Chapter 7 #2
He makes four bowls of popcorn and takes them around to each couple, then rejoins me.
“What’d I miss?” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me against him.
There’s nothing fake about how much I like it. “Wet bandits did recon, now Kevin’s getting groceries.”
He picks up a piece of popcorn and puts it in my mouth. “The right answer was you. I missed you.”
I let out a distinctively forced laugh and let my eyes skip over my friends as I chew. No one’s watching us. They’re all wrist deep in popcorn buckets, eyes glued to the screen.
“You’re kind of obsessed with me,” I say.
“You’re tellin’ me.” He kisses my temple.
It’s the most confusing thing he’s done yet.
It’s all part of the fun, Reese.
I’m every bit as confused when, halfway through the movie, Cole holds my hand.
Under the blanket.
I’m still analyzing what to do with it when he pulls out our hands and puts them on top of the blanket. Where everyone can see.
This is exactly what Laney meant—I need to chill out and stop thinking so much.
Halfway through the movie, Hannah brings out a container of peppermint Joe-Joe’s, inciting a bustle of movement as people get their sugar fix.
As the story starts to wind down, I feel a weird sense of sadness. Today—a day I was dreading for weeks—has been fun. Really fun.
I’m so caught up wondering if Cole would allow me a takeback on my answer about staying the night that I’m barely aware of the movie.
I steal a glance at Cole out of the corner of my eye, like I might be able to see how serious he was about staying—whether he actually wants to or if it was just a nice offer for my sake.
His eyes are brimming, and it makes my breath catch.
It’s worlds away from his usual twinkling charm.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
He blinks and resituates himself. “What? Yeah, of course. Just sad the peppermint bark is gone.” He winks.
I laugh, but I’m sure I didn’t imagine it this time—or the time before.
Is Cole a movie crier? Maybe he gets choked up at laundry detergent commercials, in which case, Home Alone must be like tear gas.
Before I’m ready for it, the movie ends, the lights come on, and it’s time to go.
“You’re not really leaving, are you?” Hannah says, the last two words garbled through a yawn.
“We are,” I confirm. “Which means you’re not allowed to do anything fun from this point forward, okay?”
Tyler salutes. “It was good to meet you, Cole. If I had a stamp of approval, I’d smack it on your forehead right now.”
“Gently,” Hannah clarifies.
“But firmly,” Tyler amends. “Hope to see you here next year. Don’t screw it up.”
Hannah smacks her husband’s arm.
“I’ll do my best,” Cole says, “but if I’m not here, it’s because Reese kicked me to the curb.”
“Pfft,” I say.
We get our coats, and everyone walks us to the door, which Tyler opens for us.
An icy gust of wind blows through, freezing the air in my lungs. It’s been so warm and cozy inside and so dark outside the windows, I kind of forgot we’re up in the mountains.
Cole and I step onto the porch, and I shiver as we wave goodbye to everyone.
The door shuts, and I zip up my coat to protect my body from the gusts of wind, but every inhale feels like it's making my lungs into blocks of ice. “It was so warm earlier.” My teeth chatter, making the sentence hard to understand.
I glance back at the cabin and note how the icicles that were dripping into oblivion when we arrived have grown long and dagger-like.
And then I’m flat on my back, my butt and elbow shooting with pain.
“Are you okay?” Cole asks. He’s also on his back, wincing as he raises himself on his elbow and turns his body toward me.
“Yeah,” I say with effort.
“Ice is hard,” he grunts as he gets up, then helps me.
“That it is,” I confirm, rubbing my elbow.
We walk with a little less energy and a lot more caution to the car.
The snow that had nearly melted from the driveway earlier has turned into a rink of black ice, and only by a dozen small miracles and gripping onto each other for dear life do we make it to the car without ending up on our already bruised backsides again.
We both put a hand on the shiver-inducing metal of the car for stability, breathing harder than anyone should after taking shuffle-steps for the last three minutes.
We stare at each other for a few seconds like we made it, but the followup thought for both of us is the same: how will it be to drive on this invisible death-sheet?
“Quick question,” Cole says with forced nonchalance. “On a scale from one to ten, how prepared would you say you are to die tonight?”
I hang my head and laugh wryly, my breath puffing out like thick smoke in the frigid air. I close my eyes for a second, then lift my gaze to his again. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Um”—his mouth turns down at the corners—“no.” He grabs the side mirror with one hand to stabilize himself, then stretches out his foot and grazes it along the driveway.
It glides like Cinderella and Prince Charming on the ballroom floor.
Weightless. “Okay, it’s a little bad. If the roads are like this, we may as well ignore the steering wheel and brakes. ”
“That sounds kind of exciting, though, right?”
“Totally,” he says. “I mean, how many people get to choose the way they die?”
“And how many of them won a major gingerbread house competition just beforehand?”
He points at me like great point.
And then we look at each other.
His brows pull together, his eyes gleaming with apology. “Hate to break it to you, Reese’s Pieces, but we’re staying the night.” He says it like he’s delivering the news that Santa’s not real.
“I know.”
It’s the only logical option.
I’m also a whole lot less broken up about it than I should be.