That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Three

“What are you doing out here?” Sara calls to me from the porch. Guess she’s finally done talking to her mother. Meanwhile, I’ve been wearing a path in the snow between the house and the row of trees separating the property from the lake. My insides are in knots, and my dumb brain’s broken. I keep playing Sarah’s protest on a loop.

I want this all over with as much as you do, Mom.

So, yeah. Okay. Sara and I were never meant to be together. This isn’t new news. It’s a ten-year-old fact. But I don’t have to like that fact.

Truth is, I hate it.

“Get in the house, mister.” Sara’s tone is stern, but she bites back a smile, and the cinching in my gut automatically loosens. Man, I wish she didn’t have that effect on me. She’s standing in the open doorway wearing thin pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers. They’re adorable. She’s adorable. But I can’t think this woman’s adorable. Not when she’s got one foot out the door.

Literally .

“Are you coming inside, or what?” Sara crosses her arms.

“Yeah. Nope, thanks.”

“I’m the boss of you, remember? We’ve still got a couple hours to kill before the evaluation, and you need to rest.”

“Not interested.” I resume my pacing like a caged animal. A caged animal who happens to be out in the open in the Adirondacks.

“Stop!” she commands, and I freeze in my tracks, turning to face her again. She crosses the porch, hands hitting her hips. “Just come inside, and I’ll open up a jigsaw puzzle. There’s one that’s all candy canes. Like, literally every piece is just red and white stripes.”

“Sounds like a blast for a guy with a concussion.” I toss her an eye roll to be sure she catches the sarcasm.

“Right. No puzzles.” She tips her chin like she’s weighing her options. “The den is stocked with games. We could play chess.”

“Chess?” A guffaw puffs out of me.

“What? Too cool for you?” She approaches the porch railing, one eyebrow quirked slyly. “I’ll have you know I was the president of our elementary school’s team. We were called the Chess Nuts.”

“Clever.”

“Thanks.” A grin crisscrosses her face. “The name was my idea. And for the record, my skills are a little rusty. So who knows? You might even beat me.”

“Unlikely.”

“Because of the concussion?”

I cock my head. “Because I’ve never played chess.” She’s not wrong, though. My brain definitely feels … off. But at this point, I can’t tell if that’s due to my head injury or to being with Sara. Or both.

“How about checkers?” she persists. “It’s not as cool as chess, but everyone knows how to play checkers. Even people with concussions.”

I reach up and adjust my beanie, making sure the lump on my temple isn’t visible. “You go on without me. I’ll be all right.”

“But I can’t play alone.” Her smile falters. “And you’re not allowed to be unsupervised.”

“Then supervise me out here.” I nod to indicate the stretch of snow leading down to the lake. “We could go for a run. My skills are a little rusty, so who knows? You might even beat me.”

“Sorry.” Sara tips her chin. “I only run when I’m being chased.”

“All right.” I arch a brow. “Then let me chase you.”

She shivers, and I find myself hoping her reaction’s less about being cold and more about … me. I know I shouldn’t entertain these thoughts, but I’m only human. A human who once loved Sara Hathaway with his whole stupid heart and his un-concussed head.

“We can’t run,” she says. “You could slip and fall and make everything worse.” She wraps her arms around her middle. “There must be something we could do that’s low risk. But not puzzles or chess.” Sara sighs, and a pang of sympathy starts clanking around my chest. She’s just trying to entertain me. I don’t have to make things any harder on her than they already are. “Do you want to build a snowman?”

She huffs out a laugh. “So you’re quoting Frozen now?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’m not that cold.”

“No, I meant the movie. Frozen .”

“Never heard of it.”

Of course I’ve heard of it . I have a sister. Does Sara really believe I don’t know about Elsa and Anna?

“Wow.” She widens her eyes, bewildered. “Your brain really does have some big gaps.”

I hitch my shoulders. “I guess so.”

