Page 57 of Colliding with Ten

His voice was a low rumble. “So, if you could be snowed in anywhere, where would it be?”

I cracked an eye open. “Anywhere but here.”

He chuckled. “That’s too easy.”

“Okay.” I thought about it. “Somewhere with a fireplace. Big windows. Maybe snowy mountains in the distance.”

He nodded, as if he could see it. “Sounds nice.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Where would you be stuck?”

He tilted his head back, considering. “Somewhere unexpected.”

I smiled. “That’s too vague.”

“The best places are never planned.”

I rolled my eyes. “You think this is one of those places?”

A glint lit his eyes. Warmth filled my chest at his look.

“It’s starting to feel like it.”

The air between us stilled. I didn’t have an answer.

Outside, the snow kept falling. We talked for a while about the worst road food he’d had on tour and my habit of dancing while I cleaned. By this point, our conversations had little thought and mostly humor, made better by sharing them. We laughed for what felt like hours.

I’d seen clips of him before, those sideline antics that went viral. The low-brow, upturned lip of a man who knew how good he was and didn’t mind reminding the world. That was the Lennox Monroe everyone knew. The one who grinned when someone on the other side of the field realized they couldn’t shut him down. But when he laughed, he became someone else.

It was chest-deep and lingered. Sometimes he exhaled through his nose first, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and the laugh slipped out, unguarded. For some reason, I couldn’t stop smiling either.

At some point, my head drifted sideways and found his shoulder. He went still, then relaxed, his body moving to fit mine as if it were natural for both of us.

“Comfortable?” he said.

“Mhmm.”

He kept his laugh low this time. I don’t know who fell asleep first, but by the time my eyes closed, the storm had turned the world white, and his warmth kept the night from feeling cold.

I woke before him. The lounge was quiet, except for the occasional shuffle of someone passing through. Pale light came through the windows, clear after heavy snow.

His shoulder warmed my cheek. His deep breathing rose and fell beside me. I lay still, careful not to disturb him, aware of every small point of contact—his arm lining up with mine on the chair, the fabric of his hoodie against my face.

I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to hold onto the moment. Soon after, I felt the soft touch of his fingers on my cheek. He watched me, his hand suspended midair. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. His blue eyes looked gray in the pale gold light shining through the glass. His smile softened the angles of his face.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.

I smiled back, still groggy. “Hey.”

Before I could say anything else, a waitress appeared, balancing a tray of coffee cups with milk and sugar. “You two look like you could use these,” she said, far too upbeat for so early in the morning.

Lennox took the cups and handed me one. “Thanks.”

I added almond milk, making mine light and sweet. Lennox drank his black.

“Guess the storm’s done,” he said.

Outside, the runway glistened with melted frost. The day was sunny and clear.