Page 23 of Wynter's Second Chance

I laughed. “Not a chance.”

The drive up was filled with easy conversation, mostly about Rory’s camp, but soon it shifted to Wynter's stories of holiday traditions he’d missed during his two decades in the army.

“Christmas isn’t really Christmas without the lights, the caroling, and the movie marathons,” he said, his voice softening, a wistful look on his face.

“Kids live for that stuff,” I said, half-grinning. “Even the year before Royce passed, Rory had me playing Christmas music all day long. Swore it made the cookies taste better. And when I introduced him toHome Alone, he watched that and the sequels nonstop.”

Wynter chuckled. “Smart kid. Got you wrapped around his finger, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” I shrugged, feeling a twinge of warmth at the thought. “Honestly, this is the first time Christmas feels like… well, like something again. Rory and I have you to thank for that.”

He looked over at me, his eyes warm. “Funny thing is, I thought this Christmas would be miserable after the split with Lisa. But you and Rory? You’ve made it feel… like a real holiday again.”

I gave him a sidelong look. “You know, for a guy who used to pretend he hated all things festive, you’re getting suspiciously into it.”

“What can I say? Maybe it’s the company.” He flashed me a quick smile before turning his attention back to the road, leaving a charged silence in the air between us.

By the time we reached Pinecrest, the cabin was dusted with fresh snow, a picture-perfect postcard of winter. Wynter turned off the engine and turned to me. “Alright, let’s gear up.”

He reached behind his seat and pulled out a backpack. “Bill and Edie insisted on a few essentials.”

“Are they all-in on the winter wonderland theme?”

“Pretty much. Told them you’d be the judge of their cider recipe.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” I said, giving him a grin as we strapped on the snowshoes he’d brought along.

The world around us was perfectly quiet as we set off, with only the crunch of snow underfoot. Cold air filled my lungs, waking me up more than a dozen cups of coffee ever could. Wynter stayed close, our shoulders brushing every so often, each touch lighting up a spark I tried hard to ignore. I’d known him half my life; I couldn’t start feeling things like this now.

We hiked up a small slope, the stillness wrapping around us like a blanket. But the peace was interrupted when Wynter tripped over a snow-covered branch, stumbling forward and then laughing at himself. It was a sound that echoed off the trees, making me grin before I even realized it.

“Not bad, Wyn. Maybe there’s an outdoorsman in you somewhere after all,” I teased, extending my hand and helping him up.

Wynter grinned, eyes flashing with that mischievous glint. “Careful there, Taran. Keep that up, and I’ll have to defend my honor… with a snowball fight.”

“Oh, you think you can take me?” I scoffed, already bending down and scooping up a handful of snow. Before he could react, I packed it tight and let it fly.

Thud! The snowball landed square on his shoulder, and he staggered back, momentarily stunned. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” he warned, grinning as he quickly dropped into a crouch and launched his own snowball my way.

I dodged, laughing as the snow sailed past me. “Too slow, Wyn!”

“Argh! We’ll see about that!” He fired off another one, which hit my arm, sending a burst of icy powder flying.

What followed was an all-out assault. The snowshoes made running awkward, but we managed, half-stumbling as we ducked and darted between trees. Each step was a clumsy dance in the snow, but that only made it more hilarious. I nearly toppled over once, barely catching myself before I could dive headfirst into a snowbank. Snow flying from his arms as he launched another snowball, Wynter was laughing so hard he could barely aim straight.

We shouted and goaded each other, breath puffing out in visible clouds against the crisp winter air. Our voices echoed through the trees as snow splattered off branches and trunks, each snowball landing with a satisfying thud or—when one of us actually hit the other—a triumphant shout.

“You’re not getting away with this!” he called, his voice carrying over the crunch of snow.

“Oh yeah?” I taunted, narrowly missing him as I lobbed another. “You’re all talk, Wynter!”

“Am I?” He bent down, scooping up a fresh batch and winding up with exaggerated, playful menace. “Watch out!”

I dodged again, this time tripping over a hidden branch and going down hard into the snow. Before I could get back up, hewas on me, snowball in hand, and I threw up my arms, laughing uncontrollably. “Okay, okay, truce! I surrender!”

He smirked, hovering over me as I lay half-buried in snow. “Truce, huh?” he said, his breath visible in the cold air. “Guess that means I win.”

I scrambled up, both of us panting, covered in snow from head to toe. We shared a look, laughter fading into something quieter, a tension settling between us that hadn’t been there before.

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