“Everybody does a few crazy things growing up,” he said as I tried very hard not to imagine him jumping naked into a river.
“I never did.”
He looked over at me as we crossed the street, headed toward the bookstore a few blocks ahead. “No?”
“Nope. You heard my slip ‘n’ slide story. I never did anything crazy.” And lest he think I regretted that, I added a quick, “And I liked it that way.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t buy it. What was your family like growing up?”
I raised my arms. “Where do you think I got it from?”
“Russ seems pretty adventurous.”
My foot caught on a hidden rock beneath the snow and sent me stumbling. Miles grabbed my elbow until I had righted myself.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking. I know Russ isn’t your dad.”
We walked a few moments in silence. Per our agreement, he wasn’t pushing me to talk about anything, but he was giving me an opportunity if I wanted. And for the first time in forever, I found myself wanting to talk.
“Russ likes adventure. But my mom and dad never had much money growing up, so we never went on any big trips or anything. Our one splurge was going to the movies as a family a couple times a year. Mostly, we stayed home. We played a lot of games. We had this thing called quiet Saturdays…” I started chuckling at the memory. “Where every Saturday afternoon, my dad would make us all stop what we were doing, and we had to read a book for two hours.”
“Two hours?” Miles asked incredulously.
I laughed. “It was his way of stopping all the chores so he could get some guilt-free reading time in.”
He laughed. “My dad isn’t a big reader, but my mom probably would have gone for something like that.”
We arrived at the bookstore, and Miles opened my door while he motioned me inside. Breathing in the scent was heaven to both of us, if the contented look on Miles’s face could be attributed to books. To my surprise, a table near the entrance of the store was dedicated to Miles’s Landfall series. Complete with a sign that read Local Author.
I turned to look at Miles, rubbing his neck and looking uncomfortable.
“Is this why you wanted to come here?” I teased, moving to pick up one of his books.
“I didn’t think they’d still have this up,” he said.
“Is that our famous Miles Taylor?”
We both turned to see a red-haired woman striding excitedly toward us.
Miles broke out into a grin, stepping forward to give her a hug. “You’re embarrassing me, Cathy. You still have this up?”
“Of course we do. It’s not every day somebody from this town becomes a famous author.” She beamed up at him. Looking at me, she asked, “Is this a girlfriend?”
“Yup.” Miles smirked at me. “This is Oliviana.”
I gave him an exasperated look before shaking Cathy’s excited hand.
“Well, it’s so nice to meet you,” Cathy said.
“You, too.”
“Will you sign a few books really quick?” she asked, looking up at Miles imploringly.
Miles signed everything they had in stock. We roamed the shop for another twenty minutes before we found what we both deemed the perfect book for his mom. A light snow began to fall on us as we meandered back toward his truck. There were bells in the distance, and the light sound of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” humming through the town speakers. The only thing that could have made this moment more perfect was to be holding hands with somebody. Where were the eyes of my mom and sister when we needed them?
I was kidding.
Miles checked the clock in the truck when we got in. “It’s 2:30. The contest closes at 4:00. How much time do you need to make the gingerbread house?”
“Assuming I have good help, we can do it in an hour.”
“Assume away, Celery Stick.”
“Why do you ask?”
He motioned up the hill we were climbing. “I’m in the mood for a maple creme, and we’re about to pass Morse Farm.”
“Your family can sure put away the ice cream.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge or a yes?”
“No whining with the gingerbread, and you have to do everything I say. And we can only stay for ten minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Miles gave a mock salute as he pulled into the maple farm.
Forty-five minutes later, Miles dragged me nearly kicking and screaming back to the truck. It had been too much fun sampling the different grades of syrup, watching the videos on how they run their operation, and walking the beautiful snow-covered grounds. The soft-serve maple creme I held in my hands was a delightful bonus to the most magical afternoon.
We rushed back to the lodge where I discovered Miles to be a halfway decent help. Having a time limit probably motivated him more than anything. I used the hot glue gun provided to build the house and then put Miles in charge of gluing the golden grahams onto the roof, giving it a thatched look. I covered the sides in white frosting, then strategically placed our rosemary sprigs in the eaves and down the roofline. We made windows and pathways with some of the candy bars we’d bought and, at precisely 4 pm, set it on the judging table along with seven or eight other completed houses.
“Okay, over-achievers.” Chloe came up next to us, admiring our house in disgust. “You couldn’t just use the stuff in the package like everybody else?”
Miles leaned across me to address my sister. “For the record, I voted for the package.”
“Such a whiner,” I said.
“I knew I liked you,” Chloe said to Miles.
“Where are the girls?” I asked, looking around for the kids.
“We made ours at home, meaning the girls helped me for about three minutes before they began eating all the frosting, and Ben put them down for a nap while I finished.”
The judges （Jack, Sandy, and Jett） began walking around the tables, admiring the effort of their guests.
“You really are pretty good at those,” Miles said, his eyes raking over our very chic, white house that definitely stood out from the crowd.
“You don’t get talent like this by careening down a mountain strapped to a pair of skis,” I said.
“I think I’ve now successfully done both,” he teased, pulling me in for a friendly side hug while the judges deemed our house the winner.
I couldn’t put my finger on what made our afternoon feel so different. Miles was still Miles, but he’d been…sweeter. He felt more genuine. While in town, we didn’t hold hands or touch beyond Miles grabbing me and pulling me backward once so I could appropriately gawk at the store window display decked out for Christmas. I guess it was because we weren’t surrounded by people at the lodge who we needed to convince we were dating. But for a moment, our defenses had been down. My walls and his diverting humor had been put on the back burner while we made way for easy conversation and friendly stories. It felt as comfortable as it had strange—and with Miles of all people. It had only been two days since I’d arrived at the lodge, and three days earlier, I was under the impression that I strongly disliked Miles Taylor. My head seemed to enjoy this friendly direction we were headed, but my heart couldn’t help but be wary. Proceed with caution, it said.