By her side, Nate murmured, “‘Whose woods these are I think I know. / His house is in the village though; / He will not see me stopping here / To watch his woods fill up with snow.’”
The poetic words of Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” came to life before her eyes, so perfect and pure.
“‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, / But I have promises to keep,’” she whispered back, skipping ahead to her favorite stanza. “‘And miles to go before I sleep.’”
“‘And miles to go before I sleep,’” Nate repeated the last line, his voice low and reverent.
They stood side by side in companionable silence for a moment while “Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep”—another song from theWhite Christmassoundtrack—played softly in the background. The poignant lyrics and soulful strain stirred something deep within her, drawing emotions she’d long suppressed.
“That poem always makes me sad,” she admitted, shivering in the cold. The frigid air chilled all the way to her bones, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want the moment to end. “I get this sense that Frost wanted to stay longer, to admire nature’s splendor. But he couldn’t. Duty and obligation, whether external or self-imposed, stole his freedom to be present and enjoy one of God’s gifts.” She felt the same pressure—the pressure to constantly achieve, to prove her worth. How many simple pleasures had she missed in life, always striving for something greater?
“I don’t want to be like the man in the poem,” she confessed with a surge of conviction that sprang from deep within her soul. “We should make the most of every moment. And if there’ssomething we’ve been wanting to do, we shouldn’t put it off, right?”
She turned toward Nate, wondering if anything she’d said made any sense at all, wondering why she’d shared something so personal. He possessed this intangible quality—a quiet, steady presence—that made her feel safe to divulge her innermost thoughts, as if she instinctively knew she could trust him. Perhaps she could trust him with even more than her thoughts.
He gazed at her with a fire in his eye she’d never seen before. With slow and deliberate movements, he took the bowl from her hands and set it on the railing. He took a step toward her, bridging the divide.
Gently, he cupped the side of her face, his palm warm against her skin.
She sucked in a breath, the cool air slipping past her slightly parted lips.
His gaze fell to her mouth, the firm pressure of his thumb tracing from her cheekbone to just beneath her chin.
He tilted her head, angling her lips toward his.
Her body trembled.
She arched her back, yearning to be closer, to be fully enveloped in his arms.
If he didn’t kiss her soon, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.
CHAPTER 17
NATE
Nate lost all sense of time and place, aware only of Juliet—of her presence, her scent, the feel of her skin.
From the moment they met, he couldn’t deny her beauty or his attraction.
But now, her allure ran so much deeper than the physical. Her mind enthralled him. Not only her knowledge of poetry and literature, but her poignant insights. He wanted to know every thought she’d ever had, from the profoundly philosophical to the more mundane.
The desire to connect on a deeper level drove him to madness. How else could he explain his actions? He hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Even when he dated, he didn’t jump to the physical. He never kissed on a first date, let alonebeforea first date.
And yet, here he stood, staring into the most stunning eyes he’d ever seen, dark and velvety, like the richest French roast. But also soft and soulful, like a window into her innermost thoughts—the thoughts that captivated his undivided interest.
Her lips parted a centimeter more, as if granting him permission.
He lowered his head, his heart beating wildly.
This is it. The point of no return.
As his bottom lip grazed hers, covering his skin in goose bumps, the unexpected cadence of drums crashed through the stillness.
The military-style percussion emanating from his front pocket thrummed through his body, rewiring his brain.
His muscles tensed, and he bolted upright.
The peppy voices of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye pounded in his ears as they merrily belted the jaunty lyrics to “Gee, I Wish I Was Back in the Army.”
