Page 39 of Almost Ours
Connor shot me a look like I’d just suggested the Earth was flat. “No one’s house will be better,” he said firmly. “We’re going to crush them.”
The sheer seriousness of his tone had me laughing under my breath. The kid reminded me so much of myself when I was younger–driven, competitive, determined to be the best ateverything.
“Alright, alright,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “Crushing it is.”
Connor was laser-focused on the gingerbread house we’d been working on for the past fifteen minutes–adding more gumdrops than architectural logic would allow. The thing leaned slightly to the left, but he looked so damn proud, I wasn’t about to point it out.
Around us, the holiday tent was alive with chatter and chaos. Laughter bounced off the canvas walls, the smell of cinnamon and sugar thick in the air. Somewhere nearby, a band was playing an acoustic version of “Let it Snow,” and the kids were shrieking with delight from the direction of the snow maze.
I pulled out my phone, thumbed out a quick text to Harper.
Hey, headed over to the snowball toss next. All good here.
I hesitated a second, then added:
He’s crushing the gingerbread game.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket just as a familiar voice cut through the cold air.
“Ryan freakin’ Barzal, building gingerbread houses. Now this I gotta see.”
I glanced up to see Shane strolling toward us like he owned the damn place, a smug grin on his face and snowflakes dusting the shoulders of his black coat.
“Hey, Coach Shane,” Connor said, beaming. “Look at our house! It’s the best one here.”
Shane crouched down to inspect it, nodding thoughtfully. “You know, Connor, I think you might be right. This thing is a masterpiece.”
Connor beamed even brighter, and I couldn’t help but feel a little proud myself.
Shane straightened up, turning his attention to me, his grin turning sly. “So what’s the deal here? Babysitting duty for Harper?”
I rolled my eyes, smirking. “Just helping out. Trying to be a good friend.”
“Uh-huh,” Shane said, crossing his arms and giving me a look that said he didn’t buy it for a second.
Before I could answer, Connor tugged my sleeve. “Can we go to the snowball toss now? Liam said there’s a target shaped like a reindeer’s butt and you get points if you hit it!”
I laughed. “Well, now I have to see that.”
Connor took off ahead of us, boots kicking up little sprays of snow, his red jacket practically glowing under the string lights. I started after him, and Shane fell in step beside me.
“So. Gingerbread houses. Holiday games. Next thing I know, you’ll be knitting Connor a scarf and asking Harper to build a snowman family.”
I gave him a dry look. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
He laughed. “Relax. You’re safe. For now.”
We reached the snowball toss, where piles of snowballs were already stacked like ammo behind small barricades. Kids lined up, taking aim at cartoonish targets–penguins, elves, snowmen–and yes, one very prominent reindeer butt.
Shane crouched in the snow, towering even while kneeling, giving Connor tips like they were training for the damn Snowball Olympics.
“Keep your elbow up–yeah, like that. Feet shoulder-width apart. Aim low. You’re going for the reindeer’s butt. Focus.”
Connor nodded, squinted, and let the snowball fly.
Direct hit.
Shane whooped. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
