25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
T he following week, our small group practically throws a party in our honor. Even though we drive separately, Brooks waits for me outside of Joy and Caleb’s house so we can walk inside together. Our entrance is met with cheers and enthusiastic hugs. Sarah even has a cookie cake with “Breegan” written in frosting.
“Hey, I thought we were taking an official vote tonight!” Will whines.
“You’re the only one voting for Teeks,” Catherine says, rolling her eyes.
“If we made it an anonymous vote, you might find out there are others who are secretly with me,” Will counters.
Brooks unabashedly claims the loveseat, pulling me along to sit next to him. The group eventually settles in, and we begin our discussion of the first chapter of Hebrews, the book of the Bible we’ll be studying this semester. For the hundredth time, I find myself thinking about how grateful I am that Lana and Amaya pushed me to join this group. For so many reasons.
That night, I fall asleep smiling. The smile is still plastered to my face the next morning when my alarm goes off at 7:30. I’m reluctant to get out of my cocoon of blankets. The air feels too frosty.
Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I feel it vibrate with a notification.
brOOKS
SNOW DAY!! Let’s go sledding!
He sent the text an hour ago. I wrap myself in a blanket before padding over to the window to peek outside. Fluffy layers of white cover everything in the morning light. The sliver of the yard bathed in full sunlight, just beyond the roof’s shadow, glimmers with snow diamonds.
I check Townsend’s social media and see that they’ve canceled classes for the day as well, which means I won’t have any of my meetings on campus.
Give me an hour to eat and get dressed, and then I’m in! But I don’t have a sled
Brooks sends a photo of himself with two sleds in the checkout line of the store.
brOOKS
Got it covered.
What are you doing out driving already?! Be careful!!
brOOKS
The apartment parking lot was dicey, but the main roads were fairly cleared. Ish. I promise I drove slowly
See you soon!
I head out to the kitchen to make some breakfast, grateful for the scent of fresh coffee in the air. Gina is sitting at the table eating eggs and toast.
“Classes are canceled today,” she says around a bite of toast.
“I know—Brooks texted me this morning that it was a snow day. It’s so pretty outside!” I respond, my voice surprisingly chipper for Morning Teegan.
“Only Brooks could make you sound so human prior to your first cup of coffee,” Gina teases.
I shrug and smile. “Can’t even deny that. He’s going to pick me up in an hour to go sledding.”
“Aw, that’s fun!” Gina says. “You should go to that church on the hill. Well, if his car can manage to get up the street. Not as many people sled there. For sure only college students, not the little kids. ”
“Ooo, good thought.” I hum as I pour peppermint mocha creamer into my coffee.
Gina laughs. “You are one smitten kitten.” I shrug, offering no denial, which only makes Gina laugh more. “I’m going to go over to one of the dorms for a movie marathon with a group of girls, so I’ll probably be out until this evening.”
Since Gina is awake, I blast music from my phone while I get ready for the day. After food and caffeine, I get dressed in the warmest clothes I have. I don’t own snow pants, so jeans layered over leggings will have to do. I’m grateful that I bought a good pair of snow boots last year for walking around campus in the winter.
Even though we’ll be outside sledding, I still apply light makeup. I dig a winter hat out of my closet but can’t find any gloves for the life of me. I’ll have to clean up the tornado of a mess I’ve created in my room tonight because Brooks should be here any minute now.
Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I rush to open the door, swallowing a gulp at the sight of Brooks. The longer strands of his hair are poking out from his beanie, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold air. His grin resembles a five-year-old on Christmas morning. “Ready?” he asks eagerly.
“Almost! Come inside while I put on my boots and coat,” I say, closing the door behind him. He comes in and holds up a grocery bag. “I picked up some waterproof winter gloves. I didn’t know if you had any, and you’ll need them for phase two.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him while I zip up a boot. “Phase two?”
“You’ll see,” he replies, eyes glimmering.
“I might need them now because I seem to have misplaced my gloves,” I say. He tsks but hands the gloves over to me.
Brooks helps me slip my arms into my thermal winter coat, and then I follow him outside. The sidewalk and driveway around our cars have been shoveled off already. “How long have you been here?” I ask.
“I didn’t need an hour of time before picking you up, but I didn’t want to rush your getting-ready process. So I came over and shoveled while I waited,” he replies, opening the passenger door for me .
“Okay, I don’t know what you had planned, but there’s a big hill behind a church in town that not as many people go to. If your car can make it up the steep street, that might be a good place to try,” I suggest.
“That’s exactly what one of my colleagues recommended,” Brooks replies. He tilts the map on his phone toward me. “Is this it?”
“Yep! Let’s try it!”
Brooks drives slowly to our destination. Some streets have been cleared well, while others are still covered with snow. When we reach the street that leads up to the church on the hill, it’s easy to see it falls into the “hasn’t been cleared yet” category.
