Page 21 of Cruel Winter with You

Chapter Seven

It’s clear that the storm won’t ease up until tomorrow, and I decide to spend the night at Marc’s. The two things are, surprisingly, completely unrelated—even though that’s not the story I spin for Dad when I call to let him know that I won’t be able to make it home.

“As long as when you guys come over tomorrow morning, you bring the pan,” he tells us, a little concerned for the future of his baked ham.

Marc’s eyebrow shoots up, and I end the call before Dad can overhear him say that he should “stop playing fast and loose with my girlfriend’s safety.”

Until an hour ago, I thought he was over me, and now he’s calling me hisgirlfriend. This relationship has escalatedveryquickly, and my heart feels like fireworks.

“Marc, in case you are considering buying my dad a whole set of pans—”

“Absolutely not.” He pulls me into him, chin grazing the crown of my hair. The Comptons have never been a particularly affectionate family, but he can’t seem to stop touching me. “Your father’s lack of a copper pan brought you to me and fixed the shittiest misunderstanding of my entire life. I’m going to do my best to make sure that this manspends the rest of his life as pan-less as possible.” I feel his smile. “Also, ham might be my new favorite food.”

“Is this a good time to remind you that you’re a vegetarian?”

“Hush,” he murmurs, and drags me upstairs to his room while outside, the storm still whistles fiercely. It’s been about ten years since I’ve been in it, but it hasn’t changed much. His vinyls and record player are still in what Tabitha named “the hipster corner,” and his high school trophies sit on the bookshelf, a little dusty. The biggest difference, the one that has my breath catching, is in the way he pulls me onto his twin bed with him.

It’s a first. And I should be embarrassed, or nervous, but being here with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. He’s a large man, and it’s a tight fit, one that requires me lying half on top of him, but I don’t mind. I inhale his clean, familiar scent, and I expect—no, I hope, Ipray—that the fingers drawing circles on my lower back will get bold and slide under my sweater, but for a long while he doesn’t do much more than stroke my hair.

“What will your sister say?” I ask him after a moment, trying not to feel too impatient.

“About?”

“This. Us. Will she be shocked?”

“Tab?” He snorts. “I doubt it. She’s always known that you and I have a special relationship. She’s the who told you how I felt, remember?”

I do remember. “Is it in there, still?”

“What?”

I point at the desk. “The box. With the pictures.”

“No,” he scoffs.

“Oh.” I’m a little disappointed.

Until he adds, “The box has moved with me, Jamie. To every single address.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “Did you ... The one you took of me in a prom dress. Did you ever ...”

“Print it? No. But ...” With some maneuvering, he slides his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. The background is ...

“No.”

“Yup.” His lips press against my temple. “I put it there the second I took it. And then ... occasionally, I’d switch it out with something else, but after a few months I’d always go back to it. That’s why I never thought of you as the one who got away, Jamie. You said that’s all you were to me, back on your birthday, but that’s just not true. Because for you to get away, I would have needed to let go of you. And I never wanted that.”

My heart beats in my throat. I burrow in closer.

“It’s not puppy love, either. There is nothing innocent about the way I want you. And as soon as the tequila is out of your body, I’ll show you.”

“Marc, I’m not drunk.” It’s the truth. I may not be able to walk a tightrope, but ... it’s not like I have great balance in the first place. And my judgment is in no way impaired.

“Shh.”

“No, I’m serious. I’mveryclear-headed.”

“Maybe tomorrow we can—”

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