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“Nope.”
With his chin resting on my elbow, his soft chuckles vibrate against the skin of my bare shoulder. “Not only is it Christmas, but it looks like you got your wish.”
I peer one eye open. “What wish?”
“Snow.”
That urges both of my eyes to pop open. Instantly, I turn toward my bedroom window and glance over Luke’s shoulder. Through the panes of glass, I spot the thick white flakes drifting from the sky. They shimmer and dance in the light of morning as they descend past the window and toward the ground.
Snow.
“A white Christmas after all,” Luke whispers, now lying back on the bed.
“I knew Vermont wouldn’t disappoint,” I say, a sleepy smile consuming my face, and lean forward to rest my chin on his bare chest, still staring out the window.
“I took a look at the ole itinerary, and it appears we have quite the day ahead of us,” he teases, a smile cresting up the corners of his lips.
“You ready to experience a Lucie family Christmas?” I turn my head to the side, now resting my cheek against his chest, and meet his amused face.
Luke gazes down at me, reaching out to brush a few rogue pieces of blond hair off my forehead. “Is anyone really ready to experience a Christmas run by Guy Lucie?”
I giggle at that and shake my head. “Probably not.”
But when I glance out the window one more time, I get an idea.
I use his firm chest to push myself to a sitting position, and Luke tilts his head to the side in confusion as I hop off the bed.
“What are you doing?”
I slow-roll my response, waiting until I’ve tossed on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a hooded sweatshirt. It isn’t until I’m slipping on my socks that I let him know the score. “Last person to make a snow angel has to be on hot chocolate duty for the whole day.”
“Oh, what the fuck,” he questions and jumps out of bed faster than I knew was even possible.
Adrenaline rushes into my veins as I slip on my boots and try to tie the laces.
But Luke is fast. Like, insanely fast. By the time both of my shoelaces are tied, he is already dressed and damn near beating me out my bedroom door.
In a rush of giggles and shouting, I race down the steps as fast as I can, Luke right on my tail the whole way.
We are loud, probably too loud for this early in the morning, but I don’t care.
During the holidays, my family consumes way too much hot chocolate. Like, Buddy the Elf kind of shit. I’d be busy all freaking day if refills became my responsibility!
Just as my hands make contact with the knob of the front door, Luke wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back.
“No! No! No! That’s cheating!”
He just laughs his ass off and tosses me over his shoulder.
With me shouting and laughing and punching at his back, he opens the door with ease and steps out into the frigid morning air. Snow continues to fall from the sky, and Luke just glances around the front yard like he has all the time in the world.
Even going as far as stretching his free arm into the air and pretending to yawn.
“What a beautiful morning, huh?”
“Luke London, put me down!”
“What was that, Ace?” he asks and tilts his head up toward me. “It’s hard to hear you over Michael Bublé.”
He’s not wrong; good old Bublé is still blaring from the freaking speakers in the front yard, but I know the sneaky bastard can hear me.
“Put. Me. Down. Or. Else.”
“I’m sorry, I mean, I could be wrong, but it sounds like you just threatened me…”
“Because I did!”
He grins up at me, mischief and mayhem in his eyes, and before I know it, from over his shoulder to cradled like a baby against his chest, he repositions my body with ease.
And then he steps out into the front yard, grins down at me, and performs a trust fall right into the snow.
He doesn’t let go until his body is imprinted into the cold, fluffy cloud that is now my parents’ yard, and it is only then that he stretches out both of his arms and legs and makes a goddamn snow angel.
“I can’t be sure, but this feels a lot like victory.”
“You are such a cheater!” I shout at him and grab both of his shoulders, glaring down at him.
But Luke just continues making his snow angel, smiling up at me the whole time.
“This means I won, right?” he questions. “Pretty sure this means I won.”
My glare flames and sparks, and still perched on his stomach, I reach down to grab two handfuls of snow in my bare hands, ready to shove them straight into his face.
The bastard is too quick, though, reaching out to stop my momentum and flipping me onto my back. His body hovers over mine, while his hands ensure my wrists can’t finish the job.
