by Abby Sher
“Yeah,” he said. “But first, I have something that I forgot to show you. Wait right there.” And he disappeared into the kitchen.
When he came back out, he had on his jacket, too.
“Come on.” He led me out through the sliding door. We pushed out into the night. The snow was up to our knees in the field, and there were still a few feathery flakes slipping down out of the sky. The moon looked like a creamy shell, set in the deep blue-black of the night, scattering bright beams down onto the gleaming snow.
Then, without a word, Eric took my mittened hand in his. I felt a tremor through my arm. He clicked on the flashlight, and we headed out across the field. I didn’t ask him where we were going or what we were doing. It didn’t matter. I knew that even if he brought me out here to see a pinecone I would be just glad to be out here — with him. We walked down the backyard and over the little hill. Then across the creek, still trickling now through islands of snow and ice. Up into the Gallaghers’ farm. Past the house. We came to the quiet tangle of trees at the bottom of their land, and Eric led me in.
The pine needles felt slippery and thin. Through a tiny opening in the branches above I could see the moonlight and just a few stray flakes of snow sailing to earth. And there was that hush in here. A calm that was now somehow electric.
Eric stopped and turned toward me, taking both my hands in his.
“So I know I showed you this place before, but there was something I forgot to do when we were here and I just wanted to, before, well … if it’s okay …”
I watched his face carefully. I didn’t dare move a muscle. And then, in that moment, as he leaned in, the whole world got swallowed up by the stillness of those trees. His lips dissolved into mine, and I felt every inch of my body light up, all of me glowing a vibrant, pure white. I closed my eyes and melted into the greatest kiss in the history of the world.
We stayed like that for I don’t know how long. I lost all sense of time and space. But I do know that at some point his lips started quivering. And then he pulled away, laughing softly.
“What?” I said, afraid.
Levy! What did you do?
Had I slobbered all over him? Did I eat a filling?
“No, nothing! I’m just so happy,” he said.
I sighed with relief. He touched his forehead to mine, our noses pressed together.
“Now, sorry. What did you want to tell me?” he whispered.
“Just … this.”
I pulled his face toward mine. And this time I was kissing him, and I was sure of myself. My lips, my teeth, my tongue. They were right where they should be. We stayed like that for a long time. For a really long time, and yet it all went by so fast. And then, just as I began to pull away, I felt it. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. I felt an itch, like someone was tickling me, just under my nose. And then a coldness, melting, and I knew. It was a single snowflake drifting down and landing just where our lips met, nesting there, between us. My heart lifted and fluttered open. I had found it. The snowflake I was supposed to kiss.
“Hey, Eric?”
“Yeah.”
“I just have to say, I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Yeah, it wasn’t exactly original. But it was a great line.
And I didn’t know if I meant physically, or mentally, or what. I just knew I needed to say it.
Eric smiled.
“I don’t either,” he said.
And then we kissed some more. Deep, long, kisses. And held each other, standing up, in the world’s quietest place.
“Hey, listen,” he whispered at one point. He took my hand and put it on his chest. I could feel his heart beating through his jacket and it matched mine — fast and strong.
“It’s goin’ nuts, huh?” he said.
I wanted to say Wait! Are you for real? Or You’re here! You’re here! Or What does this mean? Or Help! I’m supposed to leave tomorrow! But I kept my lips together.
Just let it be, Levy.
We were both there in that unknowing. In that possibility.
And then he took my hand and we silently walked back to the inn.
It was a good thing our flight wasn’t until the early afternoon, because when Dad’s phone call woke me up, I was nowhere near ready. As a matter of fact, I was still in my clothes from the night before. Eric and I had stayed up until at least three in the morning talking in front of that fire. I looked around the room. The rest of my clothes were strewn all over. Sweaters, jeans, socks drooping over the chair.
“Meet you downstairs in ten?” said Dad.
“Yup,” I said, and then started throwing things in my bag while I brushed my teeth.
Fozzie was the first one to greet me at the bottom of the stairs.
