Page 63 of Snowed In
“Witchcraft,” she says when she straightens, and she starts tucking in the stray hairs around her face. “You’re staring.”
“Sorry.”
“Am I bright red?”
I shake my head, even though she is. But that’s not what caught my attention.
Megan O’Sullivan has freckles.
Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. I’ve never seen them before because I’ve never seen her without makeup, but whatever she was wearing washed off in the lake, and now she’s here with her face tinged pink and dotted all over and her gray eyes so bright you’d swear they were lit from within.
Something squeezes in my chest, and it becomes hard not to stare at her. Hard not to feel like a piece of shit either.
This is the best mood I’ve seen her in since we got back here.
And I’m ruining it.
“You didn’t tell me you swam,” I say eventually.
“Well, we’ve gotta keep some mystery to the relationship,” she jokes. “I got into sea swimming when I moved to Dublin,” she adds. “I’m used to the cold.”
“You were brilliant.”
“Thanks.” She turns shy and wriggles away from me. It’s only then I realize I’m rubbing her arms up and down.
“Are you still cold?”
“I’m warming up,” she says, and I cast an eye over her without trying to be too obvious about it. Her legs are covered in goosebumps, and I’m relieved when she lets me lead her back to the others, where they’ve gathered to unwrap the food.
Megan pulls her shoes on and exchanges my coat for her red one while I grab a ham and cheese sandwich from the box and root around for another.
“Where’s the tomato one?” I ask, as Hannah digs into hers.
“Tomato?”
“For Megan.”
Hannah doesn’t look at me, purposefully evasive, as she takes another bite. “I just made ham and cheese.”
I stiffen at the fake innocence in her expression. “I told you she’s a vegetarian.”
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “I forgot.”
“I can just pick the ham off,” Megan murmurs beside me, but that’s not the point, and she knows it.
“Alright,” I say, dumping my sandwich back in the box. “That’s enough.”
“Christian—” Megan tugs at my sleeve, but I easily break away. “Honestly, it’s fine.”
“It’s not. Hannah,” I say, loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Can I have a word?”
She frowns around a mouthful of bread. “I’m eating.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I’m— Hey!” She garbles a protest as I grab her hand, tugging her away from the others.
Megan looks like she’s about to come after us, but Molly, my official hero of the day, quickly distracts her with a flask of hot chocolate as I drag my little sister around the bend to a small picnic bench we passed earlier.
