Chapter 19 #2
“Fine. Breakfast first, but then we’re bringing Olaf to life.”
Turns out, it’s not only kids and their reluctant parents at Washington Square Park; there’s a ton of people by the time we head down from the apartment.
Young couples, groups of teenagers, even adults are all out braving the chilly winter day, building snowmen, moseying through the park, or doing snowboarding tricks off stair rails.
Logan and I find a relatively open spot in one of the clearings and set to work on making our own version of Olaf, who I’ve named Loaf.
One, because Loaf is just Olaf with the letters swapped around—a nod to my dyslexia.
And two, he is quite a bit taller than the movie version, seeing as I accidentally roll the bottom snowball way too big.
Logan rolls his own for the second tier, and we stack them together, me packing them for stability while Logan works on the third.
“Okay, this one’s ready,” he calls from a few feet away.
I haul the damn thing to make the head at the top of the stack, then pack a little snow at the neck to secure it in place. Once I step back to admire our handiwork, I realize…Loaf might be as tall as Logan. Not nearly as handsome, though that might be the lack of limbs and face.
Logan cocks his head, staring at our masterpiece with the scrutiny of an artist.
“What? I know he still needs arms and everything, but—”
“No, it’s not that,” he cuts in, frowning. “It’s just… He’s kinda lopsided, dontcha think?”
I shoot him a dirty look. “He’s perfect.”
“Cam, he’s literally about to fall—”
He doesn’t have the chance to finish the sentence before the snowman’s head slowly careens off to the left and plummets back to the ground.
I purse my lips, waiting for Logan’s inevitable I told you so, but it doesn’t come.
Not that he needs to say it, seeing as the smirk he’s wearing just about says it all.
With a sigh, I drop down and make a new snowball so I can roll another head. One that hopefully decides to stay firmly on Loaf’s shoulders this time.
“You said you’re from Vermont, right?” Logan asks.
I glance up at him, arching a brow. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just seems like you should be better at packing snow when you grew up buried in it for eight months of the year.”
I scoff, and playfully toss the snowball I just made, pelting him in the shoulder.
“Hey!” he exclaims, his gloved hand reaching up to where I hit him. “What was that for?”
“Wanna tell me how I can’t pack snow again?” I taunt.
I’m already making another snowball, and I throw that one at him too. Even though he sees this one coming, he still doesn’t have enough time to turn out of the way, and it nails him in the chest.
He gapes at me for a second, still processing my attack, before shaking his head.
“Oh, it’s so fucking on.”
In true Logan fashion, he retaliates in kind, already reaching down to create his own ammunition. But how easily he forgets, I have the speed of an athlete on my side, and I’m able to avoid being hit by ducking out of the way.
Unfortunately, the couple strolling behind me aren’t as lucky, and Logan’s stray throw winds up hitting the guy in the back, square between the shoulders.
He tenses and turns, looking for the source of the blow, only for his eyes to land on a rather guilty-looking Logan.
“I’m so sorry!” Logan calls out before pointing at me. “I was aiming for him.”
The stranger just laughs and shouts, “Maybe get better aim, then!”
I snicker under my breath, the comeback rather funny. But not nearly as hilarious as the stranger’s girlfriend coming out of nowhere with a snowball and a perfect aim at her intended target: Logan.
“Yeah, like that!” she calls when it hits him in the chest, only to highfive her boyfriend.
It takes all of two seconds for a snowball war to be declared between the four of us, everyone building their stock of ammo and launching an attack. We dodge and deflect the best we can, but an errant snowball hits a group of guys behind us on accident, and they wind up joining in on the action.
After about ten minutes of the same cycle repeating itself, we’re in battle against almost thirty people. All total strangers who just want to be a kid for a little while, and in a city like this, I think there’s something really cool about that.
At some point, Quinton and Oakley find us in the chaos, and we create an alliance of four against the plethora of strangers pelting snow in every which direction. And when I glance over at Logan, I find the biggest smile on his face. The same one I saw on the ice skating rink yesterday.
He catches me staring a couple seconds later, and somehow, his grin only grows.
“So much for building Lo— oof.”
Out of nowhere, Oakley tackles Logan to the ground, lying half on top of him. His extra height and weight makes it easy for him to pin Logan to his stomach and push his head down into the fluffy pile of snow.
“We’re on the same team, Oakley!” he shouts at his brother, thrashing beneath him as he tries to escape.
“Yeah, but I’ve always wanted to give you a facewash,” Oakley says with a laugh.
I rush to Logan’s aid on instinct—hoping to maybe help him get a little payback—but Oakley sees me coming and is off his brother before I can reach them. Doesn’t stop me from pegging him in the shoulder with a snowball for good measure, though.
“Your payback is going to be brutal, I hope you know that!” Logan calls after him.
I drop to kneel at his side, checking him over. I don’t spot any physical injuries at a first glance, but I ask anyway, just to be sure.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He laughs, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”
I clear off the bits of snow still clinging to his cheeks, smiling. “Marcus used to do that shit to me all the time when we were little. I was constantly watching my back.”
“Younger sibling rite of passage, I guess. Even at twenty.”
I pull him to his feet and help dust off more of the snow clinging to his beanie and jacket, only to be hit in the back with a snowball or five.
“Look at what you started,” I muse with a laugh. “One rogue snowball and you caused an all out war.”
“Me? You’re the one who fired the first shot!”
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, and cock my head to the side. “Well, don’t insult my snow packing capabilities, and I wouldn’t have to retaliate.”
The sweet sound of his laughter greets my ears, and I can’t help but smile down at him, taking in his joy. It’s almost childlike: no weight or responsibility or expectation weighing everything down.
It’s freedom.
“Thank you,” he murmurs after a moment.
“For what?”
“For coming to New York with me. For making this week bearable. For standing up to my dad. For this,” he says, motioning at the chaos ensuing around us. “I haven’t had this much fun in a while. So, thank you.”
My thumb skims over the apple of his cheek, where it’s rosy from the cold. And though I might be imagining it, I swear I feel him lean into my touch, ever so slightly.
“You don’t have to thank me. You deserve to just be Logan sometimes, instead of always having to be a Reed.”
His gaze softens as he continues to look at me, only to shake his head. “God, you’re nothing like I expected.”
He looks away after the words leave his lips, but I use my hold on him to guide his attention back to me.
There’s still the smallest bit of apprehension in his expression, but I think it has more to do with the admission itself than the truth behind it.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping, because I’ve been thinking the same thing as of late.
He’s nothing like what I thought he’d be. Yes, he’s guarded, but not without reason.
He’s never had anyone just see him, not the person they thought he should be. Not the things he could do for them or the people he’s bound to by blood.
But I see him. Or, at least, I’m starting to. And every little piece of himself he slowly reveals, I really like. Probably more than I should allow myself to, even with the way things went last night.
Those thoughts have my gaze dropping from his eyes to his mouth, and I find myself speaking before I can think better of it.
“Can I kiss you?”
His lips twitch into a soft smile before he whispers, “I think we’re way past the point of you needing to ask, don’t you?”
My returning grin is instant, and without thinking twice, I pull him in for a tongue-sweeping, toe-curling kiss. Right there, with a snowball war waging around us.
And even in the midst of all that chaos, I’ve never felt more at peace.