“I wonder if that was intentional on the city’s part,” I muse. “That’s a bummer.”
“I’m not giving up that easily. Let’s park here and hike our way up,” Brooks says, pulling to the side of the road. “This means we’ll have the whole hill to ourselves!”
He opens the trunk to get the sleds out, and we begin hiking up the side of the street. Brooks holds my gloved hand in one of his while pulling the sled ropes with the other. By the time we make it to the church parking lot, we’re barely breathing—a combination of the physical exertion and bouts of uncontrollable laughter.
It’s early and cold, so we’re the first and only people here. Our dedication is rewarded when we reach the back of the church and take in the view of the undisturbed snow. Pine trees are laden with coats of white, snow banks adding dimension to the monochrome blanket. The sun filters through a thin layer of clouds, the resulting sparkle giving the illusion that everything is dancing.
“Oh, this is gorgeous,” I whisper, watching the mist from my breath blend into the magic before evaporating.
“ Mmmhmm ,” Brooks responds, and I glance over to find him watching me.
“I almost feel bad disturbing it. The snow looks so peaceful,” I say.
Brooks pulls out his phone and takes several photos of the view, including one artistic angle of me looking out over the hill. After a couple of selfies, he puts the phone away and hands me a sled. “It’s officially been documented. Now, it’s time to tear it up! ”
I grin and take the sled, plopping down next to him. “Last one to the bottom buys lunch!” I yell, and we launch ourselves simultaneously.
The cold air flies through my hair, blowing off my hood and rushing around my face as I soar down the slope. I hear Brooks’ laugh mix with my scream as we sail toward the bottom of the hill, but he abruptly slows behind me. When I reach the bottom, I look back and see marks from where he dug his hands into the snow to slow himself down.
“Hey! You reverse cheated!” I accuse.
“Like I was going to let you buy lunch,” Brooks responds. But his smile quickly transforms into a smirk. “But now that that’s settled, you’re going down, Sneaks.”
We spend the next hour climbing up the hill, flying down on our sleds, and climbing back up again. Half the time we’re coming up with ridiculous races or challenges, and half the time we’re laughing and relishing the adrenaline rush.
A handful of other people have arrived and joined in the sledding extravaganza by the time 10:00 rolls around. At the bottom of the hill, I lay down on my sled, arms spread wide. “That’s it. I’m done for. I’ll never climb stairs again.” Giant puffs of mist appear and disappear above me as I huff out deep breaths. I close my eyes against the bright sun until a shadow falls over me. Squinting one eye open, I see Brooks standing over me, grinning.
He holds his hands out to pull me up. “All right, if you’re going to wimp out, we’ll have to move on to the next round of snow day fun.”
Instead of taking his hands, I grab a handful of snow and playfully throw it in his face. “I’m not a wimp!” I exclaim. Suddenly, I realize my very vulnerable position of lying on the ground. I scramble to stand, but not before Brooks drops a giant armful of snow on me.
“How dare you?!” I shriek, but any real admonition is negated by my laughter. I’m scooping up handfuls of snow as I yell, “I thought you were a gentleman, Brooks Murphy.”
“You thought wrong!” he yells back, right before a snowball hits me in the shoulder, disintegrating on impact and spraying snow across my face.
A second wind of energy floods through me as we send snow flying back and forth, heckling each other with zero true malice. Our snowball fight ends when Brooks suddenly pulls me out of the way seconds before a guy on a sled sails through where I had been standing. I’m clutched against Brooks’ chest, shielded in his protective arms.
“Sorry about that!” the sledder calls out from a few yards away, waving a hand in our direction.
“No problem!” I call back, breathless from the adrenaline of the close sled collision and current chest collision.
Brooks stares down at me, eyes intense. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod. I’m frozen in his embrace, in his gaze. His eyes drop to my lips, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s thinking about kissing me. Because I’m thinking about kissing him. And Brooks and I are quite often thinking the exact same thoughts.
Laughter from a nearby group of sledders reminds us of our surroundings, though, and we slowly break apart. “Time to go?” Brooks asks, voice thick.
“Yep!” I say, grabbing my sled and taking the hand Brooks offers.
We’re back to laughing by the time we reach the car. Now that I’ve stopped moving, the coldness in my bones seeps out, making me shiver. Brooks cranks up the heat and turns to me. “Are you ready to get out of the snow? We can totally skip phase two and go change before lunch instead.”
“Absolutely not,” I state firmly. “I need phase two of snow fun. Let’s go!”
His grin lets me know he’s delighted that I pushed to continue. He reaches in the back seat and grabs two travel mugs and a thermos. “Hopefully the hot chocolate is still warm. The thermos claims to keep liquids hot for ten hours, so if it’s not, I’m sending a strongly-worded letter to the manufacturer.”
