Page 31 of Say It Isn't Snow
“Gotcha.”
“Oh no you don’t.” I wriggle, attempting to trip him.
His arms tighten and he swings me off my feet. Through the layers of our clothes, the deep reverberation of his lighthearted laughter fills me with happiness.
This is the most carefree I’ve been in a long time. No worries or responsibilities can touch me.
Our play wrestling ends up making both of us fall when we overbalance. He catches me and breaks my fall, holding me as I land on his chest.
“You okay?” He rubs my back.
“Yeah.”
I stare at him, my gaze flickering between his eyes. His green irises are mesmerizing, full of tender reverence. A tingle runs down my spine as I go still, laughter fading. The playful mood shifts and warmth spreads through me. My heartbeat skips, my breathing quickening as butterflies dance around inside me.
Something intangible and electric sparks between us. A shiver races across my skin that has nothing to do with the cold outdoors.
He holds me tighter when my attention falls to his mouth. I lick my lips and he stifles a strained noise at the back of his throat. His body is firm beneath me, yet the solid muscle mass brings me so much comfort. I feel safest when he holds me.
Without realizing it, I’ve leaned closer, drawn in by an invisible magnetism.
My nose brushes his. He exhales shakily, clutching the oversized coat I borrowed from him.
Is that his heart drumming loudly, or mine?
I want to whisper his name, but I’m afraid to speak. Every part of me is strung taut, quivering with an unspoken desire to give in and kiss him.
At the last second, I grow flustered and shove snow down his neck instead to break the tension. I scramble off him while he’s writhing with a shocked bark from the cold.
In my hurry to get away, I stumble in the snow. Crumpling in a heap, my face scrunches as pain twinges in my ankle.
“Crap—ow!”
“Are you okay?” Caleb’s voice is laced with concern.
He comes to my aid, tugging off a glove with his teeth and smoothing his palm over my leg. I wince when he helps me roll it gently.
He watches me with a worried frown. “Sorry. I just want to make sure you didn’t break it.”
“I think I twisted it. Not that bad.”
I try to get up and he stops me. “Take it easy. Let me check you over before you stand on it.”
“Okay.”
I only agree because being cared for by someone else gratifies a deep, hidden part of me that I’ve wrapped under armor I’ve spent a lifetime fortifying.
His handsome features set in concentration as he gingerly prods and massages my ankle. The fleeting pain fades with his attentive treatment. I sigh in relief, indulging in his dedication and, secretly, his touch.
“It feels a lot better now,” I say.
“I think you’re good. Just strained the muscle. Let’s head back so you can rest it.”
He helps me to my feet, supporting me even as I insist I’m fine. We leave the sleds behind for now, going slow. I stretch my leg and test how it feels. It aches slightly, but feels like it’ll be better within a few hours.
At the base of the hill leading up to the cabin, I pause, not looking forward to the climb with a sore ankle. Caleb steps in front of me.
“Hop up.”
