Page 110 of The Christmas Dash

I tuck one leg up under me, feeling warm and happy as a vision of how our days together could unfold. “I won’t want to abandon the bookstore, but Ivy has been on me about hiring another full-time employee, and I’ll have some flexibility if I do that too.”

He shoots me a grin and reaches over the center console, resting a hand on my knee. “We’ll make it work. I never want my stuff to get in the way of your stuff.”

I shrug. “Sometimes it will, though, and that’s okay, right? I want us to be able to compromise.”

“Me too,” he says. “I want you to always talk to me. With everything. How you’re feeling, what you need . . . everything.”

“Deal.”

The song switches to “Underneath the Tree” by Kelly Clarkson, and we take turns belting it out as Gabe signals to exit.

“Where are we going now?” I sit forward in my seat, peering out the windshield, a feeling of anxious anticipation thrumming through my veins, for the future with Gabe in the long term and for whatever else he has up his sleeve for today.

Chapter 35

Gabe

We’re somewhere in Indiana. The ground is snow-covered and the sky is gray. As I exit the interstate, I say a silent prayer that the sledding hill I looked up before we left Nashburg is actually legitimate.

“I figure since we already went to Felipe’s farm and cut down Mom’s Christmas tree, we can count that as our third leg of the Dash. So that means next up is—”

“Sledding!” Beth bounces in her seat. “You found me a sledding hill?”

“Hopefully,” I admit with a chuckle.

I navigate to the park in a small town just off the highway, and sure enough, there are children of all ages tromping up and sledding down the adjoining hill.

“We don’t have sleds, though.” Beth’s shoulders sink.

I pop the trunk on her car, and she perks up, eyebrows arching.

I wink at her.

“Gabe! When’d you get sleds?”

“Before we left Nashburg. You were already asleep. I locked you in the car and ran into the store and grabbed some. Extra socks and boots are in the trunk, too. Now come on. Loser has to buy hot chocolate at our next stop.”

I’m about to get out of the car, but Beth reaches over, wraps her fingers around the back of my neck, and draws my mouth to hers. She kisses me, slow and sweet, deepening it to a point where we’re both breathless and I want to forfeit sledding altogether and just stay in this cozy car and do this with her until we have to get back on the road. I knew kissing Beth would be incredible. Because she’s Beth. But something about our foundation of friendship—our history coupled with our time apart—makes kissing her feel at once exciting and new and like I’m coming back to a place I’ve always known.

She trails her lips in a line along my jaw.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a very thoughtful man?” she whispers, pulling back so she can look at me.

I shake my head. “It’s not hard to be thoughtful when you’re all I can think about.”

She grins. “Is that gonna be a song lyric?”

I grin back. “You want it to be? Or I could just save my one-liners for you.”

She taps her chin playfully. “Let me think on it.”

Beth kisses me again, quick and smooth, and I reach for her to pull her in closer, but she squeals and opens her door.

“Come on, Gabe. Let’s sled. We don’t have all day!”

We spend the next thirty minutes trekking up the hill and sledding down. I bought us saucers because it was the first thing I could find that didn’t require any inflation. I’ve got good lung capacity, but I wasn’t about to blow up an inner tube. Would have wasted precious time, too.

The saucers end up making us cackle because we fly down the hill, spinning around in circles as we go.