Page 21 of North

“Sure you did.” He leans back on his elbows, his breath visible in the crisp air. “So, you always this competitive, or am I just special?”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling. “You might be special. Don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckles and then jumps up, looking every bit the kid as he does so. He hauls me up and we walk to the porch where he motions for me to sit.

“What’s in the thermos?” I ask as he unscrews thecap.

“Mexican hot chocolate,” he says, pouring a fragrant mug for me.

“Ooh, fancy,” I murmur as I inhale the scent of chocolate, cayenne and a little bit of cinnamon before taking a tiny sip. I feel the slight tingle from the pepper on my tongue and groan with appreciation.

North pours himself a cup and we sit side by side in comfortable silence, watching kids a few houses down making snow angels.

“You ever do this growing up?” he asks, glancing at me.

I nod, surprised by the flood of memories. “Yeah. Rafferty and I used to build snow forts in the backyard. We’d spend hours outside until we couldn’t feel our fingers anymore. You?”

North’s gaze softens. “I don’t have siblings, but we had a ragtag group of kids in my neighborhood. Love the snow days.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, sliding down memory lane, the warmth of the memories tugging at something buried deep. “I don’t do stuff like this anymore. Feels silly, I guess.”

“It’s not silly,” he says quietly. “It’s living.”

Something in his tone makes me look at him, really look at him. There’s no judgment in his expression, just a quiet sincerity that makes my chest ache.

“Living, huh?” I murmur, more to myself than him.

“Yeah,” he says, his smile soft. “And you should do more of it.”

I don’t answer, but his words stick with me as we finish our hot chocolate and start to build a lopsided snowman. He tells me stories about his childhood in Laval, about cracking his mom’s kitchen window with a snowball that was a little too hard packed, and how no matter the trouble he got into, she was always there making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

And for a little while, I forget to be afraid.

We work diligently, trading stories of how we grew up in the same country, but on opposite sides, discussing some of the differences in culture, food and weather.

North steps inside to grab a hat and scarf to put on our snowman and I find some rocks for his eyes and mouth. North uses his gloved hand to brush stray snow off its misshapen body. The grin on his face is easy and boyish, the kind of smile that makes you forget that he’s a professional athlete and not just some guy who’s too good to be true. He catches me watching him, and his grin shifts into something softer, something that tightens inside me.

“You know,” he starts, his voice warm despite the cold, “we leave for Atlanta tomorrow. Quick trip—Atlanta, Washington, then we’re back Saturday night.”

“Don’t worry, Paquette. I’m going to make sure youget enough sex today to hold you over.”

“Yes, you are,” he says in a low rumble that causes goose bumps to prickle on my nape. “But I was talking about plans when I get back.”

“We’re making plans now?” I tease, adjusting one of the stick arms on our snowman.

North nods, crouching to scoop a handful of snow, rolling it idly between his palms. “Yeah. Foster and Mazzy are throwing a New Year’s Eve party that night. Should be a good time. You going?”

I glance at him, his blue eyes brighter than the sky overhead, and for a fleeting second I imagine it. A festive party, the laughter of the Titans family filling the air, champagne glasses clinking as the countdown begins. And then, when the clock strikes midnight, North turning to me, his eyes alight with something deeper, leaning in for a kiss under a lingering sprig of mistletoe. I imagine the faint taste of champagne on his lips, his hands at my waist as the twelve o’clock toll sounds. It’s an image I can almost feel—the warmth, the anticipation, the closeness.

Then the memories hit, a sharp, sudden assault, like the snap of camera flashes.

Flash. Spinning around the dance floor, the hem of my pale blue dress swirling as I laugh, the sound ringing out like a promise. His hand is warm on my waist, steady, guiding.

Flash. His lips brushing against mine for the first time,a featherlight touch that makes my heart pound. My first kiss, sweet and intoxicating, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

Flash. The heat of his whispered words against my ear, words that make me feel wanted, desired. The first flicker of something awakening inside me,a mix of nerves and excitement.

Flash. His gentle coaxing, his hand resting on mine, guiding me as I fumble to slip out of my panties beneath my dress. His voice low, soothing, telling me it’s okay. That I’m safe. That he wants something to remember me by, so I don’t hesitate to hand them over. I’d do anything for him.

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