Page 71 of Cold Mercy

“Just one!” she laughs, snapping a picture before I can dodge.

“Give me that.”

I lunge for her, but even as she squeals and darts away, the small room leaves her nowhere to run. I catch her by the waist easily, pulling her back against my chest.

“Delete it,” I growl into her ear, reaching for the phone.

“No! Never!” she laughs, holding it out as far as her arm will reach.

I could take the phone from her in a second with one simple twist of her wrist, one swift movement, but I don't. Because she is laughing, genuinely laughing, and her body is pressed against mine. I want to keep her like this.

She tries to squirm away, and I tighten my arm around her waist, lifting her feet off the floor. She kicks her legs in the air, a small, indignant sound escaping her.

“Hey! Unfair move! Put me down!”

I set her down without letting go, immediately spinning her around so she's facing me. The laughter dies down, replaced by a sudden, heavy tension. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed, and she’s looking up at me like I’m the only thing in the room.

“The picture is incomplete,” I say quietly, my hands still resting on her waist.

She blinks, breathless. “What?”

“The sweaters,” I murmur. “They’re a set. It doesn’t work if only one of us looks like an idiot.” I nod at the red fabric in her hand. “Put yours on.”

She hesitates, biting her lip, then nods. “Fine.”

She pulls the red sweater over her head, her hair getting momentarily caught before she shakes it loose. It’s huge on her, the sleeves falling past her hands, the hem reaching her thighs. She's devastatingly cute.

I can't help the laugh that escapes me.

She stomps her foot, trying to look offended through a smile.

“Hey! You promised not to laugh!”

I stop laughing, but the smile stays fixed on my face as I reach out to fix her collar.

“I’m not laughing at you,” I say softly. “You look… ridiculously beautiful in it.”

I say the words, and they feel more real than my own name. Beautiful. Not just her face, or the way the red of the sweater makes her skin glow. It’s the whole damn her. The laughter that's still in her eyes, the way she's looking at me right now, a little surprised, a little shy.

“Come here,” I say, taking the phone from her hand gently. “Let’s take the picture.”

She steps up beside me in front of the full-length mirror, while I hold the phone up. I give the camera my standard look, trying to look like I’m being held against my will.

Sophia looks at the screen and sighs.

“Do you ever actually smile in photos?” she asks, nudging my ribs.

As I look at our reflections, first hers and then mine, I'm struck by the sudden realization that I don't want to be the tough guy tonight.

I shift, pulling her closer, tucking her right under my arm so she’s pressed against my side. I rest my hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her through the wool.

When I look at the camera this time, I let myself smile, and I'm almost startled by the unfamiliar feeling of a real, genuine grin spreading across my face.

If only she knew what she does to me just by standing there, beautiful without trying. If I were a different man, I’d pull her in and kiss her until she forgot every reason she ever had to fear trusting someone again.

Sophia pulls away slightly, the laughter fading into a soft, nervous energy. She bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes.

“Okay,” she says, her voice dropping a little. “I have something for you too.”