“Either way, it’s freezing out here, and you know I’m always cold.”

A fresh tremor racks her body, and my stomach plummets. Yeah. I actually do know that about Sara. I remember a lot of things I tried hard to forget. Like that first night at the beach bonfire when I gave her my sweatshirt to keep warm. The thing smelled like her for the rest of the summer.

How about her tears when you broke her heart?

Yeah. I can’t forget those either.

“Three. Please.” She blows a strand of hair off her face, and I fight the urge to rush over and tuck it behind her ear. I used to kiss her there, along that soft curved shell.

Man, you are in soooo much trouble.

“Just go inside out of the cold,” I say, stuffing my gloved hands into my pockets. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I have to worry, though. You’re my responsibility.”

“Yeah.” I grunt. “And whose fault is that?”

“Okay, fine!” she blurts. “You win. We can build a snowman. But I’ll need to put on more layers if we’re staying outside.”

“We don’t have to?—

“No.” She throws up her hands. “This is what you wanted, Three. And your wish is my command.” She points at a tree stump covered with an inch of snow. “Just sit there so I know you’re safe while I’m gone.”

“But—”

“I’ll be right back.”

Before I can offer up any further protest, she turns her back on me and heads inside. So I shuffle over to the stump, brushing off the snow to take a seat. I’ve never seen Sara dressed for the snow before. At least not in person. Sure, I probably caught a picture of her in the winter years ago. But until yesterday, I’d only imagined her in summer clothes. Mostly I tried not to imagine her at all.

Within minutes, though, she’s bursting back out onto the porch, yanking up the zipper of a white jacket. “Phew! I feel better already!”

Her hair is loose and streaming down her shoulders, like a waterfall at midnight. Her hot pink beanie is topped with a turquoise ball. She’s got a turquoise scarf wrapped around her neck. Turquoise mittens. Hot pink snow pants .

If you’d asked me five minutes ago if she could get any prettier than the girl I remember in a summer sundress and flip-flops, I would’ve said no way. Absolutely not.

And yet.

Sara Hathaway is way beyond pretty.

She’s a grown woman now, grinning at me like she’s ready for anything. My jaw must fall open, because she glances down, checking out her jacket and pants. “What?”

“Nothing.” I slam my mouth shut. “It’s just … you look very …”

She lifts her chin. “Warm?”

I nod. “Yeah. And also …”

“Colorful?”

“I was going to say you look …” My voice trails off as I fumble for an answer. The truth is, she looks incredibly beautiful. Not to mention fun. Like someone I could spend all day with. But besides all that, I know she’s also kind. Generous and smart. The woman of my dreams. But I can’t tell her these things. “You look … like cotton candy,” I finally manage.

She scrunches up her face. “Ugh. No.”

“What’s wrong with cotton candy? It’s sweet and pink and fluffy.”

“Fluffy’s not exactly a compliment.” She lets out a string of laughter, ending on a snort. “Never mind,” she says. “Forget I asked.”

“Yeah. Forget I said it.”

“Deal.” A new dimple presses into her cheek. “Oh, wait!” She lifts a finger. “I just thought of something.” She ducks into the house, returning almost immediately with one large carrot and a box of Oreos. “For the snowman’s nose and eyes,” she says. “I figure we can spare these.”

“You take your snowman building seriously, huh?” I make a move to stand from the stump, but Sara waves me back down.

“No, you stay there.” She sets the carrot and Oreos on the bottom step, then trudges out into the snow .

I pull down my brow. “You want me to just sit here and … watch you?”

“It’ll be safer.” She stoops to start scooping snow into a ball, then she keeps rolling and rolling until the pile slowly takes shape.

“This is ridiculous,” I call out while she’s finishing up the base.

“You’re concussed,” she says.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You don’t remember the movie Frozen . And you called me cotton candy.” She glances over her shoulder. “I rest my case.”

Man. Sara really is a lawyer.

