Page 16 of Say It Isn't Snow
HOLLY
“Coffee,”I decide. “I need coffee to deal with all of this.”
I do a stellar job not picturing Caleb’s muscled body with water droplets rolling over every delectable inch of skin. He’s always been irresistibly handsome, but he’s only gotten better with age. His body is more muscled and his cute boyish features have become more defined.
I’m concentrating so hard onnotthinking about it, that he startles me when he pokes my side from behind.
Shrieking, I spin around, finding him bundled in a Fair Isle sweater and jeans. He holds his hands up apologetically.
“Jesus Christ, Caleb. Are you actually on a mission to give me a heart attack?” I clutch my chest dramatically.
“I didn’t realize you were lost in thought. I wasn’t quiet coming down,” he says sheepishly. “My bad.”
“It’s fine. Here.” I hand him a mug. “It’s still just cream, no sugar, right?”
The side of his mouth lifts and his eyes crinkle at the corners. A dreamy dimple appears in his cheek. I avert my attention, adding a cinnamon stick to my mug.
“You remembered how I take my coffee?”
“It’s just coffee. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I happen to have a good memory for random stuff, that’s all. I’m sure you don’t still have mine memorized.”
“Of course I do.”
My gaze snaps back to him. He grins.
“Your go to is a latte with oat milk and honey, or two pumps of whatever flavor syrup is your favorite of the moment. You also love the specialty seasonal stuff.”
He nods to the cinnamon stick in my coffee and winks at my gaping expression.
“Show off,” I mumble.
A memory flits across my mind of the times he’d text me to meet up in secret, always surprising me with a drink just because he knew I liked it or my favorite snacks stashed in his glove compartment. I bury it, forgetting how those small gestures used to make me swoon over him. He probably did it for all of his hookup partners.
Caleb takes his coffee to the front porch. I follow him out, tucking my oversized cardigan around me to keep the cold at bay. Snow drifts have formed up the steps. It reaches almost up to the wheels of our cars, and they’re both SUVs.
“Nothing beats this, huh? I forgot how gorgeous it is up here at this time of year,” he says.
He seems far less stressed by this storm than I am, taking in the scenic winter view appreciatively. It is beautiful when I set aside the worry running on hamster wheels in my brain.
“Don’t you have hockey games? It’s not winter break yet,” I say.
His attention shoots to me. “That’s true.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, not wanting to admit I have an alert on my phone that tracks NHL news for mentions of him.
“So, what—they put in a substitute player for you?”
His jaw works and he stares into the woods. “I’m…on leave. There’s already a player taking over my spot for games.”
“Oh.”
Curiosity bubbles within me. I want to ask what that means and why he’s on a break from the sport he loves. His body language holds me back. The stiff set of his shoulders gives me the hint he doesn’t want to talk about it right now.
Squinting at the sky, he gives a low whistle. “I’d say we’re snowed in indefinitely if this doesn’t let up by tomorrow.”
“How long is indefinitely?” I ask through a new wave of anxiety.
“Last time I was up here for a storm like this, it was weeks before I could go anywhere.”
