LET IT SNOW
DALTON
I kept my hands to myself for the rest of the shower. Well, mostly to myself. I may have cupped a tit here and there and smacked an ass cheek once or twice, but I was mostly a good boy.
After bundling up, we embark down the front steps while making a real effort not to slip. There’s a layer of ice underneath the fresh, fluffy snow that makes for a heralding trek. We both get down to the ground without incident, stepping toward the left side of the house, where there’s a large opening before the tree line starts.
Very carefully, we spread apart, making sure our hands aren’t touching. We allow ourselves to fall straight back, and though I brace myself for a rough landing, it’s surprisingly soft, cushioned by just the right amount of snowfall.
We swing our arms up and down, sweeping the snow away from the wing shape we form at our sides. I kick out my legs and she does the same, forming the angel’s gown. Knowing the trick is getting up in a way that doesn’t ruin it, I sit as straight as I can, pulling my feet toward me to avoid messing up the lines.
I help her next, pulling her up in a way to preserve her artwork as well. We turn to admire our handywork as we swipe the snow from our shoulders and back.
“I haven’t made one of these in probably ten years,” I say with a laugh.
“Really? I make one every year.”
“I know,” I say, making eye contact with her. “That’s why we’re doing it.”
She casts a look of longing at me, bereft of words. “You remembered?”
This woman has no idea. “I remember everything.”
Lacy looks at me with a curiosity in her eyes, but she says nothing. I want to ask her what she’s thinking but find myself unable to make the words leave my throat.
“You’re beautiful.”
It’s sudden, without context. She’s probably wondering where that came from so out of the blue. But in this moment, in this soft early-evening light, the honey in her eyes has a glowy quality. Her deep chestnut hair is mostly covered in a purple knitted cap, but there are wispy pieces framing her face.
I admire the ribbon of soft freckles over the bridge of her nose. They dance every time it scrunches up while she’s laughing. Her bright smile reaches her eyes and exposes a dimple in her left cheek. She’s the picture of gorgeous.
“Thank you,” she says. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
If my cheeks weren’t pink from the cold, they are now from the compliment. I think we should normalize complimenting men. And calling them beautiful. I’m not ashamed to say I’ve met some very beautiful men in my life. Inside and out.
Lacy leans down, her hand dipping into the snow in front of her.
“What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.
She brings her hands together, and it’s apparent now what she’s doing as she forms the handful of snow into a ball.
“I’m not doing anything,” she lies.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, just as her hand rears back behind her. “I’m warning you.”
No sooner than the words leave my mouth, her hand flies forward, flinging a ball of snow right into my chest. It explodes against me in a rather dramatic fashion, and ice pelts me in the face. She is so dead.
“Oh, it’s on,” I say, ducking down to shovel snow into my hand.
“No, don’t,” she says as she reaches down for more snow. The audacity.
I fling my ball at her and hit her in the hip.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, lobbing hers at me. “I can’t believe you just hit me.” Mind you, she says this literally as she throws snow at me.
I duck, averting her last attempt. “You are literally throwing snowballs at me as you’re telling me to stop.”
“Right, but I’m a girl,” she says, chucking another snowball into my shoulder.
“Don’t get all reverse feminism on me. This is an equal opportunity snowball fight.”
She runs to the left, trying to escape my latest throw. She fails. It hits her in the leg, causing her to let out a little squeal.
I jog after her and grab her by the waist, then gently drop her into the snow. I plop my body down onto hers, flipping her over as I allow us to tumble a couple of times.
Lacy’s laugh fills the quiet, echoing into the trees. It’s the sweetest sound.
“You’re a lunatic,” she says.
“Maybe for you.”
She smiles up at me, her lips twitching like maybe she wants to say something but doesn’t.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other, partially covered in snow and breathing heavily. Lacy’s face is flushed pink from the cold.
“We should get warm,” I say, tilting my head back toward the cabin as I stand.
Lacy nods as I reach down and help her up, taking her small hands into my much larger ones. I weave my fingers into hers, pulling her hands to my chest.
She looks up at me with those big eyes of hers, and I nearly choke on a rush of cold air as I inhale. Is it now? Can it be now?
“Lacy,” I say, swallowing hard.
“Yes?” Her voice is sweet.
“I know this bet we made is just for the holiday season, but, um.” I swallow again. “What if it was for more than that?”
I watch the edge of her bottom lip quiver slightly, her face almost unreadable.
“More than that?”
“Yes, more than the holidays.”
Lacy raises an eyebrow at me, her face reading amused.
“What are you trying to say to me right now, Dalton Ford?” she asks.
“I’m trying to say I love you.”
“Love?” she asks, then pauses for a long moment. “I wasn’t expecting love.”
Oh god. I’ve taken her by surprise. I’ve said too much. Of course she wasn’t expecting love. I’m such a dumbass. I should’ve waited. I?—
“Like,” she says. “I was hoping maybe for like, but I didn’t see love coming.”
Wait what? She was hoping for like… that’s good, right?
“Because,” she says, stepping toward me. “Because I love you, too.”
I blink rapidly for a full ten seconds, processing what she just said. She… loves me too? She loves me too? Oh my god, she fucking loves me too .
“You do?”