“He’s been waiting for you all morning,” said Eric, coming up behind him. His eyes looked particularly big and green and spectacular this morning.
“Hey, Fozzie. I’m gonna miss you,” I managed. I was already feeling hollow just thinking about leaving him.
Dad, Kathy, and Jeremy were having breakfast in our usual spot.
“Can I go for one last walk before we pack up?” I asked.
Kathy looked up and smiled. Did she know about me and Eric …?
“Sure,” said Dad.
Eric and I followed Fozzie out into the backyard. He bounded across the field, with us walking slowly behind. Eric took my mitten in his hand.
“So,” he said.
“So, yeah,” I said back.
We walked for a while not saying anything. Amazingly, he was the one who spoke first. “What do you think?” His voice was low.
“I don’t know. I mean, I wasn’t supposed to meet somebody like you,” I said.
“You mean devastatingly handsome, fascinating, and a lover of fine cheeses?” He squeezed my hand and gave me a mischievous grin.
I punched him on the arm lightly. “I mean, I was just supposed to go away with my dad and Kathy and Jeremy. Maybe learn how to ski. But this feels …” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Maybe I was making this into more than what it was. I really hoped not.
“Yeah, it feels like we might’ve just started something big, you know? I mean … I hope. Maybe,” he said.
And now my stomach was doing cartwheels and my heart was beating so loud I could feel it in my toes.
Levy, hold it together. But I was dying to say something.
“Me too! I mean, yes. I mean, I think so, too.”
“Yeah,” he said. I could feel the smiles on both of our faces.
We walked some more. Just to the edge of the Gallaghers’ plot though. My dad had given me strict instructions that we had to be in the car in twenty-five minutes. He’s crazy about getting to airports two years before the flight.
“Guess we gotta turn around,” said Eric.
“Yup.”
He kissed my mittened hand.
“Hey, I’m gonna call you tonight. To make sure you get home okay. Is that all right?” he asked.
“I’d like that.”
“And maybe while you’re up in the air, just so I can hear your voice mail.”
I giggled. “Sounds good to me.”
“And maybe right now, just to make sure I’ve got your number.”
I reached into my pocket to get my phone. I hadn’t touched it in days. I only remembered it because it fell out of my sweatshirt when I had gone to throw it in my suitcase. I looked at it now. Seven more missed calls. What? I opened it up. They were all from Phoebe.
“What is it?” asked Eric.
“Oh, my friend Phoebe. The one I told you about.” I had told him about Phoebe, but just briefly. I didn’t want to tell him just the bad parts. I knew there was a lot more to our friendship than just the past few days. At least, I thought so.
“You think you should call her?” he said.
“I will,” I said. “But for now, I want to be right here.”
When we got back to the inn, Dad was already packing up the rental car. Eric went in
side to get Fozzie some food. He said he’d be back out in just a few minutes. I went in to grab a muffin and some coffee. I had decided once I got home that I was going to tell my mom to start making an extra cup for me in the morning. I was an adult, after all. And besides, if it stunted my growth, that was fine. I was already almost six feet tall.
Eric came back into the dining room and joined me by a window.
“Okay! All set!” sang Dad, coming in behind him. Kathy quickly ran in, too. She winked at me.
“Actually,” said Kathy, “I think the trunk isn’t closing all the way. Can you give me a hand please, Judd?” She grabbed Dad’s arm and pulled him toward the front door.
“She’s really pretty cool,” said Eric.
“Yeah, she’s okay. It’s a good thing someone butt his nose in and told me to give her a chance,” I said, smiling.
He pulled out a piece of paper from his coat pocket.
“Well, I just wanted to give you this. It’s nothing big. I’m not much for good-byes, you know? So, how about I just say, I’ll talk to you tonight, and then I’ll see you soon, and we’ll … um … take it from there.”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“I mean, once the busy season slows down a little, maybe I could take a drive down to New York with Fozzie. Like in March or April?”
“I’d like that a lot.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed.
