Page 14 of Melt the Ice

He doesn’t speak. Instead, his nose grazes up the outside of my ear, sending a shiver racing down my spine. My head tilts as the silence stretches between us, until a burst of hay flutters through the air. It catches in my hair, tickling my face, and forcing a sneeze out of me. The sudden jerk of my head knocks right into his chin, and he hisses at the impact.

“Oh my God! Lucas, I’m so sorry,” I cry as I watch him cover his face with his hands. Panic rips through me, the kind that tells me I still care maybe a bit more than I thought.

“Lucas…” I say again as he takes a step back. His fingers part, letting me see the humor in his eyes before his hands drop entirely, and his deep laugh carries through the open stable.

“Lucas!” I swat at him, but he dodges me.“I thought I hurt you.”

I charge again, and he side steps me like he’s a football player. Before long, we’re throwing hay back and forth at one another like we did a thousand times as kids. We got in trouble for it every single time, but it was one of our favorite games to play. We’d pretend we were somewhere with snow, and the hay was snowballs.

My laughter mingles with his, bright and unguarded, and for a moment the years of distance between us turn to dust. He dodges every time I try to grab him, taller and faster than he used to be, but still tossing handfuls of straw over my head like yellow snow.

“Come on, Lettie Girl,” he sings, “Hay Snow! Let’s go!” Another handful of hay flies through the air.

“Make it fly, woah-oh-OHH!” His voice cracks on the last oh, making me bend, resting my hands on my knees, to catch my breath. Looking up at him through my lashes as my laughter continues, he winks.

“Hay on my hat, hay on my toes, hay” Clap. “snow!” Clap clap. “Let’s go.” He leaps through the air, then lands with grace as he pushes up on his toes, spinning like a ballerina, all while keeping his smile firmly in place.

“Throw some up in the air,” he points to the ceiling. “Look, Lettie!” He grabs a huge handful and throws it over the two of us, “Look, it’s snowing everywhere.”

Anyone who saw us would think we’d lost our minds, but this has always been us. Him. And maybe we have, or maybe this is what it feels like when my guard slips without permission, when he slips through the cracks that I force myself to ignore.

He always used to make up songs. When I was back home, I found myself wishing someone around the house would sing nonsense over mundane tasks. I tried, but my brain doesn’t work that way. Not freely. Not out of joy, not anymore, at least.

But his does. It’s who he is, or how he survived. Maybe both.

Regardless, it’s one of my favorite things about him. “Gah,” I say as I stand, wiping the tears from underneath my eyes. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.” I pull out a few pieces of straw from my hair, then my brows furrow as I look at the mess we’ve made.

My bottom lip juts out before I can think the action through, and he steps closer, placing his thumb on my chin and tilting my head to look at him. “Your laugh is beautiful,” he says softly. “It was an honor to hear again.”

The earnestness in his voice knocks the breath from my lungs. I’m not built for this kind of tenderness. I don’t know where to put the warmth of his words, how to hold on to something so precious without ruining it.

Before I can respond, he steps back, hand floating through the air as it returns to his side. “I’ll clean this up. Get on with your day, I gotta leave in an hour,” he says, already grabbing the broom from the other side of the wall.

I start to say I’d like to help when my phone rings again. Thinking it’s my father, I pull it out to silence it. My finger freezes over the red X when I notice it’s Mr. Raynolds. My brows furrow as I look at it, “It’s the lawyer,” I grunt, holding up the phone like he asked who was calling. “I’ll be outside.” I don’t wait for his response as I head out the door.

“Hello?” My free hand slides down the outside of my jeans, attempting to keep my palms from sweating.

A heavy sigh sounds from the other side, and my stomach immediately sours. Sweat beads on my forehead, and that awful clammy feeling you get right before you pass out takes over. I quickly run to the corral where I can sit against the fence facing the stables, but be out of earshot of Lucas.

“Your father isn’t taking this well,” Mr. Raynolds' voice calmly states.

I scoff, “But of course. He doesn’t understand the word no.”

“Scarlett, he’s threatening to sue for it.”

My eyes roll. “On what grounds, exactly?”

“He doesn’t have any, I’m just calling you to let you know. It’s probably all for show in an attempt to intimidate you. But if people come sniffing around, I need you to let me know, let Miller know, and don’t be afraid to involve the Sheriff.”

“There was someone here in a white truck earlier. He cut the fence.”

He mutters a curse. “That’s a good start. Document everything, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” The words feel heavy, the levity of the moment shared earlier long gone. A check back into reality that good things don’t happen to me. At least not for long. Pushing off the ground, my head hangs heavy in front of me as I walk back to the house. Praying Lucas has a good game and makes it back in one piece. I should say bye, wish him luck, but distance feels safer. For now, at least.

6

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