Page 31 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“This is ridiculous,” I call out while she’s finishing up the base.
“You’re concussed,” she says.
“I’m notthatbad.”
“You don’t remember the movieFrozen. And you called me cotton candy.” She glances over her shoulder. “I rest my case.”
Man. Sara really is a lawyer.
By the time she starts forming the middle ball for the snowman’s torso, I can’t take it anymore. I feel more useless than I did when I was out here pacing by myself. “I’m beginning to think a puzzle would be a better use of my time,” I say. “Can I do something to help? Anything? Please?”
Sara pauses, humming out loud as she considers my offer. “Why don’t you gather up a couple of sticks for the snowman’s arms?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “But are you sure you trust me to gather sticks? I could trip and bang my head into one of those killer trunks over here.”
“Don’t push your luck, or I may withdraw my consent.” She tips her mouth into a smirk.
“Well, we can’t have that.”
“Maybe find some rocks we can use for buttons, too,” she says.
“Buttons?”
“For the snowman’s coat.”
“What coat? He’s not wearing anything.”
“We’re pretending,” she says. “LikeThe Emperor’s New Clothes. Just imagine Henry in a fully regal wardrobe.”
“Who’s Henry? AnotherFrozenreference?”
“Henry’s our snowman.” She grins at me. “He needed a name. And armsand buttons.”
I push out a chuckle. “Got it.”
While Sara returns to working on our snowman, I head toward a copse of trees off to the right. There are no fences around this property. Just drifts of snow, plenty of trees, and the lake behind the house. Striding over to the trees, I take a loose branch to brush away the snow around the base. After locating a trio of similarly sized rocks, I find a couple of matching branches to make a pair of arms.
By the time I return, Sara’s building the snowman’s head. So while she’s distracted, I set down my supplies and scoop up a few small handfuls of snow, packing them one at a time into tight round spheres.
Yes. I’m gearing up for a snowball fight.
My sister, cousins, and I used to do this during snow days when we were young. We’d prep a whole arsenal, waiting for other unsuspecting kids to walk down the street. Then we’d start up a war. A harmless one, of course.
We’re talking exploding snow, not actual ammunition.
The memory makes me smile. So does the fact that Sara seems unaware of my growing stockpile. I probably shouldn’t let myself enjoy being with her right now, but I’ll blame any poor decision-making on my head injury. Besides. I’m getting tired of feeling bad, and good times with Sara were always effortless.
Until they weren’t.
As she affixes the Oreo eyes and carrot nose to Henry’s head, I pluck up a snowball, and wait for her to finish. When she’s finally done and takes a step back to admire her handiwork, I clear my throat.
“Ahem.”
She spins around, freezing for a beat. Then her eyes widen. “What are you doing?” By way of answer, I lob a snowball that lands a full yard in front of her feet, because I’m not trying to actually hit her.
That is until she taunts me.
“That’s the best you can do, Fuller?” Her tone is wry, her mouth twisted into a smirk.
