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“Is she still alive?”
“Yes. I stay single to spite her.”
William laughed. “Do you want to build a snowman?”
“What?” I stared at him, my lips stretching into a smile. “That’s so random.”
“It’s snowing. Do you want to build a snowman?”
“If I say no, are you going to break into song?”
He hopped off the path into the deeper snow, testing it out. “Don’t tempt me, Cinderella. I’m pretty good at karaoke.”
I looked at the hand he’d held out for me and reluctantly took it. “Fine. Let’s build a snowman like we’re six. You don’t have any photos of that on your magic drive, do you?”
“Maybe. You’d have to ask Mum. Where do we start?”
“With the body, I’d guess.” I bent down and made a snowball. “Like this.”
“That’s a tiny snowman body, Grace.”
“It’s not for the snowman. It’s for you.” I chucked it at him with a laugh.
William merely watched as it hit his arm and smashed. “Careful. That’s dangerous territory you’re wading into.”
“You started it.”
“Actually, no. I want to start a snowman, not a snowball war.”
“It’s not my fault you just look like you need to be hit with a snowball,” I muttered, bending over to make another. “I’ll do the head. You do the body.”
“It’s my snowman.”
“Yes, and now I’m in charge, it’ll get done correctly.” I flashed him a cheeky grin and started packing out the snowball to get it to a rollable size.
William sighed dramatically. “Over there is where we’ll build it. It’s a good spot and doesn’t look as deep as here.”
“Are you going to make me roll this up a hill?”
“I’ll help you. Just get started before I give up and opt for the snowballs.”
With a laugh, I set about putting my ball in the icy snow and rolling it. It quickly got bigger, and as the snow compacted, it got heavier. Rolling it quickly became a chore, and a glance at William showed he was having a much better time of it than I was.
That was unfair.
He was taller and stronger than I was, and while he was moving his snowball easily, I was one step away from grunting and falling on my arse.
This was a terrible idea.
Although it was good to be outside. Talking to him about a part of my childhood I couldn’t remember all that clearly had made me feel better, and knowing he had photos of my mum was both weird and comforting.
Weird because I wasn’t expecting it, but comforting because it meant there was a reason it was so easy to be around him. I recognised him, I knew him. Even if it wasn’t a conscious knowledge, there was a part of me that did.
That was why I liked being around him.
That’s what I was telling myself.
I didn’t want to think about the possibility of it being anything else. Not even with the way my skin tingled when he touched me or how nice it was when we hugged. How it wasn’t weird to lie in bed next to him.
