My head snapped toward him, eyes wide.
Your wife?
Wait—Carols?
The man shrugged as if he'd seen stranger things during a storm, then leaned back and called over his shoulder, “Shirley, come quick—there’s carolers!”
“Carolers?” she shouted back. “In this weather?”
He threw up his hands as if he couldn't make sense of it either.
“Grant,” I hissed under my breath, my mittened hand gripping his coat sleeve. “I am not singing Christmas carols.”
His arm tightened, tucking me firmly against his side, the heat of him cutting through my coat like my own personal wood stove. A woman with silver curls, wearing a red fluffy robe, appeared besideher husband, the TV remote still in her hand.
And then, without shame or warning, Grant started to sing.
Loudly.
So off-key I nearly bolted just to avoid being caught at the scene of the crime.
Not arrested?Please.Grant was going to do twenty-five to life for butcheringJingle Bells.
He nudged me with his elbow.
“Fine!” I snapped, joining in on the next verse. My voice somehow sounded worse than his. Animals were probably waking from hibernation just to judge us. My elusive groundhog had likely vowed never to surface again, sentencing me to a lifetime of long winters. The couple in the doorway winced; neither looked impressed.
That did it—I dissolved into laughter, the kind that burned in my chest and stole my breath until I leaned against Grant just to stay upright. By the time we reached the end, the caretaker had shut the door and turned off the light.
I laughed harder.
The flashlight beam clicked on, and Grant took my hand, his breath puffing clouds into the night.
“Come on, you were promised cocoa. I think you’ve earned it.”
We sprinted toward the inn as fast as the snowdrifts allowed. I couldn’t stop laughing—half delirious, half tipsy from this moment, fromhim. When the porch steps loomed, we slowed to catch our breath beneath the swaying lantern.
My cheeks ached, tears freezing as they slipped down my chin. Grant brushed themaway with his thumb, his own cheeks flushed pink from the cold. The edges of his hair, peeking under his hat, were dusted with white flakes.
I dropped my forehead against his chest and cringed. “How are we the worst carolers that ever lived?”
“We?” His grin curved, wicked and boyish all at once. “I thought I sounded pretty good. They were going to invite us in until you started.”
“You were flat oneverynote. Next Christmas, I lead.”
I felt his sudden inhale, the subtle shift of muscle under my palms. His arms tightened as if my words had lodged somewhere deep, and holding me could keep them there.
Next Christmas…
The lantern scattered golden light across his face. Snow clung to his lashes, his breath syncing with mine until the air between us changed—becoming charged. I’d done it again, electrified the wire between us. Only this time, it wasn’t with hate. It was with hope.
“Grant—” My fingers fisted in the front of his coat, tugging him closer. “I don’t want cocoa.”
“What do you want, Spells?” His voice was rough enough to scrape the air.
What did I want? The list was endless, but every line, every wish melted into one word.
I rose onto my toes. “You.”
