Page 73 of Catching the Mistletoe

“Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed softly, resting her hand on my chest and falling asleep. Not me, though. I stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to miss a second of having her in my arms.

About an hour later, Arabella stirred, rolling over and stretching lazily, a sleepy smile curving her lips. She was adorable, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes soft and dreamy. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I said, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Sleep okay?”

“So good. Like a log.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Hungry, though.”

“There’s some food.”

“Excellent.” She slipped from the bed and grabbed my shirt from the floor, putting it on as she padded over to the kitchen. Pulling a loaf of bread from the cupboard, she popped some into the toaster. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

She made the toast and some coffee and brought both to me with a smile. It was such a mundane task, sitting on the bed, eating toast in my shirt. But, I don’t know, there was just something about it that pulled at me. God, I was so fucked.

When she was done eating, she said, “I’ll have a shower, if you’re okay.”

“Go ahead.”

She did, disappearing into the bathroom, her hips swinging. Fuck, I couldn’t get enough of her. Trying not to think about the fact that the clock was ticking, I threw the blankets back and followed her. Arabella was stepping into the shower, the water streaming over her, her eyes drifting closed.

“Scrub your back?”

“Absolutely.”

And I did, her skin slippery and wet, her sighs music to my ears. We washed each other, and it could have turned hot, but somehow, it didn’t. When we were towelling off, I said, “You feel like going for a walk?”

“Fuck yes! It looks magical out there.”

“It does.”

We dressed quickly, but then had to wait while Arabella dried her hair. Then we were bundled up in our thick coats, scarves and gloves, heading out the door. It was picture postcard perfect, the snowflakes spiralling from the sky, the trees dusted white, the RV nestled amongst the pines. We didn’t talk, not really, not needing the words, happy to just wander, hand in hand.

We ended up by a frozen creek, the ice sparkling, the air crisp. Arabella’s face was pink, her eyes shining. Fuck, she was breathtaking, her beauty cutting me to the core. Needing a distraction, I bent and scooped a handful of snow, patting it into a ball.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a snowball.”

“Why?”

“Because. Haven’t you ever had a snowball fight?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she immediately bent to scoop up some snow. “Yes.”

“Have you won any?”

“Maybe.”

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