Chapter 11 Mia #3
Then, running towards Charlie, Mia fires off the remaining snowballs she’s prepared. Only one hits its mark, but her satisfaction is immense as Charlie lets out an outraged yowl.
‘Oh, you’re going down, Mia.’ Charlie launches a rapid fire of snowballs, and Mia is forced to retreat from the relentless onslaught.
She backs up a few feet at a time, crouching as she forms her own ammunition.
She’s so engrossed in the fight with Charlie that she’s lost track of both Sam’s and John’s whereabouts.
She scrambles back again as Charlie launches a particularly large snowball straight at her face.
With her hands full of the ball she’s packing, she can’t block the incoming snowball, and it hits her full on.
‘Agh! Charlie, I’m going to kill you!’ This is what Mia intends to say, but the words come out all garbled as she spits out a mouthful of fresh snow. Her face is stinging and she can hardly see. She stumbles backwards, and suddenly she’s thrown off balance, having collided with some unknown object.
‘Mia!’ Sam’s shout penetrates her confusion. She’s falling, but Sam angles himself behind her, his body pressed against hers as his strong arms wrap around her, breaking the impact of her fall. They crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs, snow spraying up in every direction.
‘Ceasefire!’ Sam yells again, but the command comes too late. Mia blinks away the snow obscuring her vision just in time to see a firmly packed snowball smash into the side of Sam’s head. ‘Ow! You lousy bastard! Quit it!’
‘Oh no,’ Mia murmurs. Sam shakes his head, wincing as the snow slides down beneath his collar. There’s a bright red spot on his temple where the snowball found its mark. ‘Are you OK?’
Sam is half propped above her, and he ignores her question as he looks Mia over somewhat frantically.
‘Did you get hurt when you fell?’ He yanks off his gloves in an impatient motion, and then gently, ever so gently, brushes the snow off her face.
‘That snow can be sharp when it’s packed that tight. Did it cut you?’
Mia stills beneath his touch. His fingers glide over her forehead, nose and cheeks, checking for injuries, and the concern written across his face tugs at something in her chest.
‘I’m fine, Sam.’ She feels an unexpected need to reassure him. When he reaches her lips, he pauses for an eternity, his gaze dropping to where his hand is brushing against her flushed skin.
Sam huffs out a little sound of appreciation as he stares down at her, still half cradled in his arms. ‘For God’s sake, Mia. How are you still this pretty?’
Warmth curls inside her at his words, the sensation only heightened by the feeling of Sam pressed up against her. She realises with a rush how much she’s missed this, the way they fit so perfectly together, his weight alongside her, the heat of his body wrapping around her.
Shaking his head as if he still can’t quite orient himself, Sam brushes more snow from Mia’s hair.
He takes his time, and she has the distinct impression that he’s prolonging the contact on purpose, and she can’t seem to find the will to object.
He’s studying her, as if reacquainting himself with her features, and she realizes that she’s doing the same to him.
A tender smile blooms on his face, and his eyes crinkle.
‘Your cheeks are all pink,’ Sam says, his voice low enough that the words are clearly only meant for Mia.
‘And there’s snow crusted in your eyelashes.
’ Gentle laughter rumbles in his chest. ‘You look ethereal … like an ice princess.’
Lying there in the snow with Sam, Mia doesn’t think about how much she’s hated him for the last six years.
She doesn’t think about the humiliation of that night in the pool.
She thinks about those precious, intimate moments they shared years ago, and the way that Sam used to make her feel.
Cherished. Important. Tentatively, Mia lifts a hand and presses it to Sam’s chest. His eyes slide closed and he swallows.
He shudders at the contact and Mia exhales.
Finally, she twists to prop herself up on an elbow.
Sam’s eyes reopen and they lie there for a long moment looking at each other, neither one breaking eye contact. Then Sam sucks in a breath and offers up a single word. ‘Truce?’
It’s a weighted question, pregnant with significance. Mia knows he’s not referring to the snowball fight. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.
Hope ignites in Sam’s eyes, but he doesn’t say any more. Instead he pushes himself back to standing and reaches a hand down to help Mia up. After a second’s pause, she lets him pull her back to her feet. Sam gives her one of his easy smiles and turns to shout out, ‘It’s over, Charlie!’
‘Copy,’ Charlie replies. ‘Good thing. My toes are frozen solid.’
‘Mine too,’ Sam mourns. Mia glances past where Sam stands to meet John’s mischievous gaze. He waggles his eyebrows at her, clearly satisfied with the success of this latest endeavour.
‘Lunch should be ready by now if we want to head inside,’ Mia offers.
Charlie’s stomach growls so loudly they can all hear it.
‘I guess that’s a yes.’