Page 89 of One Foggy Christmas
Sometimes, it’s nice to have some space, even if space is what scares me.
If I really loved Nash, shouldn’t I want to be with him all the time?
SADIE
“What’s in the bag?”I glance over my shoulder to the giant garbage bag sitting in the backseat of the car.
Nash’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile. “It’s a surprise.”
“Can you at least tell me why we’re dressed in snow clothes? You know I can’t go sledding, right? I have a traumatic brain injury.”
“Don’t worry”—he squeezes my knee, sending a thrill shooting up my leg—“it’s not sledding.”
He turns the car into Clift Park, and I see the crowd of people standing around.
“The snowman-building contest?”
“We’re going to destroy this thing.” Signature cockiness rounds out his grin. “Queen Victoria is not going to know what hit her.”
“Queen Victoria?”
“Yeah, she’s the judge who decides who builds the best snowman.” He climbs out of the car, gathering all our supplies.
I join him by the trunk, where he pulls out a ladder. “How did you even know about this?”
“I follow A Dickens Christmas Facebook page. They have the entire schedule of events posted there.” His words are matter-of-fact, as if I should already know all this as a local.
“Never pictured you as a small-town guy.” I scratch my head, realizing I have absolutely zero information to back that up with.
His flirty eyes shoot to me. “How do you picture me?”
“You can’t turn snowman building into a sexual thing.”
“Watch me.” He pats my butt as he walks past, heading for the registration table.
I stand frozen, my mouth gaping, eyes blinking.
Nash swings his body around, the full force of his charming smile slamming me in my chest. His shoulders lift even as he carries the bag of supplies in one hand and the ladder in the other.
“Let’s go, babe!” he calls, walking backward a few paces before turning around again.
I have no idea why Nash manhandling that heavy ladder with one hand is so dang attractive, but it is.
My feet stumble forward, following after him.
“You’re on one today.”I push the sticks Nash brought into the sides of the snowman.
“What does that mean?” he grunts as he rolls the head through the snow.
“You’re extra flirty.”
“Nah, this is how I always am.” His head lifts, showcasing a goofy grin, and somehow, I know he’s telling the truth.
“Did I like how flirty you are?”
“What do you think?” Another big smile accompanies his words.
I’m guessing life with Nash was full of fun, playfulness, teasing, banter, and lots of flirting. I can see why I’d like that, be happy even. There’s a vibrance about him, an energy that’s addicting.
