Page 84 of Big Dill

“I can come back, or⁠—”

“I can give him a lift,” Rachel says before I can finish, and when Jaxon nods, I weave back through the crowd. The smell of spilled beer and freshly popped popcorn follows me, the hum of conversation filling the space.

Jami is waiting by the door, her posture stiff, her hands stuffed in her pockets. “He’s going to hang out a bit longer,” I tell her.

She tries to stifle another yawn. “If you want to stay, I can walk.”

Little Miss Independent. Always ready to carry her own weight. Fuck that.

“Come on.” I slide a hand across her back, a gentle pressure, and guide her out the door. The second we step outside, the cold slaps our bare skin. Snow crunches under our boots, the wind twisting around us. I tug up her hood, letting it frame her face, keeping the bite of winter at bay.

“Brody,” she yelps.

“What?”

“Look.”

I follow her gaze. Streaks of green and crimson flame across the sky. I grin at her awe as she takes it all in.

Her breath fogs in the cold as she exhales. “Aurora borealis,” she whispers, like she doesn’t want her words to break the magic. “I’ve never seen them before. They’re… so pretty.”

“You should see them from the cottage. We turn off all the lights, and it’s… something else. You’d think the sky was showing off just for us.”

I let her stand there a moment longer, until her teeth start chattering. I press my hand gently to her back. “Come on, let’s keep moving,” I say, guiding her to the truck.

We find the truck and climb inside. Jami cranks the heat, twisting the dial all the way to red, and holds her gloved hands up to the vents even though nothing but frigid air breathes out at us. The engine hasn’t even had time to wake up yet.

She shivers harder, shoulders drawing in. “Where is this cottage of yours?”

“About twenty minutes that way.” I point north, and she follows the invisible line of my finger.

“Do a lot of people have cottages?”

“Plenty.”

“Why?”

I grin as I slide the truck into drive and pull us onto the road, tires crunching over packed snow. “What do you mean, why?”

“I mean…” She gestures vaguely out the windshield. “What’s even out there? It’s all wilderness, isn’t it? Middle of nowhere. Nothing to do. Nothing to see. No one around.”

“That’s kind of the point.” I glance at her, watching the way the dashboard lights carve soft shadows along her face. “I think you’d love it.”

She snorts, a laugh caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity. “I’m going to have to take your word on that.”

“What are you doing next weekend?” I ask casually, like I’m not already picturing her there, wrapped in flannel, boots by the door, hair smelling like cold pine and woodsmoke.

Under the glow of the dash, I catch the tiniest smirk tug at her mouth. “Liam mentioned something about snowmobiling at his cottage. Jeez, Brody. I know you’re older than me, but I didn’t think your short-term memory was going already.”

I shake my head, amused. She’s poking at me on purpose now, testing, seeing if she can get a reaction by dangling Liam’s name between us. Fine. I’ll bite.

“I told you,” I say evenly, my words firm, not up for debate. “If you’re going snowmobiling at a cottage, it’s going to be at mine.”

She straightens in her seat, chin lifting, suddenly all haughty attitude and mock offense. “You know, you’re kind of bossy.” She wobbles her head thoughtfully. “Maybe even a bit of a bully.”

I lower my voice. “Are you telling me you don’t like that, little birdie? That you don’t like it when I get all possessives. When I tell you what to do?”

I can’t see her face clearly, but her sharp exhale says everything her mouth doesn’t. She likes it. Likes handing herself over.