“Oh.” Delighted surprise swells. “Yes, I’m freezing. Can’t feel a thing. Might be dying.”

He kisses my cheek, and it warms me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

“Feel that?” he asks under his breath.

I can certainly feel that I’m a smitten, dreamy-eyed puddle. My breath catches at every little part of Hall that gives away what he’s thinking about: the glint in his eyes, how intent they are, how fierce, absorbing every detail of me in turn. His reactionary swallow when my stare runs long. The way his hair curls, specks of snow bringing out the russet tints as they melt and darken, and my body goes absolutely haywire over it. Tingling extremities. Fairies in my stomach, diving and fluttering. My pulse is like if someone took my heart and skipped it across the surface of a lake. My gaze drops to his lips, full and dark in the wintry air. “I think my mouth might be frostbitten,” I say.

“Oh, I have a cure for that.”

He chucks a finger under my chin and leans in, expression turning serious. Just before his lips can brush mine, a snowball splats all over our fronts. I scream, not just because it’s cold but also the timing was very rude.

“Get a room!” Ichabod crows.

“Devil child,” I snarl. “I’m stuffing snow down the back of your shirt. Come here.”

He cackles and speeds ahead. The other adults turn to see what’s going on, Marilou pays Ichabod back with a snowball of her own, and a small war breaks out until Grandma gets hit in the butt and swears she’ll lock us all out of the house. Hall gives me a somewhat shy sidelong look and I bite my lip, glancing away; then I look at him and he looks away, and we both laugh. My heart swoops with panic even as my smile grows, and I think he knows, because his grip is tight, like he wants to never let go.

Valley Visitor’s Center & Sleigh Ride Depot passes out Oreo-flavored candy canes to us all, which makes Hall’s month. A clerk from Loggerheads Law Offices spots us coming from afar, dashing out with Hershey’s Kisses for the kids. By the time we reach the flickering Lone Wolf Motel on North Platte and unanimously decide to turn back, the streetlamps have all sprung to life.

“Can we race?” the kids ask their parents.

“No, you’ll get hit by a car.”

“We’ll stay on the sidewalk!”

Sean picks up his youngest daughter, settles her on his shoulders, and bolts. She squeals. The others take off with or without permission. The adults hurry a bit faster so that they can keep an eye on them, except for Grandma and Grandpa, who accept a ride from one of their friends passing by.

“See you at home!” Grandma cackles from the backseat, wiggling her fingers. “Walking uphill is for suckers.” Mom flips her off, and then she and Dad cross to the other side of the road to be alone, arms entwined.