Page 39 of Mr. Mistletoe
The roar of the engine drowns out everything. I’ve never been on anything like this. Part of me is exhilarated—the speed, the power, the thrill. Another part is terrified we’ll get stuck in the frozen piles of snow.
Ice pelts my cheeks, blurring my vision. I press my face into his parka, warming my front with his back.
He shouts something over his shoulder, but the wind swallows it.
Trust me.
And I do. I trust Clark more than anyone. But trust doesn’t stop fear from clawing at me as we round a bend and the snowmobile skids slightly. My stomach drops. For half a second, I swear we’ll tip.
Clark corrects fast, but my heart still hammers against my ribs.
“Clark!” I shout, tightening my grip.
“It’s okay!” he yells back, calm even in the chaos.
The path narrows. Snow mounds grow steeper. I can barely see, and I don’t know how Clark does. A small, terrified part of me wonders what will happen if we don’t make it. What if the snowmobile dies? What if the road disappears completely?
I almost tell him to turn back. Almost.
His hand drops from the handlebar just long enough to squeeze mine, quick and sure. A tiny, wordless promise.
And something in me believes him.
Finally, the road smooths under the snowmobile. Relief floods me. My jaw aches from clenching, and the tightness in my chest eases. Ahead, a faint clearing emerges. Cars line the road, and an SUV waits to the right.
My heart lurches for a different reason now. Almost there… and that means goodbye.
Clark eases the snowmobile to a stop. I’m numb, shivering. He swings off, then helps me down. Boots hit the snow with a soft thud. My knees wobble.
He folds me into his arms, keeping me upright.
For one dangerous second, I want to stay. I want to forget the opportunity waiting for me. I never want to leave his arms. It’s safe here.
“You’ll be home soon,” he murmurs against my cheek.
Snow clings to his lashes, a flush on his face. He looks like a Christmas movie dream.
“Thank you,” I whisper, stepping back before I change my mind.
His jaw tightens, like something unsaid.
A man exits the SUV and shakes Clark’s hand.
“Thanks, Pete,” Clark says.
“Heat’s on full blast,” Pete replies, giving me a once-over. “Roads are clear. Don’t speed.”
“Don’t worry,” I assure him.
Pete moves to the snowmobile, giving us a moment.
For a heartbeat, we don’t move. Then I rise on my toes, pressing a quick kiss to Clark’s lips—soft, fleeting, too little.
He catches my wrist before I pull back, deepening the kiss—slow, certain. When he finally releases me, my eyes sting with tears that aren’t from the cold.
I stumble toward the SUV, climb in, and pull away. Clark steps back, hands in pockets, watching.
I don’t realize I’m crying until warm, wet tears slide down my cheeks.
