Page 67 of Love and Other Chances

I’m no longer shivering from cold, but his words send a different shiver through me. “Tell tomorrow’s Mr. Murphy thanks for taking one for Team Breegan.”

“Anything for you, Sneaks,” he says with a smile. He places his mug in the cup holder and shifts the car into drive.

Ten minutes later, we park on one of the streets surrounding City Park. Brooks reaches into the back seat again to grab a grocery bag, then turns to me with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s snowman time.”

We exit the car and find a corner of the park that hasn’t been overtaken by young kids yet. Luckily, this is a wet snow that packs well, making it easy to get the giant snowball started. Brooks and I laugh as we push the bottom layer of the snowman into place.

Looking around us, I realize that we’ve already used up most of the snow in the immediate vicinity. “We did not plan that very well. We probably should have started farther away and rolled the first ball this direction.”

Brooks stands beside me, surveying the area and considering my words. “You are not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” I airily state.

Hetsks. “Oh, really? I think you’re forgetting the time you claimed that we would ‘never in a million years get caught’ flamingo-flocking Assistant Principal Jackson’s yard.”

I punch Brooks in the arm. Between my gloved hand and his thick winter coat, I’m sure he barely felt it. “You had to bring that up, huh? I would think you could have let that memory die.”

“A week of detention tends to sear itself into long-term memory,” he teases. Principal Jackson was smart and made us serve our detentions on opposite weeks, lengthening the punishment for both of us. I shake my head but smile.

“We’d better roll up the second layer before the pesky kids steal all the good snow,” he adds.

We quickly create two more balls of snow but have to carry them over to our base. I’m sweating underneath my layers by the time we’re done. Once we’ve secured the three tiers of the snowman with additional packed snow as glue, Brooks dumps out the bag of supplies.

“Oh my goodness, you really went all out, didn’t you?” I say when I see the full array. A bag of carrots, a hat and scarf set, plus a small bag of actual coal wait to be added to our blank snowman.

“Snowman-building is serious business!” Brooks exclaims. “Except you’d never believe that they don’t sell corncob pipes anymore, so it can’t be Frosty. I suppose we shouldn’t be endorsing tobacco products in a kid-friendly park anyway. You start on the face while I find the perfect set of sticks for arms.”

I’m giggling to myself as I follow Brooks’ instructions. I take off my gloves so I can have the dexterity to position the pieces of charcoal. Choosing the perfect nose-shaped carrot, I complete the face as Brooks returns holding two sticks.

A few minutes later, we stand back to admire our completed snowman. We take several pictures and selfies to memorialize our creation. “It’s perfect,” I say. “A perfect snowman for a perfect snow day.”

“With the perfect snow date,” Brooks adds, smiling over at me. He takes my hand in his, and I feel warmth spread through me, despite the fact that both of our hands are like ice. “But I think it’s time for an indoor date. I’m frozen solid,” he adds.

“No arguments here!”

Once we’re back in the car, Brooks turns the heat up again. We swing by my duplex and then his apartment so we can change into dry clothes before going to lunch. Brooks comes out wearing light jeans and a deep navy quarter-zip sweater, looking so effortlessly handsome that it’s all I can do not to suggest we stay right here in his apartment. But that’snotthe best idea for the current stage of our dating relationship.

His appearance does make me grateful that I took a few extra moments to choose a cranberry-red sweater dress with black tights and boots as my outfit. Or maybe Brooks dressed up because I dressed up. Either way, I have zero complaints about Brooks’ attire.

We head to Sandy’s for lunch. I forgo my usual sandwich order to get hot soup instead, and Brooks follows my lead. It’s almost 3:00 p.m.by the time we finish our late lunch, and I fear this might be the end of our day together.

“Want to walk over to Bookafe for coffee or pastries?” Brooks asks, his eyes hopeful.

“Yes!” I instantly reply.At least I’m not the only one who doesn’t want our date to end.

After a brief walk through Center Square, we order decaf specialty coffees and muffins. I purposely guide us to the table in the back, tucked between bookshelves stocked with works by international authors. This is the table where Mateo first declared his interest to Lana. Considering how in love they are now, this table might be blessed with special relationship powers.

Another two hours fly by as we talk about anything and everything. We swap outrageous stories from our jobs and trade funny memories from high school.

“Ugh,” Brooks groans. He covers his hands with his face. “I’ll never live that down, huh?”

“Brooks, they couldn’t get the suds out of the fountain forweeks. Of course, you’re not living that down!” I laugh.

“It’s their own fault for installing a fountain on a high school campus. Whose idea was that?! They were probably fired,” Brooks says defensively. But his ornery smile lets me know he’s not truly defensive in the slightest. “And what about you, Miss ‘Flash Mob During Algebra?’ I don’t think Mr. Owens appreciated your choreographed interruption.”

I gasp with mock outrage. “You cannot prove that I was the mastermind behind that!”

Brooks rolls his eyes. “Please. I recognized all those dance moves.” He pinches my side, causing me to both yelp and blush.

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