Page 11 of One Night, Two Holidays

“What?” Nessa says, raising an eyebrow as she catches me staring.

I’m just thinking about how pretty you are.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just wondering how else to pass the time today.”

Truth is, I can think of a few things, but they all require a level of closeness I’m still not sure she’s up for. Last night, there were some moments where I thought she was feeling it…and this morning, with those chocolate kisses. But she’s pulled back every time I thought she might initiate something, like she’s retreating into herself, which gives me even more reason to be cautious about crossing any boundaries. I don’t blame her—I wouldn’t want to kiss me right now, un-showered and wearing the clothes I slept in.

Nessa glances out the window; it’s still snowing but lighter now, the flakes lazily drifting down. “Want to go outside?”

I laugh. “And what, play in the snow like kids?”

“Sure,” she says, her smile mischievous. “Unless you’re too grown-up for that.”

“Never—it’s why I’m going into pediatrics.” Which is true—working with kids always felt like the perfect fit for me. I love how they see the world, how they can be scared one minute and laughing the next. I love finding creative ways to connect with them, to make the hospital feel like a safe space.

But the hardest part? The part I don’t like to talk about, even to myself, is when I can’t help them. When a kid is suffering, and I can’t fix it. That feeling of helplessness keeps me up at night and makes me question if I’m even cut out for this.

But I’m not going to let my mind go to that dark place rightnow. I stand, rolling my shoulders like I’m warming them up, and face Nessa. “Prepare yourself, because I’m the reigning snowball champion of Mountain View Elementary.”

“Ooh, impressive. Let’s see if you’ve still got it!”

After bundlingup in coats and hats, gloves and scarves, we head outside into a world transformed. The usual city sounds are muffled beneath nearly two feet of snow, the air thick with silence. It’s like everything has been wrapped in a shimmering, silver blanket, every tree branch outlined in white, every sound swallowed up.

I’m taking it all in when—whack! A snowball smacks me in the back of the head.

I turn to see Nessa grinning like a mischievous little elf from across the snow-covered courtyard, the white pom-pom on her hat bobbing. “What are you waiting for?” she calls. “Show me what you’ve got!”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that.” Scooping up a handful of snow, I let it fly…and it soars foot over her head.

“Ha!” she crows. “You throw like a grandpa!”

Before I know it, another snowball flies my way, hitting me square in the chest. I stagger back dramatically, clutching my chest like I’ve been mortally wounded.

“Yes!” she shouts, fist-pumping.

Laughing, I make another snowball and lob it in her direction, missing again, and she squeals with delight and hits me with another snowball.

But when my third snowball misses her, she narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “Wait a minute—are you missing on purpose?”

“Me? Never!”

She points a gloved finger at me. “Come on, Jack. Hit me! I dare you!”

Grinning, I form a few more snowballs, feeling the competitive spirit kick in. “You asked for it.”

I wind up and throw a fastball—aiming it just off her right shoulder—then send another flying inches from her left hip and a final one slamming into the toe of her boot, where I know it won’t hurt her.

Her eyes go wide. “Did you play baseball or something?”

“Just one year at a junior college. I’m not that good, but I love it.”

She stares at me, something flickering in her eyes. “Ever play football?”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Nope. My mom’s a neurologist—she would’ve disowned me.”

“Smart lady.”

Then, without warning, she runs toward me, barreling into my stomach with her shoulder and sending us both crashing into a snowdrift. My back hits the snow first, and she lands on top of me, both of us gasping with laughter.

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