actual beds. The smart ones, anyway.
But some of us stayed. Me, Petrov, Becker, Mama Paws, and Devon.
Speaking of Devon… I locate him sprawled in an armchair across from me, dead to the world, mouth slightly open, one leg hanging over the armrest in a position that looks deeply uncomfortable.
Washington's stretched out on the other couch, one arm thrown over his eyes in a gesture of solidarity, given his bedroom is right upstairs. Petrov's on the floor, using a throw pillow as a mattress and looking perfectly content. Mama Paws claimed the recliner hours ago and is snoring softly, wrapped in what appears to be every blanket in the house.
Becker's nowhere visible, which probably means he's passed out somewhere weird like the bathtub or a closet.
The lights flicker.
Once. Twice.
The power holds, but barely, and that's not a good sign.
I'm about to close my eyes and try to get another hour of sleep when my phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. And again.
I pull it out, squinting at the screen.
Group chat. Multiple messages coming in rapid succession.
Wall:Guys. Check the weather update.
Wall:Seriously. Check it now.
Wall:This is bad.
That gets my attention.
I sit up, the movement making my neck scream in protest, and pull up the weather app. The loading circle spins for what feels like an eternity before the page finally loads.
And my stomach drops.
Winter Storm Warning has been upgraded to Blizzard Warning.
