Page 3 of Mr. Winter
Jack released one of my hands and turned it palm up. A snowflake floated in his palm despite it being summer. He laughed when I rubbed my eyes and laced his fingers through mine with our still joined hands.
Tentatively, I stuck out my finger and touched it. It felt like snow. Feeling braver, I took it from him and it melted in my hand.
“You’re so cute when you pout.” His observation made me blush. Jack has never said anything about my looks.
Touching my face, I looked up at him. “You think I’m cute?”
Jack shook his head and leaned in my face. “No. I think you’re beautiful.”
With a twirl of his finger, Jack had snow falling just on us. I looked up in wonder and watched the snow fall. A flake fell on my lash and caused me to close my eyes. Warmth engulfed my cheek when Jack cupped it with his palm. I turned into his touch, and the butterflies returned.
“It’s our secret, Arden,” he informed me as he wiped the flake with his thumb.
“Why me, Jack?” I needed to know how he chose me to keep his secret.
“Because I trust you.” His lips were a few breaths away from mine. “You’re special to me.”
His lips pressed against mine, and everything felt right with the world. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he grabbed my hips to pull me close. It was perfect.
“Good morning! It’s 7:00 AM, and we’re here with your traffic report on this surprisingly cold December morning!”
My eyes pop open,and I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. I have a busy day but can’t shake the memory of my first kiss with Jack. The kiss was real, but as time went on, I’d begun to question my sanity about the other stuff. There’s no way he was able to do what I think he did. Even so, the anger surfaces. It’s not burning hot like it is for my ex. No, my anger toward Jack is a slow simmer—a subtle feeling that I’ve carried since he disappeared on me all those years ago.
Old Man Winters had just handed me a note from Jack. The only thing it’d said was “I’m sorry.” I’d never seen him again. The only updates we had were from his grandfather. Jack didn’t even make it to the memorial service. I’d broken down and asked his mother why he wasn’t there. She said he had a work emergency and couldn’t make it.
It had hurt my feelings more than I thought.
Was the adult Jack so cold he’d choose work over honoring the grandfather who adored him?
Meanwhile, this other mystery grandson—Espen or something—moved in. His ass hasn’t seen the light of day. One whole year and no one can say they’ve seen him outside.
Huffing, I pull back the covers and stomp into the bathroom. It’s amazing how a fifteen-year-old's heartbreak still lingers deep inside of me.
What’s up with that dream?
My dreams have attacked me more often in the last month. I brush my teeth with an attitude. I don’t remember them in detail, but I wake up with Jack on my mind. It’s weird and annoying that the ghost of a man can still haunt me.
My phone chimes and I know who it is without looking.
Mack: Hurry up, lazy.
Me: Shut up. I’ve been awake for ten minutes and am almost finished getting dressed.
Mack: Liar. That’s code for you’re about to look for an outfit.
I snort because he got me. I’ve only brushed my teeth and washed my face. He is wrong about one thing.
Me: Firstly, you know I pick out my outfits a week at a time. Second, I’m always on time.
I move back into my room to get the outfit I’ve hung on the door. Those extra few seconds I’ve spent allowing myself to pout over Jack makes me feel like I’m hours late.
Mack: How will you be on time when I can still see your ass.
I shake my head at his lunacy.
Me: I’m changing the password on my security cameras.
Although that asshole spent the night in “his room” he still texts me like we’re not in the same house. His stetson wearing ass is always popping up like he pays my bills. He only laughs when I accuse him of using his Fairhope privilege. Speaking of Fairhopes, I call his big brother on speaker.
