Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I watched Maddox at the sink, noting the careful way he cleaned each finger, the competence in his movements. Everything about him was so solid, so rooted. The exact opposite of my carefully curated nomadic existence.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“You’ve got that look,” he said, drying his hands and turning to face me.
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re thinking hard about something.” Maddox moved closer, concern flickering in his eyes. “Everything okay?”
I could tell him. Should tell him. About the call, about the opportunity, about the choice I suddenly faced. But looking at him—hair still mussed from sleep, flannel shirt soft from years of washing, eyes warm with affection—I couldn’t bring myself to shatter this perfect morning with the weight of reality. With the confirmation that what was holding him back was possibly imminent.
Instead, I kissed him. Soft and sweet and desperate, pouring all my conflicted feelings into the connection between us. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to frame my face, and for a moment, the outside world ceased to exist.
“Toast trauma,” I said when we broke apart, forcing lightness into my voice. “The usual.”
“Right.” His smile was skeptical but fond. “Let me guess—you burned it on purpose so I’d pity-feed you again.”
“Obviously. Gotta stay on brand.” I managed a grin that felt only slightly forced. “Can’t let you think I’m actually competent at anything domestic.”
“Ah, weaponized incompetence,” he murmured, pulling me close again. “My love language.”
I let myself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my chest. In a few days, I’d have to make a decision that would change everything. But not right now. Right now, I could pretend that the only choice I had to make was what to have for lunch.
“So,” I said, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. “What’s the plan for Date Ten?”
I kept waiting for him to mention the romantic date he owed me after losing our bet, but he hadn’t brought it up all week, and I found myself reluctant to remind him. Was the pressure of planning it too much? Was Maddox hoping I’d forget about it? Did it make our “temporary” thing feel too real?
“Snowball fight and stolen kisses,” he replied, interrupting my wayward thoughts. “Maybe some hot chocolate afterward if you haven’t already drowned in the stuff. You in?”
“I’m all in,” I said and meant it with every fiber of my being.
He grinned, the expression transforming his face from merely handsome to absolutely devastating. “Good. Because Maya’s been planning our defeat since yesterday. She has strategies, Adrian. Actual battle plans.”
“Bring it on,” I laughed. “I’ll have you know I was the reigning snowball champion of my prep school. Three years running.”
“Prep school snowball fights don’t count. This is mountain warfare, city boy. You’re not ready.”
As he pulled me toward the bedroom to get dressed, I caught sight of my phone on the nightstand. Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed it and fired off a quick text to Vic:
Not no. Just… give me some time.
His response was immediate.
Vic
How much time?
I looked at Maddox, who was now digging through his dresser for what appeared to be thermal underwear, muttering something about Maya’s ruthless approach to winter combat. He caught me watching and winked, completely unaware that my entire future was balanced on a knife’s edge.
You said we have until Friday, right? I’ll let you know by then.
I turned off my phone and tossed it onto the bed. Whatever happened, whatever choice I ultimately made, I needed this. One perfect snowball fight. One afternoon of stolen kisses and hot chocolate.
One day to pretend the only thing that mattered was the way Maddox Sullivan looked at me like I was something precious and worth keeping.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing Legacy in pristine white.
And for now, that was enough.
#ToastTrauma #SolenneOrSullivan #StayOrGo #OneMoreSnowDay
20
#SNOWMUCHTOHOPEFOR
MADDOX
The Legacy Community Ball Park looked like it had been taken over by an elite alpine warfare regiment. If the regiment had been run by five-year-olds with a sugar kink.
The SERA team had transformed the place into what could only be described as organized chaos—thermoses of hot cocoa and bags of leftover marshmallows and candy canes were lined up on picnic tables like soldiers, hastily built snow forts lay scattered across the field, and the sound of laughter echoed off the mountain beyond us.
I stood at the edge of the parking lot, camera bag slung over my shoulder, taking in the scene. Foster Blake, his boyfriend, Tommy, and a couple of the SERA guys were already locked in a heated battle with some of the high school kids, while Rosie Marian directed traffic like a tiny, bossy general in a purple parka.
And there, right in the middle of it all, was Adrian Hayes.
He was wearing what he claimed was the latest craze in winter hats—a “Nordique Chasseur with ultra-luxe earflap detailing” that would have made anyone else look like a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Kyle from South Park but somehow just made Adrian look hotter.