Page 36 of Catch Yourself a Snowmance
I watch her walk out of the living room, her long brown hair swishing across her back.
Is this normal? I’ve known Alyssa for less than a week.Maybe being in a cabin is like dog years. Every day is like seven years or something. I do know her. And I definitely like her.
Alyssa reappears, wearing her puffy red ski coat, gloves and a scarf. She’s got her black snow boots on with her jeans tucked into the tops. I pull on my coat and open the door so she can step out past me.
Chapter 10
Alyssa
I think you’re really beautiful and
I feel really warm when I’m around you
and my tongue swells up.
~ Buddy, Elf
Carson walks beside me. Close. It’s cold out, but not unbearable. The afternoon sun reflects off the snow. Charcoal patches of ground peek through the blanket of white, already melting from the hours since the last snowflakes fell.
“It’s been a good trip.” Carson looks over at me, warmth in his eyes.
“Yeah, it has.” I smile up at him.
“Unexpected,” he says.
“Definitely.”
“About that thing I said,” he looks ahead at the spot where the trail meets the property. The clearing forthe trail is visible, but covered in inches of white powder.
“What thing?” I ask.
“About being a perpetual bachelor.”
I swallow the newly formed lump in my throat. Is this conversation headed where I think it is? I’m quiet. Waiting. Carson’s got more to say. I’m sure of it.
We walk along, coming to the two trees that flank the trail. Carson stops and turns toward me. His brown eyes are soft, nearly pleading, but also steady, confident, even bold.
“I’m not attached to that resolution.” His mouth tips up in a half smile.
And then he surprises me, taking one hand out of his coat pocket. He’s not wearing gloves. His hand travels up and he runs it down my hair that’s falling past the edge of my knit cap. He slides his fingers through my hair, all the way down my back until he reaches the end.
I’m frozen. Not cold. Just still.
“I’m not …” he says softly, in a deep rumbly voice that I feel everywhere. “... committed to bachelor status.”
“Me neither,” I say, my voice cracking mid-sentence. “I’m not a bachelor, that is.”
Carson chuckles. “Good thing. I’ve had my share of bachelors this weekend.”
I laugh lightly, but my laughter stops short when Carson’s hand lifts again. This time, he cups my face.
We stand there, his warm palm on my cheek, our breath mingling in wisps of soft white furls rising up between us, our eyes searching for permission. I nod the slightest. It’s the flutter of a hummingbird wing, quick and nearly invisible, but he sees it and it’s all he needs.
Carson bends in and kisses me. His lips are full and warm on mine. His hand moves around and laces through my hair at the nape of my neck. I kiss him back, lifting my arms andlooping them over his shoulders. Carson takes a step nearer to me, using his other hand to tug me toward him until we’re flush. I’m surprised the meadow doesn’t melt into a pond around us.
I’ve been kissed. I’m in my late 20s. But I’ve never felt a kiss like this—it zips through every place seen and unseen. Carson’s all in, not holding back. This kiss feels like relief of something that has been building between us for the whole week, starting at that trip to the grocery store. Carson’s lips dance with mine like they were made for me—as if we have been waiting for this kiss for years, not mere days. He pulls back slowly, gently brushing the back of his hand down my cheek.
“I didn’t expect you,” Carson says, almost as if he’s speaking to himself.
