“Weapons of mass destruction,” Rosie repeated flatly. “Right. This’ll be good.”
What followed was thirty minutes of the most ridiculous winter combat I’d ever witnessed. Adrian turned out to be surprisingly scrappy, diving behind snow forts and pop-up attacking with gleeful abandon. His form was terrible, his aim was questionable,and his hat was downright ridiculous, but his enthusiasm more than made up for it.
The best moment came when Foster managed to nail Adrian right between the shoulder blades with a perfectly packed snowball. Instead of just stumbling, Adrian threw himself forward with the drama of a Shakespearean actor, arms spread wide as he collapsed face-first into the snow.
“I’m hit!” he cried, voice muffled by the snow. “Tell my followers… tell them I died as I lived… extremely photogenic!”
I was laughing so hard I nearly dropped my camera. This ridiculous, dramatic, beautiful man was lying spread-eagle in a snowbank, making death rattles for the entertainment of a bunch of small-town locals, and I was completely gone for him.
“You’re supposed to be filming this!” Maya scolded, but she was laughing too hard to sound serious.
“Can’t film when I’m busy watching Adrian’s Oscar-worthy death scene,” I managed, wiping tears from my eyes.
Adrian lifted his head just enough to shoot me a snow-covered grin. “Did I mention I was also in the drama club?”
“Of course you were,” I said, offering him a hand up. When he took it, his fingers lingered against mine just long enough to send heat shooting up my arm despite the cold.
“You okay?” I asked softly, brushing snow from his cheek.
“Better than okay,” he replied, and something in his voice made me want to pull him closer, crowd him against the nearest tree, and kiss him until neither of us could think straight.
Instead, I settled for letting my hand rest on his waist a beat longer than necessary, my thumb brushing against the strip of skin where his jacket had ridden up.
“Ugh, gross,” Maya announced from across the field. “Get a room!”
“We’re literally standing in a public park,” Adrian called back.
“Then get a tent!”
After the snowball war ended in what could generously be called a draw—mostly because everyone was too cold and too covered in snow to keep accurate score—Maya suggested we build a snowman.
“You go ahead,” I said. “I’m way too cold. These hands are begging for hot chocolate.”
Adrian held up his own hands, showing his damp gloves. His hat was missing—probably buried in a snowbank, thanks to his dramatic performance. “These hands are begging for something too,” he said in a low voice. He bounced his eyebrows at me and opened and closed his fingers as if trying to grab me.
His gloves were trashed. I reached out to grab them and began pulling them off. “Give me these. You can wear mine. They’re nice and warm.”
Adrian looked at me with heart eyes, but before he could say anything, Maya shuddered dramatically. “Ew! I changed my mind about matchmaking the two of you. You’re super cringe.”
I began laughing again—that helpless laughter that seemed to happen more and more around Adrian. When I caught him watching me with another soft smile, my heart did something complicated in my chest.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, but he was already pulling out his phone. “Just… you should smile like that more.”
He showed me the photo he’d captured—me mid-laugh, covered in snow, completely relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen myself in years.
“You look free,” Adrian said quietly.
The words hit me harder than they should have.
Free.
When was the last time I’d felt free? Not just from responsibilityor obligation, but free to want something for myself? Free to imagine a future that included more than just surviving day to day?
“C’mere,” I said, grabbing his hand and towing him toward my truck.
We sat on the tailgate, legs swinging, sharing a thermos of cocoa that was spiked with enough peppermint schnapps to warm us from the inside out. The rest of the group was focused on building the world’s gayest snowman, their laughter carrying across the field.
