“So what’s your idea? I’m not streaking in front of the ghost.”
Grant laughed, and the sound curled around my spine.
“Relax. I was thinking of something classier. But if streaking is ever on the table…”
His devilish eye contact should be considered a ranged weapon. Target acquired. I crumpled the challenge card into a ball and lobbed it at his head.
“I regret coming here. I should’ve taken a case overseas. I could be sunning myself in Fiji right now.”
He pushed to his feet, still smiling. “Oh, you’re going to wish you were in Fiji. Come on. Coat, boots, scarf. Preferably in that order.”
“We’re going out? Inthat?” I pointed at the window, where snow still fell in glittering sheets.
“Yes. It’s part of the experience.”
“Dying of hypothermia?”
He caught my hand and tugged me to my feet, hard enough that I collided with his chest. His arms came around me automatically, achingly warm.
“Have I ever let you die of hypothermia, even once, Spells?”
Something in his tone stripped the humor out of the air, the words sinking like an oath. A reminder he'd always been therewhen I needed him.
“You have magic hands,” I murmured, my palm flattening against the steady thrum of his heart. “Warm a girl up once during a rainstorm, and she develops expectations.”
Those hands sifted through my hair, a low hum of heat sparking across my scalp. “Never settle,” he said softly.
My eyelids fluttered. I could’ve settled for never leaving this attic. Just growing old among the dusty boxes and the steady warmth of him. But I stepped back before I forgot how to move.
I pressed a finger into his chest. “I will allow you to take me into the blizzard. But I will complain the whole time and expect cocoa upon our return.”
His thumb traced the edge of my cheekbone. “It’s a date.”
The wind hit like a wall the moment we stepped outside. Snow whirled under the lantern light, catching in our hair and eyelashes until everything blurred. I yanked my scarf higher.
“This is insane,” I said through the wool.
“Technically,” Grant said, offering his arm, “it’s a marriage-building exercise.”
“Technically,” I countered, looping my arm through his because the drifts were practically knee-deep, “it’s the frozen trail to divorce.”
He grinned down at me, the man who faced every storm with reckless abandon. “You won’t get my magic hands in the settlement.”
I scoffed, doing my best to keep the cheesy smile off my face. “You’re lucky this isn’t a community-property state, or you’d be saying goodbye—” I mimed slicing my hand through the air like a blade. “—to half of those digits.”
“Adorably ghoulish, Spells,” he said, tugging me closer as laughter curled under the words.
The wind tried to steal my hat as we trudged through the drifts, a flashlight beam cutting through the swirling white. Grant slowed his pace, steadying me whenever my boots threatened rebellion. Up ahead, a single lantern flickered through the trees, mounted above the caretaker’s cottage door.
I stopped short, suspicion prickling down my spine. “Grant,” I warned, “what are we doing here?”
He turned toward me, gloved hands bracketing my shoulders. “We're creating memories.” And before I could argue, he knocked, then added, “By spreading holiday cheer.”
The door swung open to reveal an old man in thick flannel. White whiskers sprang from his ears, and deep lines framed eyes squinted with curiosity.
“Everything all right up at the inn? Power still holding?”
Grant nodded, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Running just fine. We’re here because it’s that special time of year when my wife loves to sing her carols.”
