Blizzard Boy ✓

VII

"She had blue skin, and so did he,
He kept it hid, and so did she.
They searched for blue
Their whole life through,
They passed right by
And never knew."
–Shel Silverstein

• • • • • • •

When our lips connect, I'm frozen. My eyelids have drifted shut, limbs gradually relaxing into his arms as mental tension slips away.

It's gentle and captivating, all at once. His hand cradles my face, mouth moving against mine. I take a few seconds to respond. When I do, I kiss him back eagerly. With only the two of us here, and the mixture of snow and rain providing a calm ambiance, the rest of the world seems to disappear.

There are no sparks or fireworks. There is a flame, a simmering flame of hesitation and desire, erupting in my heart as we try to memorize each other.

Miles brushes his tongue along my lower lip, asking for permission. Automatically, I part them and our tongues tangle together. The kiss has become more urgent.

He's good. Really good. I'm clearly not too bad either, based on the gravelly moan that escapes his throat. I smile into the kiss and he smiles back.

All too soon, he breaks away. Our breaths mingle, foreheads pressing together. Words linger in the air between us, remaining unsaid. Nobody wants to speak first.

He gives me a quick peck on the corner of my mouth before stepping back. When his body disappears, I shiver, suddenly chilly.

"Merry Christmas, Astrid," he says breathlessly.

"Merry Christmas, Miles."

We both know that our pasts confront the possibility of a relationship, whatever his may be, yet neither of us want to ruin the moment. I find myself lost in his bright blue eyes. They're like husky eyes, with a rim of darkness around the edges.

Miles kissed me first, he pulled away first, and now, he is the one to speak first. "It's cold in here."

I nod in agreement. Whether that's from our halted kiss or the room temperature, I'm not sure, I want to say.

"I'm going to check the heating system. I'll be back."

He turns around and heads to the storage room. If I'm not mistaken, there's an extra skip in his step.

I watch until he disappears behind the corner, then sigh, slumping against a bookshelf. Are you mad at me, Quin? This wasn't right. Moving on only a year after the dreaded day? And with an older guy, no less! What would he say?

Rubbing my temples, I'm left with few options, and sorting out my feelings seems to be the highest priority.

I like Miles. I can admit that to myself now. Although his physique is more than adequate, it runs deeper than that. I like that he is kind. I like his fun, spontaneous personality. I like that he sees me as me, nobody else, and likes me for it.

I don't feel loyal to Quin; I simply feel obligated to. I never loved Quin, and now, it's far from love. I owe him. I should pay the price of being single after sending him to his deathbed, even if it goes against my own wishes.