“Stop it. I’ve got to go.”
“Cole.”
“I mean it. Don’t call me again.” He knew it was rude, but he hung up on her. He couldn’t go back to that situation again and be treated like nothing more than a mat for her to wipe her muddy feet on.
She had him so agitated even now. Getting back together with her couldn’t be a good idea.
Then why was he trying so hard to convince himself of that?
Brooke was a vice around his wrist. He was just another trinket to her—she'd said as much several times. How good they looked together. How his nice truck and apartment had fit her idea of perfection. It was the only conclusion he'd been able to come to about why she’d shown any interest in him in the first place. She’d liked the appearance he’d given her, the way he’d made her look important, wealthy, desired.
It had always been about her.
Saylor had acted in a similar, possessive way last night, when her ex showed up, but she was probably just nervous. She couldn’t be the same, he told himself. A woman who jumped the fence to have Santa talk to her worried son on Christmas Eve, who lived in a meager home on the other side of town and wore the same dress to work as she’d worn to the mall a few nights before couldn’t be the same.
Saylor’s invitation to join her played on his mind. He shook his head and put on his shoes and coat. He considered calling Saylor, but wanted to surprise her instead, having not actually committed to anything the night before.
The drive to her dated house took a matter of minutes. It was small and brick, in a style that was popular thirty years ago. Snow fell and piled along the front walk—more so than had been there last night when he’d taken her home.
His heart had thundered in his chest as he’d walked her to the door. She’d looked so charming in the moonlight, so vulnerable when she’d lifted her chin upward, so hopeful. It’d been all he could do not to kiss her then and there, but he wanted to take things slow, at least a little bit.
He lifted a hand to knock, when voices and a peal of laughter redirected his attention to the backyard.
SNOW FELL SOFTLY, DRIFTING to add itself to the white blanket covering their backyard. The landlord had left a small playground here, which was one of the reasons Saylor chose this house. The swings were weighed down with packs of snow.
“Check this out,” Parker said, romping through but hardly able to move fast in the thick of it. He lifted his little boots as high as he could, trudging toward the slide. At least four inches of white carpeted the slide’s surface. Parker climbed the short ladder and pushed all the snow down as he slid his way to the bottom.
Red tinged his cheeks as he lifted a gleeful smile in her direction.
Soft flakes began falling faster. Saylor bent and cupped a handful of snow, packing it tightly together before placing it back down. Slowly, she began to roll the ball, packing snow as she went until it left a trail behind her. The snowball was growing larger by the minute.
“Awesome!” Parker exclaimed, bending to make his own ball. They laughed and joked as they attempted to assemble the snowman’s pieces. The head refused to stay; it teetered one way, then the other, until Saylor slammed it down hard and prayed it didn’t crumble the ball in the process.
“He needs a hat,” Parker said, examining their short, chubby man.
She rested her hands on her hips, catching her breath. Several falling flakes kissed her already cold cheeks. “He’s a referee,” she said. “He doesn’t need a hat to judge a snowball fight.”
“Yeah, a fight, a fight!” Parker danced around in the snow, kicking piles here and there.
“Start making your weapons,” she told him, bending to pack her own snowballs. She knew they didn’t allow this at school, so she would show him how to do it properly.
“No wonder you didn’t answer your door,” a voice said.
Saylor whirled around and lost her balance, plopping her backside right into the wet. Cole’s eyes barely broke over the top of their fence, but she could tell he was smiling by the way the corners crinkled.
“Cole,” she said, too excitedly. He’d said he would drop by. She just expected him to call first. Then again, maybe he did. It wasn’t like she could check messages out here.
Parker slammed her with a snowball to the cheek. She shrieked, startled at her boy, who beamed back at her.
“Mind if I join you?” Cole asked. Parker moved closer to her side. His face fell into concern.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Parks, this is my friend, Cole,” Saylor said, brushing snow from her pants. The fabric responded with several swishing noises. “Do you mind if he plays with us?”
“Do you like snowball fights?” Parker asked, blinking.
“Only if you don’t like to lose,” said Cole. “Should we team up? Together, I bet we could beat your mom.” He pointed at Saylor with a gloved finger.
“Then Mom would lose.”
Cole grinned.
Saylor folded her arms. “I’ll have you two know that I don’t lose snowball fights.”
“Then you have to be on my team, Mom,” Parker replied, tugging her hand.
“Sounds like we have a deal.” Saylor tromped over mounds of thick, white snow and attempted to fiddle with the gate. But even if she could get it open, there was too much snow. That sucker wasn’t going anywhere.
She grimaced at the silver latch. “You’ll have to come in through the house—oh!”
In seconds, Cole hurdled himself over the fence, landing knee deep in snow and earning an admiring, “Whoa!” from Parker.
It was Saylor’s turn to blink at
