He lowered his head towards me, a cocky grin spreading across his lips as he raked his eyes across my body before landing them back on mine.
I clicked my tongue in annoyance before averting my eyes, ignoring the blush that threatened to run across...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL!
MARA MCCOY WAS THE CUTEST GIRL IN THE WORLD.
She was absolutely breathtaking and completely unaware of it. I stroked a thumb over her knuckles, fingers tightening their hold as she swung or clasped hands back and forth. She was clad in one of my larger winter jackets and it fell all the way down to her knees. The hat I'd placed on her head was big and fluffy, destroying her attempt at taming her curls and squishing her cheeks together until I had to rub at my jaw and withhold the urge to bite them.
Mara wobbled down the street, her lovely hand in mine, like a newborn penguin. It was a hilarious sight. Specifically the slight flush to her cheeks and her red nose—the way she huffed, out of the breath when we finally broke onto Winter St.
She gasped, mouth popping open. "What's this?"
I smiled down at her, meeting her eyes before looking away. "This, Mara, is Winter Street; home to New York's biggest and most known Christmas festival."
Mara gasped again, brown eyes alighting with sparkles and eagerly pulled me forwards. Snow crunched under our feet and I inwardly patted myself in the back for my decision to change out of my sneakers. Icy wind rustled past our forms but we could hardly care—I could rather care, I was too busy breathing in the sight around us.
Big, towering trees lined the pathway into the town, branches decorated in Christmas lights and winter decorations. Winter themed games lined the stalls on the side, stores and food halls. Christmas was everywhere; in the fake childrens reindeer ride that caused little boys and girls to scream in pure agony, in the snow covered roofs, the sparkling ice rink, and the cozy stores. The sight of it, pure and untouched, brought a wave of memories rushing through my head.
In every corner, every alleyway, and every music shop, I could see my mother. If I closed my eyes, really let myself breathe in the scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate, I'd be able to hear her laughter. The mischief in her voice as we skipped from store to store, our breaths coming out in white puffs of air—and still, it would hardly matter because it was the two of us and we were happy. A child and a mother. Me and her.
And it would never be like that again.
I felt a tug at my hand and looked down. Mara stared up at me, her eyes worried. "What's wrong? You were spacing out."
I hummed, a stiff smile on my lips. Tone apologetic, "sorry. Didn't mean to."
I felt her squeeze my hand. "I know. I'm not angry."
Puffing air out of my chest I looked away, annoyed (read:pouting) at her effortless way of reading.
Turning back—and ignoring the way she looked at me because we both knew she was hardly ready for half the things on my mind—I said, "Well then, where do you want to go first?"
