Page 7 of Jingle All the Plays

Ignoring me, she sits down on the log where the cross-country skis are ready for us.

Shit. This is not going to be a good look on me. Snowshoeing is one thing, but I was never very good at finding my balance on these things. Downhill skis, yes. But cross-country? A whole nother beast.

“What? Scared?” Apparently she’s regained her composure after the fast poke comment. She knows exactly what she’s poking at now.

“Not sure if you remember—”

“Oh yes. I do. Let’s see what you’ve got, big boy.”

And fuck if I don’t like her calling me that. So I strap on the skis with renewed determination. If anything, I’m sure I can pull this off to impress a woman. Men have done way crazier shit than this to win a heart.

Win her heart? What am I talking about? I’m just hoping that I can get her to look at me the way she used to. Like she cared. Like she…fuck…like she admired me.

I clear my throat. “Ready?”

“Readier than you are.” She glances down at my feet. No, I will not admit that they’re trembling a bit. That’s just the flutter of snowflakes around us. Purely an illusion.

With a graceful glide, Maisy takes off down the path. And wow, I’m actually doing it. I watch her movements and try to mimic them. I’m a professional athlete, I train on the daily. I accomplish what few can by hitting some of the fastest pitches in baseball. I have obtained a .350 batting average. I’m an elite athlete. I think I can manage a little bit of gliding—

“Watch this upcoming hill, Bo,” Maisy’s voice calls to me from several yards away. How’d she get so far ahead of me?

“This isn’t a hill,” I say stupidly. Because ya, to the average or better cross-country skier this is not a hill. It’s a slight decline. But to me, the noob, it’s basically a fucking mountain.

My skis pick up speed and my center of gravity shifts. Probably because I’m bending over like a pretzel, and well, let’s just say in ways that a grown man should never bend.

I can’t stop myself. I see the snowbank, and the fucking tree, but there’s no going back.

SPLAT.

“Bo?” She screams.

And that’s real concern in her voice. That’s my takeaway from this. She still cares.

Chapter 6

Maisy

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

“Bo? Are you okay?”

“Mfmmfmm.” He spits out some snow from his mouth. “I’m fine. Just bruised my ego.” His eyebrows are in cahoots and his jaw is tense. And for the first time in a while, I don’t fight myself on how gorgeous he is. Even when he’s angry.

Like when I stole his favorite glove back in junior high to play catch with some friends and ripped it. He was pissed at me. I hate to admit how much I loved seeing his intensity, and how much I wanted to make him feel better. How much I wanted to harness that anger and turn it into passion for me.

But that was never going to happen. He was always nice to me because he was friends with my brother. No matter how hard I crushed on him, I knew nothing was going to happen. He was too hot. Too cool. Too old for me. As my dad liked to remind me from time to time. Particularly after those times when he saw Bo come by asking for Blake who wasn’t home and just the two of us would end up hanging out while he waited for my brother. I knew Bo didn’t like being at home too much, and I had the biggest crush on him, so it always felt like a win-win.

Brushing back the hair from his forehead to look for scrapes, I say, “I thought you were about to hit that tree.” Hand to heart, I’m just relieved he’s fine. Now that I can breathe, I have to relieve the tension around me. The air feels thick as he’s looking into my eyes. So I blurt out, “By the way, your ego can take it.”

“Brat,” he counters, flicking some glittering snowdust at me.

“Here’s your toque.” I reach to where it fell and offer it to him. “Oh shoot. I just hope it still fits.”

“Why wouldn’t it fit?”

“Because your” —I take both of my hands and widen the space between them, starting at about the size of his head and expanding.

“Whoa, Maisy. What are you thinking about there? I’m not that big.” He brings my hands so that they’re about ten inches apart. “That’s better.”