Page 50 of A Christmas For Holly

“Yeah, good idea,” Holly agreed, nodding. “We can do that too.”

After breakfast, we both headed to the bathroom to brush our teeth. Then we bundled up, layering as much as possible, and I grabbed my gloves. As I watched Holly fumble with his gloves, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Call yourself a hockey player?” I teased. Without a word, I stepped closer, taking one glove from him and gently guiding his hand inside. His skin brushed mine, and the world felt smaller with only the two of us in this quiet cabin.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, sounding more resigned than sad.

“Here,” I murmured, sliding the second glove on. I took my time with it, letting my fingers linger over his. As I tugged the cuff snugly around his wrist, I quickly kissed him, my lips brushing against his, soft and warm.

Holly blinked, startled, but his lips curled into a small smile as he whispered, “Thanks.”

He stared out the window, his breath fogging the glass as he peered into the snow. His voice was quiet, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I wonder where chickadees go in this kind of heavy snow?”

“They hunker down,” I said. “Find dense evergreens, hollows in trees, places where the wind can’t reach them. They fluff themselves up and ride it out.”

He nodded, still gazing out into the storm. “Smart little things.”

“Resilient,” I added. “They have to be. Ready?” I asked, glancing back at Holly.

He nodded, tightening his scarf around his neck. “Let’s get this over with.”

And with that, we forced our way out of the front door and stepped out onto the small porch to survey the thick snow, ready to tackle the roof before the weather had more surprises.

I found the snow rake propped up on the small porch, next to shovels for clearing paths. I grabbed everything, knowing we wouldn’t bother clearing the road—the snow was here to stay until the mountain road crews showed up with their plows. But we needed a path to the small generator, so I snagged the shovels, too.

“Okay let’s do this,” I muttered, handing Holly a shovel before heading out to tackle the roof.

Thankfully, given what had happened to Holly’s car, the cabin wasn’t under any trees, but the snow had banked up from the east side of the cabin, piling against the roof and drifting toward the south. We started knocking it down in chunks, using the rake to pull it away from the edges. More often than not, it cascaded right over us, covering us in soft powder. We worked quickly, our breath clouding the air. After a good half hour of clearing the roof, we dug a narrow path to the generator at the side of the cabin.

I’d just finished scooping another heavy load of snow off the path, my arms aching and my breath fogging in the cold, when something smacked me square in the face. Snow exploded across my cheeks and slid down my collar, icy and sharp. I froze for a moment, stunned, then wiped my face with my glove, blinking through the sting of cold.

I turned, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the area behind me. There was Holly, standing near the tree line, his arms crossed, trying way too hard to act innocent. His gaze darted to the sky as if he’d suddenly discovered an interest in the same birds he’d been talking about earlier.

“You didnotjust do that,” I said, dropping the shovel and shaking the snow out of my scarf.

“Do what?” Holly asked, his tone casual. “Wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t you?” I echoed, crouching down to scoop up a handful of snow. “You’re the only one here!”

“Could’ve been the wind,” he replied, grinning now, his breath misting in the cold. “Or, I don’t know, maybe a chickadee with a grudge.”

“Uh-huh.” I packed the snow into a ball, standing slowly. “Let’s see if the wind—or a chickadee—can dodge this.”

Holly’s eyes widened, and before I could throw, he bolted, laughing as he ran around the corner of the cabin. I followed, the snow crunching under my boots, my own laughter bubbling up as I lobbed the snowball and missed him by a mile.

“You’ve got terrible aim, Haynes!” he called over his shoulder, leaning down to grab his own handful of snow.

“Oh, we’ll see about that!” I yelled back, scrambling after him as he whipped around and lobbed another snowball. It caught my arm this time, and I retaliated with a wild throw that landed square on his shoulder.

It was just that for a while—laughing, throwing, dodging, both of us slipping and sliding in the deep snow. By the time wewere both too tired to continue, we’d collapsed in a heap next to the cabin, breathless and grinning like idiots. Holly’s cheeks were flushed red from the cold, his hair sticking up at odd angles where his hat had slid off.

I flopped back onto the snow, staring up at the pale gray sky, still catching my breath. “You’re terrible at this,” I muttered.

“Me?” he shot back, leaning over me, his shadow blocking the weak winter sun. “You’re the one who missed like half the time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, closing my eyes for a second. “I’ll get you next time.”

When I opened them again, he was still hovering, his face inches from mine. His grin softened into something else, something quieter. “You’ve got snow on your eyelashes,” he murmured, brushing a gloved hand across my cheek.

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