Page 92 of Finding Delaware

“Bacon in the fridge,” Logan mumbles, pressing his face further into the pillow. “Eggs. OJ.”

“Please tell me you brought coffee.” I roll out of bed, wrapping a blanket around myself not only because it’s freezing but to hide my boner.

Salem crawls to the edge of the bed, pulling on a thick robe before stuffing her feet into a pair of fuzzy red slippers. “I brought some. Logan doesn’t like it.”

“Cuz he’s an absolute menace.” Taylor raises his arms above his head in a move that has his back and ass muscles flexing before following her downstairs, and I curse him silently. I wasn’t this aware of him until last night when he climbed on top of me. It’s going to be a problem.

Hanging back, I take a moment to stand there and cool off. Get my bearings. Try to process everything that took place over the last twenty-four hours.

“You alright?” Logan’s voice comes from the bed, gazing up at me with one eye open.

“Yep.” I nod, for once feeling like it’s the truth. “All good.”

Because I am. Really. Yeah, the whole thing with Taylor is irritating, but I don’t feel like I’m spiraling. I feel...lighter this morning. Rested. Settled.

“Good.” He closes his eyes, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the sun from the wall of glass downstairs. “Bring me breakfast.”

I did not, in fact, bring him breakfast.

Salem went up there to jump on the bed until he came downstairs, grumbling the entire time. After everyone had eaten and showered an hour and a half later, we were out in the freezing cold, dressed in snowsuits, getting the snowmobiles ready. There are only two of them, and for some reason, I thought I’d ride with Logan until he climbs on behind Salem, which leaves…

“So, who’s gonna be the backpack?” Taylor asks, adjusting the goggles under his helmet. I just scowl at the snowmobile like it personally offended my grandma, and after a moment, he laughs.

“You’ve never been on one of these, have you?”

Fuck, how does he read me so easily?

Shaking my head, the scowl deepens when I catch his grin before he climbs onto the machine.

“Hold on tight, spider monkey,” he drawls, patting the seat behind him.

“Really? You’re quoting Twilight?”

He shrugs as I take my place against his back. “It’s Salem’s favorite movie.”

“Actually,” she shouts next to us, voice muffled by her helmet, “he’s lying. He’s seen it a hundred times–”

Taylor cuts her off by starting the snowmobile, and my arms barely have time to wrap around him before he lurches forward. He takes the lead, guiding us through trees and over the frozen terrain with hand signals, and holy shit, I didn’t expect snowmobiles to be this fast. Nearly as fast as a dirt bike, except with gears instead of wheels. And just like a dirt bike, Taylor handles it with expertise, navigating us over bumps and dips like it’s second nature to him.

I’ll admit, the scenery we pass is breathtaking. As much as I miss the warmth and forests of California, nothing compares to Utah’s winter. The sun reflects off icicles dripping through frozen birch branches, creating kaleidoscopes of color against powdered snow. A sea of white falls over pine trees like icing, flakes sparkling in the air.

As Taylor accelerates, we pull into a clearing, weaving the snowmobile in a zigzag that has me tightening my hold on his middle. His shoulders shake with laughter before he whips us into spins, snow spraying around us in wide arcs. Salem and Logan follow suit, doing doughnuts in the fresh powder, whoops of joy ringing out over the engines.

My lungs empty as a shout bursts from me, one arm up in the air while the other clings to Taylor for dear life. I feel lighter than air. For once, every thought and worry leaves my brain other than this very moment. Despite the adrenaline shooting through my veins, the noise inside me is calm.

Eventually, Taylor brings the snowmobile to a halt and motions with his hand for me to get off. When I do, I watch curiously as he guns it toward a tall hill, riding up the side of it and clearing air before coming back down. Like the slope is a half-pipe or something. He does this several times, and a soft laugh to my left has me looking down at Salem, who’s shaking her head affectionately as she films him.

“I call those the Taylor zoomies,” she grins.

Honestly, it’s fitting. The way he’s jumping up and sliding down the hill repeatedly reminds me of a golden retriever who’s been let off his leash. It’s oddly endearing.

Once he’s gotten it out of his system, we’re back on the trail again, and by mid-day, we stop at a vast lake after an hour or two. The early afternoon sun glints off the lake, beams of light dancing through the trees. It’s so bright without the helmet that I pull out my Oakleys, shoving them on to shade my eyes as I gaze out at the frozen water from a wooden dock.

It’s beautiful and quiet, all sound cushioned by the surrounding snowfall like we’ve stepped into a snow globe. If I could, I’d paint the scene before me. But I’ve never been good with paints, much less landscapes. Pencils are my strong skill, and even then, I feel my sketches lack a sort of realism to them. Proportions are usually too big, dramatized, or wonky. It’s why I gave up the comic I was working on in high school; I’ll never compare to the late greats like Steve Ditko or Jack Kirby.

Despite the sun, a chill hits me from being out in the cold all day, which has me crossing my arms with a shiver. The snowsuit I borrowed from Logan is warm, but the air hitting my neck bites. A thermos appears in my vision, and I look over to see Taylor standing next to me, lines on his red cheeks from the ski goggles on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Nose pink. He looks so fucking cute that I automatically scowl.

“Here.” He shakes the thermos. “It’ll warm ya.”

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