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)
He shrieked with laughter as someone nailed him square in the ribs with a perfectly aimed snowball, and something inside my chest loosened, a knot I hadn’t even realized was there unraveling as I watched him stumble backward, arms windmilling dramatically before he toppled into a snowbank. His hat popped off and he laughed again, clear and bright.
God help me, but I could see it. All of it. Family holidays with Maya rolling her eyes at our ridiculous snowball fights. Lazy Sunday mornings with Adrian wrapped in one of my old flannels, complaining about the coffee while secretly loving every minute of it. Hot cocoa by the fire after days like this, his cold feet pressed against my calves under a blanket.
A life that felt full instead of just functional.
“Maddox!” Maya’s voice cut through my daydreaming. “Get your ass over here! We’re picking teams, and I refuse to be stuck with Adrian. He’s already proven he can’t throw for shit.”
“I heard that!” Adrian called from where he was attempting to extract his hat from the snowbank and jam it back on his head. “And for the record, that was a tactical retreat!”
“Your tactical retreat looked a lot like getting your fancy ass handed to you,” Maya shot back, grinning wickedly.
I made my way across the field, dodging stray snowballs and trying not to smile too obviously at the banter flying between them. They’d developed an easy sibling-like relationship over the past week, all affectionate insults and shared conspiratorial looks. It made that distracting wanting in my chest grow even stronger.
“Alright, alright,” I announced, setting down my camera bag and pulling out the equipment. “Before anyone gets seriously injured, let me get some footage. This is supposed to be content, remember?”
“Buzzkill,” Rosie muttered, but she was already posing dramatically with a snowball cocked and ready to throw.
I spent the next twenty minutes capturing what had to be some of the most genuine content Adrian had ever been part of. No careful poses or strategic lighting—just pure, unfiltered fun. Adrian getting absolutely demolished by a fourteen-year-old’s surprise attack. Maya building a snow fortress that would make military engineers weep with pride. Foster and his boyfriend Tommy engaging in what could only be described as indecent snowball warfare.
“Teams!” Maya announced once I’d gotten enough establishing shots. “Maddox, you’re with me, Rosie, Robyn, and Foster. Adrian gets Alex, Tommy, Jasper, and…” She scanned the group. “Marco, if he ever shows up from that emergency call.”
“This seems deeply unfair,” Adrian protested, brushing snow off his absurdly expensive jacket. “I’m being discriminated against for my obvious athletic superiority.”
“Your what now?” I couldn’t help asking.
“I told you I was a three-time prep school snowball champion,” he said with mock dignity. “Remember? I’ll have you know these hands are weapons of mass winter destruction.”
The laughter that escaped me was unexpected, and I saw Adrian’s expression soften as he caught it. There was something in his eyes—warm and pleased and just a little sad—that made my chest tighten.
“Weapons of mass destruction,” Rosie repeated flatly. “Right. This’ll be good.”
What followed was thirty minutes of the most ridiculous winter combat I’d ever witnessed. Adrian turned out to be surprisingly scrappy, diving behind snow forts and pop-up attacking with gleeful abandon. His form was terrible, his aim was questionable, and his hat was downright ridiculous, but his enthusiasm more than made up for it.
The best moment came when Foster managed to nail Adrian right between the shoulder blades with a perfectly packed snowball. Instead of just stumbling, Adrian threw himself forward with the drama of a Shakespearean actor, arms spread wide as he collapsed face-first into the snow.
“I’m hit!” he cried, voice muffled by the snow. “Tell my followers… tell them I died as I lived… extremely photogenic!”
I was laughing so hard I nearly dropped my camera. This ridiculous, dramatic, beautiful man was lying spread-eagle in a snowbank, making death rattles for the entertainment of a bunch of small-town locals, and I was completely gone for him.
“You’re supposed to be filming this!” Maya scolded, but she was laughing too hard to sound serious.
“Can’t film when I’m busy watching Adrian’s Oscar-worthy death scene,” I managed, wiping tears from my eyes.
Adrian lifted his head just enough to shoot me a snow-covered grin. “Did I mention I was also in the drama club?”
“Of course you were,” I said, offering him a hand up. When he took it, his fingers lingered against mine just long enough to send heat shooting up my arm despite the cold.
“You okay?” I asked softly, brushing snow from his cheek.
“Better than okay,” he replied, and something in his voice made me want to pull him closer, crowd him against the nearest tree, and kiss him until neither of us could think straight.
Instead, I settled for letting my hand rest on his waist a beat longer than necessary, my thumb brushing against the strip of skin where his jacket had ridden up.