Page 45 of Loud Unspoken Memories

“Um, a million years ago, why?”

He holds out his hand. “Give me that.”

I hand it over and he places it on top of the middle section. And then I understand. This snowman has the smallest head in the history of snowmen. I stomp over, remove the head, and return to the side of the house to make it bigger.

“Here,” I say when I’m done. “Mr. Snowman architect.”

Rolling his eyes, he takes it from me and secures it to the top. “Not bad.”

I smile triumphantly. “Can you find some sticks for his arms?”

“On it.”

While he’s doing that, I go into the house, rummage through a cooler, and pull out a carrot stick for our snowman’s nose, trying to remember what typically gets used for eyes. I’m not sure I ever knew.

I come outside holding the carrot. He sees it when I approach. “Just make sure you put that in the right spot.”

Heat crosses my face when I comprehend his insinuation. Dallas doesn’t crack many jokes, so when he does, it hits me in all the right places. Especially when said joke is accompanied by a wink.

Then I see he’s used rocks and small pebbles for eyes and a mouth. “Good thinking,” I say, right before jamming the carrot in the middle of the snowman’s face.

I pull out my phone. “I have to get a picture of this.”

“You sure you want to waste battery?”

Holding my ground, I insist, “Dallas, this is my first snowman. As in ever. I’m not going to let this momentous occasion go by without photographic evidence of its existence. Now get over here. I’m great at selfies.”

“I think I should just take one of you.”

“But you helped make it. Seriously, get on that side of him before you realize what a bitch I can be if I don’t get my way.”

He holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t want to see that.” He takes his place by the snowman, who is about a foot shorter than I am.

“Smile,” I say, holding out my right hand to snap the photo while doing bunny ears behind the snowman’s head.

I look down at the picture to make sure it’s in focus. Dallas isn’t smiling. He’s not even looking at the camera. He’s looking at me. And the intensity of his gaze definitely came through the lens. Despite the fact that he ran out after we had sex. And regardless of the unpleasant words he uttered last night, his eyes paint an entirely different picture.

He wants me.

Whether or not he can admit it, his eyes don’t lie.

So regardless of who he thinks he’ll be making love to—I decide I want it just as badly. Because despite Charles’s death, or maybe because of it, I’ve found myself never feeling quite so alive.

Chapter Twenty

Dallas

“He needs a name,” Marti says, admiring our creation. She tilts her head left then right, thinking. “How about Abe?”

I raise a brow.

“You know,” she continues, “because he’s frozen.”

Shocked by her words, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cringe.

“Sorry.” She stifles a laugh. “Bad joke. But honestly,youmade a bad joke about him first.”

“You remember that?”

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