“Nope.”
I squinted up at the light from my apartment, snowflakes catching in my lashes, noticeably dancing in the glow of the streetlamps. A snowball pelted my shoulder, exploding on impact, getting my cheek wet.
“Hey!”
“Help me. This is a team effort.”
Grumbling, I marched over to where he’d rolled the ball, which I supposed formed the body of our snowman. He fumbled with his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
He pressed a few buttons and looked up. I followed his gaze but didn’t see anything. Suddenly a flute trilled, and Bing Crosby started to sing White Christmas.
“A little ambiance…” He pocketed his phone and put his glove back on.
He’d thought of everything, even had the foresight to set a stereo in his window. His apartment was going to be freezing. I couldn’t help it. I smiled.
“I see that smirk.” He took my hand, tugging me into the empty road.
Just as the backup chorus began to sing, he spun me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “What are you doing?”
“Dancing with you.”
“Um…”
“Humor me, Avery.”
I went with it, my pants swishing with every step as he turned me in a slow circle. We were literally dancing, in the center of Delancey Street, under the glow of antique streetlamps, as snow fell around us.
“Relax, Avery. Embrace the moment.”
I let him lead, mostly because I didn’t know how to dance like people were supposed to in real life. I only knew how to do the freshman mixer hold, where I wreathed my arms around a guy’s neck and swayed from side to side. Noah knew how to dance. It was unexpected and romantic. When the song ended, I was a little sad it didn’t last longer.
But Noah didn’t let go. He held me and continued to turn as our feet made tracks in the snow and Nat King Cole took over singing The Christmas Song.
A lump formed in my throat. I loved Christmas carols. They were like fables of perfect lives, where families didn’t fight during the holidays, and the turkey was never dry, and people decorated with real greenery instead of cheap metallic garland and flea market, felt placemats.
His arms tightened around me, and I rested my head on his chest, blinking as the music echoed from his apartment window down to the vacant street. I didn’t know how to process this magical moment, but I wanted to keep it forever.
I bet Noah had a lifetime of beautiful holidays at his picturesque family home. I found myself trying very hard to imagine what childhood might have been like for him. How different it probably was from the holidays I had as a kid.
My chest tightened as Judy Garland’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played next. This was my favorite carol of all. The hope of a better year ahead and troubles being left behind, miles away. The thought of real friends and togetherness. My eyes closed as she belted out the need to muddle through, and my lashes were suddenly wet with something other than snow.
Enough. That was enough.
I pulled away and turned so I could wipe my eyes without him seeing how ridiculous I was. “So…” Stupid mittens getting in my way. “How do we do this snowman thing?”
Once I had my face under control, I turned, and he kissed me deeply, wrapping me in a tight grip I never wanted to loosen. I gave in, because, in that moment, it was exactly what I needed.
The music suddenly switched to Mariah Carey’s All I want for Christmas is You. I was such a sucker because those bells made my mouth smile against his and my indifferent, tough girl façade took a major hit.
“You like this song?” He smiled into my eyes, his teeth flashing behind a puff of breath as he smiled.
“I love all carols.”
Our breath formed a cloud of vapor between us, and I realized this was one of those unforgettable moments that make the word nostalgia so beautiful. I wanted to dip it in gold and seal it in time. I wanted to tell him I loved him.
The proverbial record skidded to a stop in my head.
I didn’t love Noah. Did I? No. Of course not. And my feelings didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t love anyone. Especially Noah, because I hated him six hours ago and I was clearly suffering some sort of honey bourbon, yuletide, snow-induced acid trip brought on by too much stress.
But, for a second, I pretended I could love him, and he could maybe love me. I imagined being in an actual relationship with him and dancing in the snow like this every year. My brain was casting its own romantic comedy, the sort where Hugh Grant narrated, and I was the girl the great guy wanted most of all.
I was definitely tripping, but wow. It was an incredible fantasy.
“You’re smiling.”
Of course, I was. I mean, who had nights like this with men like him? This was insane and perfect and… “You’re amazing.”
His grin stretched across his handsome face. “Why, Ms. Johansson, I do believe that’s the first compliment you’ve ever paid me. My, my, I’m all atwitter.”
“That’s not true. I said I liked your cocktail earlier.”
He cupped a gloved hand around his ear. “I’m sorry, did you say you liked my cock earlier?”
“Way to ruin it.”
But he hadn’t ruined anything. He was so outrageously adorable I couldn’t take it.
“You know, you’re prettiest when you laugh. It’s a great sound.”
Something trembled in my chest and, before I realized I was moving, I threw my arms around his shoulders and kissed him, lifting my feet off the ground and making him hold me whether he wanted to or not.
He laughed and stumbled back. “Oh, shit!”
And we fell. So not quite like the movies.
Luckily, we were wearing enough layers that we didn’t get hurt on impact. We rolled to our backs and groaned, staring up at the swirling wind, coated in what appeared the sweetest sugar God had ever made. Under the quiet moonlight, it was … majestic.
My mitten covered hand closed around his, and I smiled, my legs stretching. I tipped my face into the cool flurries and hummed happily.
“Let’s make snow angels.”
Swiping our arms and legs from side to side, we lay in the middle of the street, laughing, making angels in the snow. Maybe I liked snow after all. It had to be a dream because it was too perfect to be real.
25
Avery
I stomped my feet, waiting for them to warm as chips of ice and drips of slush melted onto the hardwood. Noah pulled down pots and mugs as he measured out powdered cocoa and milk. Seriously, what other guy had the ingredients for hot chocolate on hand?
I peeled off my hat, my hair a mix of chilled waves and sweaty kinks. It was nearly two in the morning, and I was too wound up to go to bed. Luckily, Noah wasn’t tired either.
I feared if I shut my eyes this feeling might end and I’d never be able to find it again. So, I decided sleep wasn’t really that necessary.
I glanced at his expensive barstools. “I’m going to go change my pants. These are all wet.”
He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Just take them off.”
I paused, considering it. “Okay.”
He did a double take, and I laughed, stripping until I was in nothing but my T-shirt, thong, and thick wool socks. Noah rounded the island so fast he slipped on a puddle of slush, catching himself before he hit the ground. I gasped, but he seemed fine, and then he was staring at my lower body. No, not staring. Gawking.