Page 15 of Catch Yourself a Snowmance
“Not at all.” He leans down and kisses her on the temple.
“How about s’mores,” I ask.
“S’mores?” Tori asks. “Did someone say, s’mores?”
“It was Carson’s idea,” Alyssa volunteers. “He loaded the baskets with all the things we needed at the market.”
“I’ll put more wood on the fire,” Gage offers.
Alyssa looks at me, and without a word she and I walk into the pantry to grab out the graham crackers, marshmallows, and the variety of chocolate bars we bought for just this occasion.
She reaches for the bag of marshmallows right as I’m grabbing the box of crackers and our arms cross. She turns and looksup at me. Time seems to slow. Would it be so bad to date her? We get along so seamlessly. She’s easy to talk to, funny, and beautiful. What could go wrong?
Liam’s laughter booms through from the living room, reminding me why I need to table those kinds of thoughts. I’d never want to rock the boat in our friendship. What if something happened and Alyssa and I got serious. Then something else happened and she decided she actually couldn’t stand me.
“Excuse me,” she says with a shy smile.
“No, excuse me,” I tell her with a responding smile that feels like it spreads through my body.
She shakes her head, her smile never dimming when she looks away and backs up to make room for me.
The sudden and surprising urge to shut the pantry door and kiss her takes me off guard. It’s all this being cooped up together. I’m losing my bearings.
I step away and wave my arm. “After you.”
She smiles at me and our eyes lock. I know she feels it too.
Do we have chemistry? No doubt.
Can we act on it? Not a chance.
I tell myself it’s okay. I’m the perpetual bachelor, after all. Alyssa and I can be friends—with a side of harmless flirtation and obvious attraction. We’re adults. We can handle ourselves.
Alyssa carries the marshmallows and bag of chocolate bars into the living room and I follow behind her. She’s already kneeling in front of the fire when I come into the living room, a skewer extended into the flames and a childlike grin on her face.
“Brown or burnt?” she asks.
The flicker of firelight dances across her features.
“Brown,” I say.
Our friends chime in with their preferences. Alyssa looks over her shoulder at me. “Brown? Seriously?”
“Perfectly golden brown.”
“Oh no, Wolfgang. You aren’t telling me you’re a marshmallow wuss now are you?”
Her eyes are full of mirth and her marshmallow … is on fire!
“Hey!” I shout. “It’s … it’s … its …” I wave my hand toward her marshmallow.
“I know,” Alyssa calmly answers me.
She slowly turns and takes the piece of sugary charcoal out of the fire and blows on it.
“Perfection,” she announces with a satisfied nod of her head.
“No. That’s just marshmallow murder,” I moan, hamming it up for her sake.
