Page 32 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
I collect another snowball. “That was just my warning shot, Hathaway.”
“But this isn’t really fair,” she says. “I can’t even fight back.”
“Why not?”
“You’re injured. And I’d never take advantage of that.”
I hoist my eyebrows. “That sounds like ayouproblem.”
“Oh, I see.” She offers me a wicked grin, her mittens planted on her hips. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”
“Yup.” My lips twitch. “That’s how it’s gonna be.”
“Good luck, then.” Sara moves around behind the snowman, slowly, bending to scoop handfuls of snow and compacting them into balls with her mittens.
“Hey. You can’t use Henry as a fortress.”
“Really?” She pokes her head around the corner. “Then how come I am?”
“HA!” I chuck another snowball at her, but Sara ducks back to safety. So I wait. And when she stands again with a snowball ready to throw at me, my next toss is a direct hit. It’s like her beanie has a bullseye on it.
“Ack! No!” she shrieks, even as the softly packed snowball bursts into nothing but powder on contact. She drops down behind Henry again, and for a split second I worry I might’ve hurt her. But the giggles coming from behind our snowman suggest Sara’s not wounded. She’s having fun.
We’re having fun together.
Sara’s laughter transports me back to all those sunny summer days we spent together, and for a moment my body floods with warmth. Then I remember the pain of walking away from the purest love I’ve ever felt and my insides turn to ice.
You heard Sara talking to her mom earlier. She can’t wait to get away from Abieville.
Away from you.
She slowly peeks out at me, and the flush of joy on her cheeks makes my jaw clamp down.
A shadow passes over her face. “What’s wrong?” She leaps to her feet, scrambling toward me. “Is it your head? Are you okay?” She tears a mitten off and presses her palm to my cheek. Her touch is a shock, conducting electricity straight to my bones. Heat races through my veins, pushing my bloodstream to the boiling point.
Sara’s probably touched me in the past twenty-four hours. But I can’t remember. I blame the concussion. And the pain meds. The blur her proximity causes in my brain. Either way, as far as I can recall, this is our first direct skin-to-skin contact in close to a decade.
Then I hear her voice:
I want this all over with as much as you do, Mom.
I jerk away from her, rearing backward, and Sara’s face collapses in an avalanche of concern.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed at you like that,” she hurries to say. “I was just scared you might’ve been hurt.”
Her irises are saucers now, and her sweet scent hovers above us. All I want is to take her in my arms and tell her she hasn’t done anything wrong. That she could never do wrong in my eyes. But comforting Sara wouldn’t be good for either or us. We’ve already slipped into old, familiar patterns far too easily. I’ve got to get ahold of myself and get a wall built back up between us.
Fast.
“It’s not you.” I work my jaw. “The snowball thing just got me thinking about Christmas with my sister. My cousins.” I say this to sever the connection with Sara, but my words are still true. Iwasthinking about my family. Trouble is, I was also happy. And happiness with Sara will only make her leaving again harder. Or make me wish she’d stay this time.
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes soften at the edges. “I can only imagine how much you’re missing your family right now.”
“Yeah.” I hazard a glance back at the house. “I tried calling mymom, but the signal wouldn’t go through. Then I tried texting her, but I got a failure-to-send warning.”
Sara blinks. “That was your plan, though, right? Weren’t you hoping to avoid contact?”
“I guess.” Heat rises in my throat.