By the time she starts forming the middle ball for the snowman’s torso, I can’t take it anymore. I feel more useless than I did when I was out here pacing by myself. “I’m beginning to think a puzzle would be a better use of my time,” I say. “Can I do something to help? Anything? Please?”

Sara pauses, humming out loud as she considers my offer. “Why don’t you gather up a couple of sticks for the snowman’s arms?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “But are you sure you trust me to gather sticks? I could trip and bang my head into one of those killer trunks over here.”

“Don’t push your luck, or I may withdraw my consent.” She tips her mouth into a smirk.

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“Maybe find some rocks we can use for buttons, too,” she says.

“Buttons?”

“For the snowman’s coat.”

“What coat? He’s not wearing anything.”

“We’re pretending,” she says. “Like The Emperor’s New Clothes . Just imagine Henry in a fully regal wardrobe.”

“Who’s Henry? Another Frozen reference?”

“Henry’s our snowman.” She grins at me. “He needed a name. And arms and buttons.”

I push out a chuckle. “Got it.”

While Sara returns to working on our snowman, I head toward a copse of trees off to the right. There are no fences around this property. Just drifts of snow, plenty of trees, and the lake behind the house. Striding over to the trees, I take a loose branch to brush away the snow around the base. After locating a trio of similarly sized rocks, I find a couple of matching branches to make a pair of arms.

By the time I return, Sara’s building the snowman’s head. So while she’s distracted, I set down my supplies and scoop up a few small handfuls of snow, packing them one at a time into tight round spheres.

Yes. I’m gearing up for a snowball fight.

My sister, cousins, and I used to do this during snow days when we were young. We’d prep a whole arsenal, waiting for other unsuspecting kids to walk down the street. Then we’d start up a war. A harmless one, of course.

We’re talking exploding snow, not actual ammunition.

The memory makes me smile. So does the fact that Sara seems unaware of my growing stockpile. I probably shouldn’t let myself enjoy being with her right now, but I’ll blame any poor decision-making on my head injury. Besides. I’m getting tired of feeling bad, and good times with Sara were always effortless.

Until they weren’t.

As she affixes the Oreo eyes and carrot nose to Henry’s head, I pluck up a snowball, and wait for her to finish. When she’s finally done and takes a step back to admire her handiwork, I clear my throat.

“Ahem.”

She spins around, freezing for a beat. Then her eyes widen. “What are you doing?” By way of answer, I lob a snowball that lands a full yard in front of her feet, because I’m not trying to actually hit her.

That is until she taunts me .

“That’s the best you can do, Fuller?” Her tone is wry, her mouth twisted into a smirk.

I collect another snowball. “That was just my warning shot, Hathaway.”

“But this isn’t really fair,” she says. “I can’t even fight back.”

“Why not?”

“You’re injured. And I’d never take advantage of that.”

I hoist my eyebrows. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, I see.” She offers me a wicked grin, her mittens planted on her hips. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”

“Yup.” My lips twitch. “That’s how it’s gonna be.”

“Good luck, then.” Sara moves around behind the snowman, slowly, bending to scoop handfuls of snow and compacting them into balls with her mittens.

“Hey. You can’t use Henry as a fortress.”

“Really?” She pokes her head around the corner. “Then how come I am?”

“HA!” I chuck another snowball at her, but Sara ducks back to safety. So I wait. And when she stands again with a snowball ready to throw at me, my next toss is a direct hit. It’s like her beanie has a bullseye on it.

“Ack! No!” she shrieks, even as the softly packed snowball bursts into nothing but powder on contact. She drops down behind Henry again, and for a split second I worry I might’ve hurt her. But the giggles coming from behind our snowman suggest Sara’s not wounded. She’s having fun.

We’re having fun together.

Sara’s laughter transports me back to all those sunny summer days we spent together, and for a moment my body floods with warmth. Then I remember the pain of walking away from the purest love I’ve ever felt and my insides turn to ice.

