Page 53 of Little Bird
She’s not as strategic as she thinks she is.
I duck the snowball she lobbed and use the movement to gather a handful of snow myself. When she comes up again, this time aiming for my dad, I’m ready. I launch my own snowball, aiming right for her head, and hoot with excitement when I hit her.
“Hey!” she shouts. “That’s not fair!”
I run from the snowball she hurls at me, scooping up snow as I go. “Not fair? Not fair is building a whole stockpile of snowballs while my dad and I are working!”
I launch the handful of snow, and it comes apart as it flies, though enough of it gets to her that it dusts her eyelashes and eyebrows.
“You look like a snowman!” I shout.
She hurls snow at me. “That’s snowwoman to you!” she returns, laughing.
And then, to my surprise, my father enters the fray. Only he’s not shooting at Taryn. He hurls his first snowball at me and hits me right in the chest.
“Hey! She’s the one how started this! Throw them at her!” I protest.
But he’s laughing so hard, his eyes bright and sparkling, that I forgive him immediately. I haven’t seen him this happy in forever, and I want to freeze the moment and stare at him for hours. The smile I barely remember. The eyes that are creased with laughter rather than stress.
The laughter coming out of his mouth.
God, if he’s going to laugh like that, I’ll let him bury me in snow and then some.
Though I know for a fact it’s not me who’s causing it. That’s Taryn. The bird who flew back into our life and stuck her pointy little fingers right into our cracks, pulling at them until we paid attention to her and gave her our hearts.
I finally shoot back into action, gathering up enough snow to cover Taryn’s head and launching it at her. My father throws snow at the same time, covering her, but starts hurling snowballs two at a time, using both hands, and before I know it we’re all screeching like fucking kids, throwing snow as fast as we can and plowing through drifts of the stuff trying to get away. We throw and laugh and hide and eventually I tear right through Taryn’s wall of snowballs to tackle her. She screams for help and my father comes to her aid immediately, pulling me off and tossing me to the side.
She repays him with a snowball to the face and runs away, laughing.
By the time we’re done, we’re covered in snow and soaking wet and the trees are only half chopped. I lean against an ATV, breathing hard and trying to figure out how long we’ve been out here while my father turns back to practical matters.
“I’m going to take the branches we’ve done back to the house,” he says, looking through the wood we’ve chopped. “Good tinder.” He glances up at the sun. “We have another two hours before the sun starts to set. You two get as much chopped as you can, load up the other ATV, and get back before dark. We’ll come back for the rest tomorrow.”
Taryn and I help him load the branches onto the ATV, securing it with the rope we brought along, and by the time we’re done, the four-wheeler is piled high with wood and tinder. We could just take that and call it a successful day, honestly.
But I have a feeling my father is leaving Taryn and I alone so we can talk.
And I don’t hate that.
We watch as he gets into the driver’s seat and takes off, snow flying up from the wheels of the vehicle. I send a quick prayer after him that he arrives to the house safely, because it makes me nervous for him to be driving out here on his own.
And then I appreciate how unique it is for me to care. A week ago, I wouldn’t have bothered worrying about him. I would have thought he could take care of himself and that it didn’t matter to me whether he crashed or not. Hell, I might have thought my life would be easier without him in it.
But something’s shifted over the last twenty-four hours.
Taryn has changed things.
I turn to her, drawn like a moth to a flame, and find her staring after my father as well, her face thoughtful. She’s still covered in snow, though, and a snowflake is melting on her cheek, the moisture running down her skin like tears. I reach out and wipe it away, the wish to take care of her instinctive and impossible to ignore. Christ, she’s beautiful. She’s always been special, even when she went through that awkward, teeth-too-big phase at thirteen, but her beauty has become refined with age. Her face is sharper now, like it’s been altered by pressure, her eyes more jaded.
They soften when they turn to me, though, and transition into that warm honey glow that I remember. And in that moment, she becomes my Taryn again, the girl who sees me more deeply than anyone ever has, the girl who leaves me room to be my full self. My heart clenches and I let my fingers pause on her cheek, curling them in so I’m cupping her face and holding it. Instead of drawing away like I expect her to, she leans into my touch like a cat, turning her face slightly to take up more of my hand.
Skin on skin. Warmth against warmth. Electricity runs from her body into mine, and I take a step closer.
I can’t stop myself.
“Did you need something?” she whispers, looking up at me.
Her lips open a bit, and God in Heaven, is it hard to stay away. She’s so kissable right now, all soft curves and warm sunshine, a shelter from the cold world around us, and every cell in my body wants to dive right into her.
