Page 12 of Say It Isn't Snow
Time apart from her hasn’t altered a thing. The need to kiss her now is alive and fucking well, reigniting in my chest like it has a proximity alert to the girl I’ve secretly missed every day since I fumbled her. Idiot move on my part.
“You haven’t changed.” I take my time admiring her, drinking her in like a starved man finding my salvation.
She bristles. I cough to cover a chuckle and suppress how much it makes me want to get under her skin more. I’ve always liked riling her up to test her limits.
There’s zero chance I get it together. Five seconds in her presence and I’m already gone. Maybe that makes me a pathetic guy still pining after my ex-girlfriend for years after I let her slip through my fingers, but I don’t care. Not when she’s right in front of me at last.
“I would’ve told you it was me, but you didn’t give me a chance. You took one look and went all battle cry on me before I could get a word in,” I point out.
“I thought you were a bear!”
I tilt my head with a smirk. “As you can see, not a bear.”
“And then when I realized you weren’t, I thought you were a burglar or creep coming to attack me.” She slumps after snapping, exhaling heavily. “I think you took about five years off my life, minimum. What are you doing here?”
“Going to my cabin. You know, because it’s my family’s place,” I offer in a deadpan tone.
“No, I meanhere—like, back in New England.”
Has she not seen the news? Maybe she doesn’t follow hockey stuff. The thought brings as much relief as it does a hollow feeling carving out the space behind my ribcage. On one hand, it means she won’t know why I’m holing up here to avoid the PR storm. On the other, there’s the possibility she hasn’t seen even one of my professional games.
“Are you still planning on hitting me with the rolling pin?” I murmur.
My thumb traces the inside of her wrist. Her lashes flutter and she sways into me. I picture myself tilting her chin up and sealing my mouth over hers in a kiss.
The fantasy vanishes a moment later as she regains her composure and leans back to put as much space between us as she can while I’ve got her wrist in my grip. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then huffs.
“I haven’t decided yet. But if I do, I’m warning you now that you absolutely deserve it.” She narrows her eyes and lifts her chin.
“I bet.”
At my gravelly chuckle, a new fuse sparks to life in those beautiful eyes. Pursing her lips, she jostles her hand. I hold on, grinning when she tugs harder without getting anywhere. Just to mess with her, I tuck it against my chest.
“Caleb,” she grumbles.
“Holly,” I reply smoothly in amusement.
“Damn it,” she grits out. “Let go of me.”
“Whatever you want, sugar cookie.”
I miss the shape of her wrist the instant my fingers loosen to release her hand. She wrenches it away, then shuffles a few pointed steps back on the porch while brandishing the rollingpin. I want to reach out and touch her again, like I have so many times when she entered my dreams over the years.
“What’s wrong? Worried I bite?” My tongue traces my lower lip. “You know I only do that when you ask for it nicely.”
Holly groans, crossing her arms. “I see you haven’t changed one bit, either. Still a cocky ass who thinks you can flirt your way out of anything.”
I rub my jaw. “Yeah? You used to like it last I checked.”
“Not anymore.” The blaze in her eyes burns bright and hot. “Never again.”
The words hit me square in the chest harder than any check during a game.
She’s the one that walked away from us.
But I’m the one who let her go without chasing after her harder when she stopped responding to my messages because I thought hockey was the only thing I wanted in life.
I rub at the sharp sensation scraping the inside of my sternum and clear my throat. “So, are you going to let me in?”
