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I watch his profile as I search for the words to say. The car slows down, and Emory glances over his shoulder before gliding into the right lane and then pulling over to the side of the road. “We’re here,” he says with a nod toward the right.
The city of Dallas looms ahead, a cluster of brightly lit buildings, a globe of lights, and the green-lined skyscraper that’s so iconic to the Texas town. We’re still on the outskirts of the great city, pulled over on an area of the interstate that’s bordered on both sides by grassy, sloping fields of trees. I only want to look at Emory, to memorize the lines of his face, the vulnerable look in his eyes now that he’s bared his soul. But I follow his gaze and look out of the window to my right.
The grass is white. I watch in awe as tiny flakes fall from the sky, drifting carefree, so unlike the harsh drops of rain I’m used to. “Wow,” I murmur, putting a hand to the glass.
“Want to go see it?” he says. There’s a hint of adventure in his voice.
I grin.
We climb out of the car and venture into the snow-covered grass. My heels sink, but I trudge through, my eyes to the sky as it drops wave after wave of tiny little crystals of snow.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say, marveling in the wonderful sea of white that surrounds us.
“Yeah, it’s something,” Emory says, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. Tiny little dots of snow cover his eyelashes and sprinkle onto his hair. When his eyes open again, I can’t stop smiling. I want to touch him, but I am stuck, and not just by my heels that are becoming buried in the snow.
Emory cups his hands together in front of him, catching snow. “Here,” he says, transferring the fluffy pile into one hand and reaching for me with the other. When he takes my hand, a shiver ripples through my body, warming me to the core. He turns my palm up and drops the snow into it. “Now you’ve seen snow.”
“It’s crunchy,” I say closing my fist and letting the crystals clump together. “And cold.”
Emory steps closer, snow covering his hair and shoulders. His eyes seem to sparkle in the moonlight, and his breath comes out in a puff of white. “Was it worth it?”
I nod, unable to take my eyes off his. His toes inch forward until they are touching the tips of my heels. A shadow falls over his face as he looks down at me, and he is so very close it makes my stomach twist and flutter. The falling snow is a shield from the outside world, a cocoon that protects us from everyone and everything outside of this very moment.
Emory’s hand touches my cheek. It’s cold and warm at the same time. A chill runs down my spine when this thumb slides over my skin. “I was wrong, Isla. You are a special snowflake.”
I take in a shallow breath, scared to move, scared to blink for fear that he will disappear. He holds my gaze, his dark eyes swimming with a kind of adoration I’ve never seen before. “I’ve avoided you lately because I couldn’t handle my feelings for you. I didn’t want to face it—it was terrifying. It is terrifying,” he says, his chest heaving. He shakes his head and his other hand cups the other side of my face, tilting my head closer to him. “I thought I could handle the fake homecoming date. I thought you’d get on with your life and find some new guy, and I could walk away and let you go off with someone who actually deserved you.”
“I don’t want anyone else.” I breathe the words. If my body is cold, I can’t tell. I slide my hands up and inside of his leather jacket. They wrap around his waist, and he leans into my embrace, his breath escaping in a shudder.
Emory’s eyes drift to my mouth. My toes tingle at the instant memory of his lips on mine, at the perfection of having him so close to me. His forehead presses against mine and every wall we’ve ever constructed between us comes tumbling down. His kiss is cold, but it awakens a heat inside of me and evokes all of the feelings I’ve tried so hard to keep buried and hidden away. His hands slide around my neck as he deepens the kiss and I grip him hard, kissing him back with everything I have.
“I don’t know how to be in love,” he whispers, kissing me again and again.
“I do,” I say, my lips just inches away from his. I pull back and look him in the eyes. “I am kind of good at it.”
He grins. “Maybe you could teach me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
We stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, my hands under his jacket, his chin resting on my head, our feet disappearing under a blanket of snow. The air is dry and cold and makes my lungs thrive as I breathe in the wintery air mixed with Emory’s citrus scent. He smells fresh and clean, a brand new presence in my life, ready to take on the world with me. I’ve never felt more alive, protected in our own bubble, our own real-life snow globe.
Emory’s pocket beeps a high-pitched warning. He frowns, and retrieves his phone. I read the words upside down as he says them out loud. “Extreme weather advisory,” he says, looking at me. “We should get back in the car. The snow is about to get worse.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say, noticing the shiver has returned, and my teeth start to chatter. “I can’t exactly feel my feet anymore.”
When we’re back in the Camaro, Emory cranks the heat, and I press my feet against the heat vent on the floorboard, letting the feeling come back into my toes. “Time to take you home like the studious gentleman I am,” Emory says, flashing me that smile of his. The one that somehow makes my knees weak and sparks a flame of irritation at the same time.
I frown as reality slams back into me. “Will everything go back to the way it was?” I ask, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “Coffee in the mornings and me going alone to the support group?”
“No, Isla,” he says, reaching for my hand.
My phone rings. “It’s my mom,” I say, panic, not cold, making my hand shake. If I answer, will she know? Will she magically realize that I got drunk with a college guy, that Emory saved me and lied to her, that we’re an hour from home in a snowstorm, falling so hard for each other that we might never be the same again?
“You need to answer that,” Emory says by the fourth ring.
When I answer, I try to make my voice seem normal.
“Hey, honey,” Mom says. She sounds a little tired, but not like she’s privy to all of the things I kept secret from her. “Did Emory get to you yet?”
