Page 33 of Tempted To Be Mine

“It’s the worst snowman I’ve ever seen.”

I pulled out my phone. “We need to document this. Come on, selfie time.”

“Oh God, no. I look like a mess.”

“You look great. Get over here.”

I threw my arm around her shoulders and held the phone out, angling it to capture both of us and our lopsided creation. Lucy leaned into me, her head tilting toward mine, and at the last second, she actually smiled for the camera. I snapped the picture.

We looked at it together, huddled close to see the screen. Two California kids, bundled up like they were about to summit Everest, grinning like idiots next to a drunk-looking snowman with a crooked carrot nose.

“That’s actually a great picture,” Lucy admitted.

“See? I told you this was a good idea.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring at the image on my screen. Then she looked up at me, her blue eyes bright against the white landscape.

“Thank you,” she said. “For making me do this. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

She turned back toward her cabin, but I wasn’t finished. I bent down, my gloved hands scooping up a handful of snow. I packed it quickly. This was something I did know how to do.

“Hey Lucy?”

She turned around. “What⁠—”

The snowball hit her square in the chest.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring down at the white splatter on her navy parka. Then her eyes lifted to meet mine. I saw something dangerous flash through her eyes.

“Did you just throw a snowball at me?”

I shrugged.

“Jeremy Blackwell. You did not just do that.”

“I think I did.”

I watched as she bent down and started gathering snow. I was already scrambling backward, laughing, my feet slipping slightly on the packed path.

“Don’t you dare,” I said.

Her snowball caught me right in the shoulder. Way harder than I expected.

“Holy shit!” I stumbled back, genuinely surprised by the force behind it. “Where did that come from?”

“I played softball in high school.” She was already making another one, her technique way more efficient than mine. “Pitcher.”

“That feels like information you should have disclosed earlier.”

The second snowball whizzed past my ear. I ducked, barely avoiding it. I grabbed my own handful of snow. My throw went wide, missing her by a good two feet.

“Pathetic,” she called out.

“I’m warming up!”

We circled each other, both of us gathering ammunition. The cold didn’t matter anymore. We acted like the kids we’d never really gotten to be.