Page 37 of The Christmas Cookie Crush

His eyebrows lift. “Uh, I thought you were just walking me to my car.”

I shrug one shoulder. “If that’s what you prefer, I can do that. But we could go somewhere. Just the two of us. I know thefamily dinner was kind of intense. If you’re not too tired, I’d love to get you all to myself for a little while.”

His face relaxes, his smile growing as I talk. He wraps his arms around me more tightly, almost lifting me off my feet, which makes me laugh. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go somewhere.”

Releasing me, he takes my hand and we walk to his car, where he holds the door open for me, as usual. Grinning, I climb into the car. He might not think his behavior is anything special, but he doesn’t know what most guys are like—at least most of the guys I’ve dated. Selfish. Entitled. Expecting me to do the most for them while doing the least in return—sometimes not even that much. And I fell into that trap of thinking that if I just showed up for them, gave to them, that they’d see the effort and feel the need to return it. But instead, it just made them take me for granted. And when I’d get frustrated and stop, then they’d get mad at me like I was doing something wrong for expecting reciprocation.

Turns out, I just needed to find a guy who isn’t an asshole.

It’s still funny to me that the guy in question turned out to be my childhood nemesis. Who’d’ve thought he’d grow up to be such a sweet guy?

He climbs into the car and turns it on, then sits and stares out the windshield for a second, hands on the steering wheel, before turning to me with a baffled expression. “Where should we go?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. He’s just so cute. “Go to the end of the block and turn right. I know a place.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Austin

Nora’s laughter is infectious,and I find myself laughing too as I drive, even though I’m not sure what the joke is.

Maybe there isn’t a joke. Maybe it’s just the sheer joy of life and being together.

She laughs a lot at things that aren’t obviously funny, so maybe that’s what it is. She’s just enjoying life so much, the moment makes her so happy that she can’t do anything but laugh.

With no clear idea of where we’re going, I follow Nora’s directions, my laughter slowly calming down along with hers as we navigate out of town and up a hill to a ridge. The snow is thicker here, deeper on the sides of the roads and the plow hasn’t been by since the last snowfall.

I give her a questioning look, but she just says, “It’ll be fine. I promise. Keep going.”

There’s a spot where there’s supposed to be a turnout, but it’s barely wider than the shoulder, the majority of the turnout filledwith snow piled close to six feet high. Maybe higher. I pull off anyway, because this is where she told me to stop, but I’m worried my tires are still in the road.

Nora lets out a groan as she examines the wall of snow out her window. “Dang it. They used to plow the turnout. I wonder why they stopped?”

I glance over my shoulder, but there’s no sign of another car coming up behind us. We didn’t see anyone on the way out here either. It’s getting late—especially for around here—so most people are probably home already. And I’m not even really sure where this road leads.

“How do you know they used to plow here? What’s here anyway?”

She turns a cheeky grin on me. “Well, there’s usually a great view from the turnout. And I know they used to plow it because I used to come up here.” She makes a Vanna White-esque gesture at the window. “This is the local make-out spot.”

A bark of laughter shoots out of me. “I’m sorry, what?”

She’s still grinning, completely unrepentant. “Oh, come on. Surely you had something like that where you went to high school.”

I shake my head slowly. “If we did, no one told me about it.”

Her lower lip pokes out in an adorable faux-pout. “Aww, poor Austin. You missed out on a quintessential high school experience.”

“Sure, if movies and TV shows are to be believed.”

She shrugs. “It was a quintessential part ofmyhigh school experience. And I don’t live in a movie.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “You sure about that?”

She nods. “Yeah. If I lived in a movie, you would’ve rescued me from a bear or something, or picked me up stranded on the side of the road. That’s how small-town romances usually start, isn’t it?”

“Sure. If you say so.”

She nods again. “I do. Anyway. It’s not ideal, but”—she checks the road as well—“I think we’ll be left alone out here, even if we can’t get as far off the road as I expected.” She unclips her seatbelt, and the sound of it retracting fills the car. For some reason, that sends a spike of adrenaline through me.

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