I chuckle as I hold out the mugs for him to pour the hot chocolate into. It’s still steaming, so no complaints required. We sit in the car for a few minutes, thawing out in the warmth of the heater and the hot liquid.
“Will your students be extra crazy tomorrow after a snow day?” I ask.
Brooks snorts. “Oh, they’ll be maniacs, for sure. But tomorrow’s chaos will be well worth today’s pleasure. ”
I’m no longer shivering from cold, but his words send a different shiver through me. “Tell tomorrow’s Mr. Murphy thanks for taking one for Team Breegan.”
“Anything for you, Sneaks,” he says with a smile. He places his mug in the cup holder and shifts the car into drive.
Ten minutes later, we park on one of the streets surrounding City Park. Brooks reaches into the back seat again to grab a grocery bag, then turns to me with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s snowman time.”
We exit the car and find a corner of the park that hasn’t been overtaken by young kids yet. Luckily, this is a wet snow that packs well, making it easy to get the giant snowball started. Brooks and I laugh as we push the bottom layer of the snowman into place.
Looking around us, I realize that we’ve already used up most of the snow in the immediate vicinity. “We did not plan that very well. We probably should have started farther away and rolled the first ball this direction.”
Brooks stands beside me, surveying the area and considering my words. “You are not wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” I airily state.
He tsks . “Oh, really? I think you’re forgetting the time you claimed that we would ‘never in a million years get caught’ flamingo-flocking Assistant Principal Jackson’s yard.”
I punch Brooks in the arm. Between my gloved hand and his thick winter coat, I’m sure he barely felt it. “You had to bring that up, huh? I would think you could have let that memory die.”
“A week of detention tends to sear itself into long-term memory,” he teases. Principal Jackson was smart and made us serve our detentions on opposite weeks, lengthening the punishment for both of us. I shake my head but smile.
“We’d better roll up the second layer before the pesky kids steal all the good snow,” he adds.
We quickly create two more balls of snow but have to carry them over to our base. I’m sweating underneath my layers by the time we’re done. Once we’ve secured the three tiers of the snowman with additional packed snow as glue, Brooks dumps out the bag of supplies .
“Oh my goodness, you really went all out, didn’t you?” I say when I see the full array. A bag of carrots, a hat and scarf set, plus a small bag of actual coal wait to be added to our blank snowman.
“Snowman-building is serious business!” Brooks exclaims. “Except you’d never believe that they don’t sell corncob pipes anymore, so it can’t be Frosty. I suppose we shouldn’t be endorsing tobacco products in a kid-friendly park anyway. You start on the face while I find the perfect set of sticks for arms.”
I’m giggling to myself as I follow Brooks’ instructions. I take off my gloves so I can have the dexterity to position the pieces of charcoal. Choosing the perfect nose-shaped carrot, I complete the face as Brooks returns holding two sticks.
A few minutes later, we stand back to admire our completed snowman. We take several pictures and selfies to memorialize our creation. “It’s perfect,” I say. “A perfect snowman for a perfect snow day.”
“With the perfect snow date,” Brooks adds, smiling over at me. He takes my hand in his, and I feel warmth spread through me, despite the fact that both of our hands are like ice. “But I think it’s time for an indoor date. I’m frozen solid,” he adds.
“No arguments here!”
Once we’re back in the car, Brooks turns the heat up again. We swing by my duplex and then his apartment so we can change into dry clothes before going to lunch. Brooks comes out wearing light jeans and a deep navy quarter-zip sweater, looking so effortlessly handsome that it’s all I can do not to suggest we stay right here in his apartment. But that’s not the best idea for the current stage of our dating relationship.
His appearance does make me grateful that I took a few extra moments to choose a cranberry-red sweater dress with black tights and boots as my outfit. Or maybe Brooks dressed up because I dressed up. Either way, I have zero complaints about Brooks’ attire.
We head to Sandy’s for lunch. I forgo my usual sandwich order to get hot soup instead, and Brooks follows my lead. It’s almost 3:00 p.m. by the time we finish our late lunch, and I fear this might be the end of our day together.
“Want to walk over to Bookafe for coffee or pastries?” Brooks asks, his eyes hopeful.
“Yes!” I instantly reply. At least I’m not the only one who doesn’t want our date to end.
After a brief walk through Center Square, we order decaf specialty coffees and muffins. I purposely guide us to the table in the back, tucked between bookshelves stocked with works by international authors. This is the table where Mateo first declared his interest to Lana. Considering how in love they are now, this table might be blessed with special relationship powers.
Another two hours fly by as we talk about anything and everything. We swap outrageous stories from our jobs and trade funny memories from high school.
“Ugh,” Brooks groans. He covers his hands with his face. “I’ll never live that down, huh?”