You heard Sara talking to her mom earlier. She can’t wait to get away from Abieville .

Away from you.

She slowly peeks out at me, and the flush of joy on her cheeks makes my jaw clamp down.

A shadow passes over her face. “What’s wrong?” She leaps to her feet, scrambling toward me. “Is it your head? Are you okay?” She tears a mitten off and presses her palm to my cheek. Her touch is a shock, conducting electricity straight to my bones. Heat races through my veins, pushing my bloodstream to the boiling point.

Sara’s probably touched me in the past twenty-four hours. But I can’t remember. I blame the concussion. And the pain meds. The blur her proximity causes in my brain. Either way, as far as I can recall, this is our first direct skin-to-skin contact in close to a decade.

Then I hear her voice:

I want this all over with as much as you do, Mom.

I jerk away from her, rearing backward, and Sara’s face collapses in an avalanche of concern.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed at you like that,” she hurries to say. “I was just scared you might’ve been hurt.”

Her irises are saucers now, and her sweet scent hovers above us. All I want is to take her in my arms and tell her she hasn’t done anything wrong. That she could never do wrong in my eyes. But comforting Sara wouldn’t be good for either or us. We’ve already slipped into old, familiar patterns far too easily. I’ve got to get ahold of myself and get a wall built back up between us.

Fast.

“It’s not you.” I work my jaw. “The snowball thing just got me thinking about Christmas with my sister. My cousins.” I say this to sever the connection with Sara, but my words are still true. I was thinking about my family. Trouble is, I was also happy. And happiness with Sara will only make her leaving again harder. Or make me wish she’d stay this time.

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes soften at the edges. “I can only imagine how much you’re missing your family right now.”

“Yeah.” I hazard a glance back at the house. “I tried calling my mom, but the signal wouldn’t go through. Then I tried texting her, but I got a failure-to-send warning.”

Sara blinks. “That was your plan, though, right? Weren’t you hoping to avoid contact?”

“I guess.” Heat rises in my throat.

Sara’s not wrong, but most of what I’ve said and done in the past twenty-four hours was under the influence of a dreadful combination: my concussion, the medication, and some straight-up denial.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” I say. “But I was mostly trying not to think too hard about the reality of the next two weeks. Everyone gone. Me stuck here alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Sara says this, but the echo of her words to her mother ring in my head.

You have no idea how much I wish I were home already.

I swallow hard. “I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you can try later and get through to your family.” Her chin trembles. It’s slight, but I notice. So I take another step backward, putting even more distance between her and the wave of protectiveness overtaking me.

“Sure, maybe.”

Sara blinks, like she’s fighting back tears. At least I’m far enough away from her now that I can’t reach out and touch her. Which is good, because that’s all I want to do. And at the same time, I find myself wondering if she might’ve felt the connection between us too. Still, that’s a dangerous question. One I shouldn’t be asking myself.

“After the evaluator comes, we can go to the market.” She nods, establishing a strategy. “I can get a turkey. Stuffing. Cranberry sauce. Sweet potatoes. We’ll make our own Christmas dinner early.”

“Won’t be the same.”

She draws in a stuttering breath, then she exhales. Soft and slow. I want to suck the words back in, but they’re already hovering in the air above us. At the very least, I should tell her I don’t actually think she’s responsible. That she shouldn’t be mad at herself, because I’m certainly not mad. At least not at her. I’m mostly angry with myself. For being so easily influenced by her presence.

“Sara.”

“What?” She looks up at me with sadness in her eyes, and my heart’s a freight train plowing straight off a cliff.

“It’s not your?—”

ZZT.

Her whole body leaps like she’s been zapped with a cattle prod, but it’s just her phone buzzing. That’s how much I put her on edge. Slipping her phone from her pocket, she quickly checks the text.

“It’s the evaluator,” she groans. “He’s canceling our appointment.”