“I have. This is just different. When I’ve been to places with snow, the snow was already there. You know, like, you fly into a ski resort and there’s suddenly snow everywhere.”
I hold my arms out and twirl in a circle, sticking out my tongue and letting the snowflakes melt on it.
Aiden does the same.
As I watch him, I realize that my heart is like one of these snowflakes.
Aiden has been slowly melting it.
He leaves his tongue out and pulls me into his arms, touching the tip of his tongue to mine, so we’re catching snowflakes together.
When other students start wandering out of the dorms, he says, “I knew it wouldn’t last long.”
“What wouldn’t?”
“Us being alone out here.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m glad you got to experience the quiet of it.”
“It’s beautiful, Aiden. Thanks for waking me up.”
He smiles at me, then grabs a handful of snow and shoves it down my shirt.
“Ahhh!!” I scream. “What the hell?”
“It’s tradition. Eastbrooke students always have a huge snowball fight to celebrate the first big snow. It’s about to get crazy!”
“Really? How fun!”
I drop to the ground and quickly start stockpiling snowballs.
After about four, though, my hands get cold.
“I need to buy waterproof gloves.”
He slips my wet gloves off and brings my hands up to his face. “They’re cold.”
He takes my hands and puts them underneath his shirt—on his bare skin—to warm them up.
I stare into his eyes and watch the snow fall around him. Then I stand on my tiptoes to kiss . . .
SPLAT!!
A snowball hits me right in the cheek.
I turn toward the direction it came from to find Riley and Ariela grinning at us.
“They’re dead,” Aiden says.
He takes his snow gloves off, blows warm air into them, and then puts them on me. “Go get ’em!”
I grab my pile of snowballs, hide behind a tree, and launch them at Riley and Ariela, who have taken off running.
I’m bending down to make another snowball when Dallas shoves a bunch of snow down the back of my shirt.
I scream and go running behind Aiden for protection.
The snowball fight continues until the sun comes up.
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 6TH
Fragmented moments.
History
I’m sitting in class watching a movie.
And somehow it’s triggered . . . something.
Caused it to gnaw at the corners of my brain.
It’s a thought.
Or a memory.
Trying to get through.
I close my eyes for a second, shutting out my surroundings, and I'm quickly back at the Undertow.
Vincent's strong arms are around me. He’s wearing a charming smile.
I relive a series of fragmented moments.
The beach.
The ashes and his loss.
Our dinner.
The brush of a hand across my knee.
Words filled with innuendo.
Kisses that lingered on my cheeks.
Standing at the railing of a deck.
Good advice.
A twirl. A hug.
A toast from across the pool.
An offer to go to his room.
Cartwheels in the sand.
His buff chest.
Blowing a kiss.
Then Garrett. Asking me why I never I went with Vincent when he offered.
Was I honest when I answered that question?
I’m not even sure.
Besides, I have to look at it from his perspective.
He idolized Mom, but was always sweet.
Never once was there even a hint of animosity.
He sees the photo of me.
The original girl of his dreams.
Me.
He sets out to meet me in person, finding me on the beach.
I remember when he looked into my eyes like he knew me.
Because, to him, I was familiar.
The first photo he took was of Cush and me.
The question is, why?
Did he really already own the film rights?
And, if so, when did he buy them?
Before or after he saw the picture?
Riley knocks my elbow, causing my head to drop and almost hit the desk.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
“I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking.”
“Sure you were. Probably daydreaming about Aiden on the rug.”
I close my eyes again.
Was it all just a mistake?
But then I remember the van.
Him calling Mom a whore.
The drugs.
The ropes.
The bell rings to end class, and I’m thinking about ropes as I gather up my books.
Gives a whole new meaning to the term tied up in contract negotiations, I think with a laugh.
As I walk out of class, Aiden’s green eyes lock with mine, causing me to forget all about Vincent.
You’re so naughty!
Lunch
I check my phone as I’m walking into the café. I’m anxiously waiting to hear something from Grandpa. I don’t want to bug him, but I need to know. So, I send him an email.
-I don’t want to bug you, but how’s the takeover stuff going?
I scroll through all the emails I get from the places I shop, and my eye pauses on one from Tommy.
-I ordered the ring you liked best. The seven stones make it perfect. Now I need the perfect proposal. I’ve got a million ideas. Actually been researching proposal ideas on the internet. I’d like to do something low key, but special. I thought about taking her to the beach, letting her find seashells, and writing it in the sand, but I was worried the public would start taking photos. So I really think it needs to happen at the house in France when I’m there for Christmas. Any suggestions?
“Hey, Boots,” Aiden says, wrapping his arm around me.
“Have you checked your phone today?” I ask him.
“You been sexting me?”
“Wipe that smile off your face. It’s not like that.”
“Darn.” He laughs.
“I left you a voicemail,” I say seriously. “I need you to listen to it tonight on the bus.”
His eyes widen. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“We’re not going out, remember?”
“Are you worried about Chelsea being at the game?”
“No.”
He looks at his phone. “It’s an eleven minute message.”
“I had a lot to say.”
“Why couldn’t you just tell me in person?”
“Because,” I say, not able to keep my smile at bay.
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. “What are you up to?”
“I stayed up last night and recorded the oral exam for you. I had to do it on my phone like twenty times to get it all perfect. Then I played my recording on your voicemail. You should probably listen and make sure you can hear it okay.”
“You did that for me? You were so tired.”
“I don’t want you to fail.”
“Still trying to get me to France with you?”
“Yeah,” I say, hoping I’m not lying.
“Boots,” he says, his tone of voice causing me to stop walking and turn toward him.
“What?”
He places both his hands on my face, looks deep into my eyes, and gives me a thorough thank you kiss.
The kind of kiss that makes my legs feel like they’re made out of rubber and makes me envision a future with him.
“Thank you,” he says dreamily. “Dallas told me in math that he’s asking Kassidy to Winter Formal at lunch today.”
“Did he tell you how he’s going to do it?” I shake my head. “Riley is going to kill him.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”