I bolted. Not gracefully. I muttered some excuse about heading to bed and fled before I could meet anyone’s eyes.
By the time I shut my bedroom door, I was out of breath, my lips still tingling. I pressed my fingers to them and smiled—because they ached in the best way.
And that’s when it hit me.
John hadn’t given me a lie.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I have perfect aim.
Sheds aren’t soundproof.
The cold never bothered me anyway.
The snowball smacked me straight in the face.
I sputtered a string of obscenities, aimed at Jeremy, and missed completely as he ducked behind a boulder. My toes had gone numb five minutes into today’s so-called team activity. It had all started when May looked out the window at the pristine blanket of snow and yelled, “Loser does the dishes!”
Naturally, we’d abandoned our laptops, stretched out our stiff fingers, and bolted outside.
John had stayed in the doorway, watching us like we were unruly kids about to break a window.
Smack—another hit to my back. I spun around just in time to return the favor. May’s cackle was muffled by the snow in her mouth.
Breathless, I slumped against a thick tree stump and flexed my frozen fingers, packing fresh ammo. When my pockets were satisfyingly full, I charged after a glimpse of ginger hair peeking between two pines.
The snow crunched under my boots. I was 90% sure I had icicles forming inside my bra—but I couldn’t stop grinning. This was fun. Stupid, silly, joy-in-the-moment kind of fun. My body was grateful for the movement, even if my lungs burned and my scarf was plastered to my neck with sweat. My mood was lighter. Being out here was better than sitting inside that cottage, second-guessing my story and glancing at the wall that separated me from the man who’d had the audacity to kiss me last night. In front of Jeremy, no less. Probably even slept without a single ounce of remorse. Remorse for the poor woman and her already messed up brain. Like what was I supposed to do with that?
I still hadn’t answered Otis’s “OMG” text. I couldn’t. Not yet.
Plotting my revenge against Jeremy’s loose lips, I pounced around the tree.
“Aha—”
Only to find May’s scarf dangling from a branch like a decoy.
“Gotcha,” someone said behind me—and another snowball slammed into my chest.
Charlene. Two glasses of wine deep and somehow still more coordinated than I was. My respect for her went up a notch.
“Why is everyone against me?” I groaned, flinging snowballs after her as she darted away.
I glanced toward the cabin. John was still there, tea in hand, looking smug and untouched. I still had two snowballs left and enough feeling in my fingers to mess up that smug hair.
Bending down, I rounded the shed, ready to wipe that smug grin off his face.
But when I glanced at the open patio door, he was gone.
Party pooper.
A crunch behind me. I turned and flung a snowball—nowhere near John’s head.
“You’re a terrible shot,” he said, completely unbothered.
“And you’re no fun.” I weighed my last snowball in my hand.
“Maybe I like doing dishes.”