“I’d really like that a lot.” I didn’t think I could say much more. And then, he just held me again with those arms. Those arms that had picked me up and led me down the mountain and into the most beautiful place I had ever been. And I breathed him in, the smell of his warm neck, like fir trees and cedar wood. I tried to take it all in. To hold it deep inside.
In the car, I waited until we were up the hill and past the main square of town. “Good-bye” I whispered to the snow-covered steeples and Canfield Corners. The road extended out in front of us like a dark ribbon between the mounds of fresh snow, the trees bending together to whisper among their branches. Dad was whistling and he had one hand on Kathy’s knee, keeping time to his tune. It slipped from “Paperback Writer” to “Eleanor Rigby” this time. Jeremy was leaning back and staring out at the mountains again. A low cloud of bluish-gray hung above the peaks, heavy with another snow about to fall.
I turned toward my window and slowly pulled out the piece of paper, then unfolded it delicately, spreading it out on my lap. It was a charcoal drawing of a girl, her head upturned, her eyes closed, her lips making a small circle. Her hair fell down long and straight across her shoulders. Her arms were outstretched and above her fell speckled bits of snow caught in midair.
It was me. I knew it was. But until this trip, I had never seen myself this way before. So relaxed, so carefree, so beautiful.
I turned the picture over.
Dear Sam,
I’m not sure what to say. As you said, “I’m not good at this.” But I just wanted to say, thank you for everything. For screaming at me outside. For sipping coffee by the fire. For walking to the Gallaghers’ farm with me and for sharing my favorite place in the world. For falling down and for picking me up. But most of all, thank you for teaching me how to kiss snowflakes. I hope we can do that again soon.
Love, Eric
I folded the paper back up and brought it to my lips.
That was one snowflake I hoped would never melt.
Craving more winter romance?
Be sure to check out MISTLETOE: FOUR HOLIDAY STORIES, featuring Hailey Abbott, Melissa de la Cruz, Aimee Friedman, and Nina Malkin!
Below, take a sneak peek at Aimee Friedman’s story, “Working in a Winter Wonderland.”
As Maxine wandered the crowded aisles of the holiday market, her eyes flicking over displays of beaded necklaces, velour gloves, and fat, scented candles, she wondered if a winter-break job might be the best solution to her money woes. After all, she reasoned, her home life was driving her nuts, and her social life would be laughable until New Year’s. If only she had the slightest idea where to find work. She cast a glance at a nearby stall selling hideous winter hats, as if a HELP WANTED sign might be hanging there.
A sudden, near-arctic wind tore through the market, rattling a display of glass bowls. “Damn, it’s cold!” someone cried in a Southern accent — a tourist, Maxine guessed, who’d been under the mistaken impression that New York City would be balmy on December 17. Shivering, Maxine hurried over to the hat stand, cursing herself for leaving her cloche hat somewhere in her messy bedroom. Whatever, she decided as she selected a fuzzy leopard-print number with earflaps. I’d rather look like a first-class freak than die of hypothermia. She was adjusting the hat on her head when she heard a familiar male voice behind her.
“Madeline? Madeline Silverman?”
Oh, God. Can it be —
Turning very slowly, Maxine found herself staring into the almond-shaped, bright hazel eyes of Heath Barton.
Yes, Heath Barton. His glossy jet-black hair blew across his dark eyebrows and a smile played on his full lips. Maxine noticed that his leather jacket hung open, revealing a black turtleneck and black jeans ripped at the knees. Dazedly, she wondered why he wasn’t freezing, until she realized that his own out-of-this-world hotness must have been keeping him nice and toasty. Maxine felt her body temperature climbing by the second.
“Madeline,” Heath repeated with utter assurance, his square-jawed face now breaking into a wide grin. “From high school. You remember me, right?”
You could say that.
“Oh … sure,” Maxine said, doing her best imitation of breeziness. She cocked her head to one side, studying him. “Heath … Barton, is it?” As he nodded, eyes glinting, she added, “And it’s not Madeline, by the way. I’m Maxine. Maxine Silver.”
