Page 88 of Major Love

He wraps my scarf around the nape of my neck and zips me up as I slip into my snow-boots, my escapade from using them as shovels having long-since thawed out with the help of Jason’s fireplace.

Then he tosses me my earmuffs and steps aside as he opens the front door.

I laugh as I glance up at him, giving him a playful narrowing of my eyes.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

I take a tentative step outside.

Jason grins and follows behind me, not locking up as we walk partway down the drive.

“This way,” he says gently, moving ahead of me so that he can take the lead, and he glances back at me over his large shoulder just to ensure that I’m following.

I have to do a little jog to keep up with his long strides.

“Wait, wait,” I pant breathlessly, not accustomed to the icy air after five days of Jason’s cabin keeping me cosy and warm. But it’s been milder today, meaning that the chill is actually tolerable, the snow on the pine trees sparkling softly as I pad quickly after him.

“Where are we going?” I laugh, wondering why his truck isn’t out front anyway. I keep my eyes on my boots as I maintain my pace through the deep snow.

I’m about to tell him that we forgot to lock up and that I’ll run back and do it for him, when we round the corner of the house and I come to a sudden stop.

My boots pause in the snow, and my heart stumbles in my chest.

Because his truck is parked up in front of his workshop, and a large sheet is fastened between two pines. A small outdoor heater is warming the tail-bed where there are pillows and blankets, and in the centre of the cosy quilts sits a little projector.

Which is projecting a movie onto the sheet set in front of us.

I lift my hand to my mouth, a soft exhalation whooshing out of me.

We couldn’t go to the Valentine’s screening… so Jason brought the screening to me.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, so quietly that I know he hasn’t heard me, my eyes blinking nonstop to withhold the incoming onslaught of tears.

Don’t cry, Sunday. Do not cry.

Jason turns around to face me, the darkness veiling my rising emotions, but the muted glow from the back porch illuminates him perfectly for me.

“I don’t have a tonne of movies on my laptop,” he admits. “But we could download a streaming service if you have a film in mind.”

He glances quickly toward the tail-bed, which he’s so carefully decked out, and – when I actually look closer – I think he’s even shoved a mattress in there.

I bite my lower lip and swallow, choking down the tears that are threatening to spill.

“If you prefer, I can turn the truck around and we can sit inside,” he adds. “But I think it’ll be warm enough in the tail-bed, seeing as it’s not as cold as it was last night. We’ve got a flask in there, if you want some cocoa…”

And he suddenly pauses, noticing my expression. I stare up at him with giant eyes as I repeat my little mantra in my head.

Do not cry. Don’t you dare freaking cry.

Jason blinks in surprise, instinctively stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, which only makes me want to cry harder.

“I’m fine,” I rasp, my voice even more quiet than it was before, and I bite my lip as hard as I can to try and distract myself from my feelings.

I can’t believe he did this, I think to myself, my gaze flicking over his shoulder to the outdoor movie screen behind him. Down to the tail-bed on my left, with a wall of pillows tucked at the back of it. The hot water bottle on one side, obviously there to make a warm patch. And I also see one of those tall heaters at the side of the back porch, right behind the still-covered hot-tub, emitting a toasty glow toward the truck.

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