“Brooks, they couldn’t get the suds out of the fountain for weeks . Of course, you’re not living that down!” I laugh.
“It’s their own fault for installing a fountain on a high school campus. Whose idea was that?! They were probably fired,” Brooks says defensively. But his ornery smile lets me know he’s not truly defensive in the slightest. “And what about you, Miss ‘Flash Mob During Algebra?’ I don’t think Mr. Owens appreciated your choreographed interruption.”
I gasp with mock outrage. “You cannot prove that I was the mastermind behind that!”
Brooks rolls his eyes. “Please. I recognized all those dance moves.” He pinches my side, causing me to both yelp and blush.
“We had a lot of fun times in high school, huh?” I remark.
“We did,” Brooks agrees. His brow furrows. “At least, until I—”
I clap my hand over his mouth to stop him from speaking. “No, sir. Forgiveness. Grace. Moving forward.”
His gaze softens as he takes my hand and kisses it.
It’s dark by the time we leave Bookafe to walk to Brooks’ car. Lazy snow has started falling again, softly drifting through the light of the street lamps. The stillness of the night feels touched by winter magic, by every kind of magic. No one else is out at the moment, giving us the illusion of walking through our own private winter wonderland.
“Hold on,” Brooks says, tugging my hand to a stop. “There’s this snow dancing challenge trending right now. This is the perfect opportunity!”
“The old regency era one?” I ask, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “Yes, let’s do it!” Brooks props his phone up on a window sill, and we laugh our way through the choreographed moves. We watch the video together, and I’m left breathless noticing the twin expressions on our faces.
Lighthearted joy coupled with intense yearning. The very essence of what I’ve always felt with Brooks. Well, almost always felt.
“I won’t post this until you give me the go-ahead,” Brooks says, breaking me out of my contemplative stare. I glance up at him, at the tenderness and sincerity in his eyes.
A smile slowly breaks out across my lips. “Houston, we have a go,” I joke with mock seriousness.
Brooks matches my teasing with a stiff salute before pocketing his phone. He takes my hand to twirl me around before pulling me close in his arms. “I’ll post it later tonight. But first, a dance just for me,” he whispers against my ear.
Imaginary music plays around us as we slowly sway on the silent sidewalk. Snowflakes continue to dance with us on our otherwise private dance floor.
After two or twenty minutes—I can’t be sure—I draw back to search Brooks’ eyes. Everything familiar about him hangs there in his gaze. The playfulness that was always matched by his intensity about me, about us. The humor coupled with endless curiosity.
But there’s newness there too. A maturity to his joviality. His unbound optimism has been tempered by an appreciation for what can be lost. His rose-colored lenses tinted with the desire to make positive changes to reality.
I love this Brooks.
The thought sends fire through my veins. As much as I loved Brooks in high school, with the fullness of whatever capacity a teenager has to love—it’s nothing compared to what I’m experiencing now .
I see my thoughts mirrored in Brooks’ eyes, even if neither of us speak any words aloud. And once again, I’m suddenly desperate for him to kiss me. Desperately hoping he’ll close the few inches of space between our lips.
But a swift assessment of the war in his expression informs me that he’s not going to. Given our history, he’s not going to be the one to push in this area.
And I love him even more.
“Brooks, I want you to kiss me.” It’s spoken as a whisper with the weight of a demand.
The spark in his eyes serves as the Are you sure? question that his voice doesn’t ask. I nod my head. Yes, I’m sure.
Brooks draws in a shaky breath, and, in the next second, his head tips down to meet my lips with his.
The kiss is a caress at first—light, gentle, asking. Brooks moves to thread his fingers through my hair, cupping my face against his, and my fingers instinctively clutch at his chest. His kiss is a fire that my soul slowly melts into, rekindling the embers of everything we’ve felt for each other.
I kissed Brooks plenty of times as teenagers. But kissing him now is like reading a book after watching the movie adaptation. It feels familiar in a comforting way, and yet . . . different. Richer. Fuller. There’s a depth—an intricacy of detail—that the movie can never quite capture the way written words do.
And I’m absolutely addicted to this intricacy. I never want to leave the richness of Brooks’ lips against mine. Never ever want to lose this again.
My fingers make their way up to the back of Brooks’ neck as his mouth angles against mine. The embers of us are ablaze again, a wildfire.
Brooks breaks away from the kiss, touching his forehead to mine, my fingers still wrapped behind his neck. “Teegan,” he breathes, brushing a thumb across my cheek. I hadn’t realized there were tears trickling there until he wiped them away.
I see the moisture in his eyes as he whispers.
“It’s you. ”
And I know exactly what he means.
It’s you . It’s still you. Always you. Was never not you.
“I know,” I softly reply. “It’s us. Everything.”