Not that she necessarily expected Heath Barton to remember her name. Back in high school, he’d been the ringleader of the rich-boy slackers and always had some pouty groupie — Maxine had nicknamed them “Heathies” — on his arm. Ensconced in her artsy circle of friends, Maxine had outwardly mocked Heath and his ilk, but went all jelly-kneed at the sight of him. And there’d been certain moments that Maxine had caught Heath shooting her inquisitive glances that had clearly meant Hmm … maybe sometime. Maxine had been counting on New Year’s, but maybe the time was, well, right now.
Or could have been now, had she not been wearing a leopard-print hat with earflaps.
Just as Maxine’s hands were reaching up to remove the unfortunate accessory, Heath stepped forward, eliminating the space between them. “Maxine — that’s right,” he said, laughing softly. “My bad. I was close though, huh?”
He was certainly getting close. Maxine barely had time to notice that Heath smelled like wood smoke and cider and spice — and that he’d somehow become even hotter since high school — before he plucked the ridiculous hat off her head, his fingers brushing her sideswept bangs. As he set the hat down on the counter behind them, Maxine frantically tried to mash her post-hat hair back into some semblance of place.
“Don’t do that.” Heath chuckled, turning back to her. “You’re ruining the cuteness effect.”
Oh, damn. Maxine wasn’t a big blusher, but now she felt an unavoidable warmth stealing up her neck.
“So catch me up, Maxine Silver,” Heath drawled, resting one elbow on the counter as his eyes held hers. “College adventures, crimes, scandals, holiday plans?”
Maxine shrugged. “You know, the usual, I guess,” she replied, hoping the conversation would steer its way back to the subject of her supposed cuteness.
“I’m stoked to be out of New Haven,” Heath confessed with a world-weary sigh, running a hand through his floppy hair. “There’s nothing like winter in the city — chilling with my boys, helping out my dad at his store —” Heath paused meaningfully, and raised an eyebrow at Maxine. “Oh — I’m not sure if you know who my dad — I mean —” He ducked his head.
Maxine nodded. “I know,” she whispered. Everyone knew who H
eath’s father was: Cecil Barton III, owner of Barton’s, the sumptuous jewel box of a department store on Fifth Avenue. Maxine remembered the buzz Mr. Barton, in his bow tie and bowler hat, had created at their graduation alongside Heath’s mother, who was an equally famous — and stunning — Japanese former supermodel.
“I’m actually here for my dad today,” Heath was saying, as if he’d read her mind. “Doing market research — to check out the competition and all.” With a slight air of distaste, he gestured to the packed stalls around them. “Technically I’m supposed to be on my lunch break but we’re so swamped at the store that I’ve got to mix business with pleasure.” Maxine was forcing herself not to fixate on the word pleasure coming out of Heath’s mouth when he rolled his long-lashed eyes and went on. “It’s madness over there — one of the salesgirls quit this morning so the manager wasn’t giving me a moment’s rest. I was all like, ‘Mr. Perry, can I at least get a ciggie break?’ and he was like —”
“Wait.” The word had escaped Maxine’s lips almost without her realizing it. Swamped at the store. Salesgirl quit. She felt inspiration flooding through her body, making her skin prickle and her breath catch. She found she couldn’t move. “There’s — there’s an opening at Barton’s?” she asked. Furiously, her mind fought to process this incredible piece of information. An opening, just when she most needed a job? An opening at the very place where Heath Barton himself was working?
“Uh-huh,” Heath said distractedly, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a sleek BlackBerry. Then he lifted his head and met Maxine’s gaze, which she knew must have been wild-eyed and borderline manic. She tried to compose her features into a mask of glamorous sophistication, but then Heath’s own eyes widened, and his lips slowly parted. “Maxine, are you interested?” he murmured, and then he tilted his head to one side, clearly sizing her up — though for what, Maxine wasn’t sure. Then Heath spoke again, sending all the blood rushing to her face.
“You’d be perfect,” was what Heath Barton said. “Perfect for the position.”
The flattery roared in Maxine’s ears, half-drowning out the rest of what Heath was saying — something about how she should go see Mr. Perry now if she was seriously interested, because those types of positions were usually snatched up right away.