Pink Dandelion Quarterly_Winter 2019

06. | SNOW DAY by Olivia Vaughn

SHORT STORY

It's still storming when Conrad steps out of his truck. He pauses to kick ice off the wheels before slowly wading through the few feet of snow already gathered where the sidewalk used to be. His nose is so red, I can see it through the fierce flurries tearing through the winter air.

I open the door for him, ignoring the urge to yell at the cold. He steps in in complete silence, mouth a thin line. He has a doll mouth. A very kissable doll mouth.

"You cold?" I ask him.

Conrad shrugs off his jacked and looks around for a place to hang it — better than looking at me, I'm sure. "Nah," he says. "Um. . . .

"Here." I take his jacket and stand on tiptoe to hang it on one of the hooks my father mounted onto the wall, spitefully too high. Some snow falls onto my hair, but I force myself to ignore it.

I turn back to Conrad, whose eyes are focused on my hair. Silently, a hesitant hand reaches up and brushes the few flakes off and onto the hardwood floor. "Sorry," he mutters, those fine lips barely moving. His cheeks are bright red against his porcelain skin, though whether it's from the cold, or from him touching me, I have no idea.

"Thanks," I manage. "You want some cocoa?"

"But the assignment—"

"It's fine, Conrad. You want cocoa or no?"

I make boiling milk into a more tedious task than it should be. "I don't need milk. Really, Izzy," Conrad says, leaning against the counter like some kind of James Dean-esque trope. His flannel is unbuttoned, showing off this year's HOSA shirt.

That's where we met — the science fair, last year. I was with my school's HOSA club, and he with his. I got first place for my VR x-ray technology (do you know how hard that was to figure out? It's a 3D view of the body, perfect for viewing all parts of the skeletal structure in one go), and he got second for his theoretical finger prick blood sample device (which ticked me off; who does he think he is, Elizabeth Holmes?). He transferred schools (why, I don't know) and now is my stupid Drama class partner.

"You're getting milk," I tell him, already handing him his mug. "Be careful. It's hot."

"I figured." He takes a tentative sip, and the way his honey eyes light up makes me shiver slightly.

I can't dwell on his sweet mouth or the light spattering of freckles brushed across his cheeks. "So, our Romeo and Juliet rewrite. How about I be Romeo, and you be Juliet? We can change the names, change the pronouns, and that will be all we do."

Conrad laughs into his mug. His fingers are long, his hands strong. I wonder just what it would feel like to have those fingers against my skin. "Lazy. Clever. I like it."

I smile despite myself. "What scene should we start on?"

"Act one, scene five," he answers immediately. His red cheeks aren't a result of the cold this time. I'm sure of it.

I take a sip of my own cocoa, ignoring how it scalds the back of my throat. "And that one is. . . ?" Drama class was supposed to be a fluff class. I was lied to.

He takes a step towards me, setting his mug down carefully on the counter. I can see him swallow. "Well, Romeo says, 'O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair'."

I raise a brow. "Did you memorise this?"

Conrad is right in front of me now. I can smell peppermint on his breath. When his cold thumb brushes across my cheek, I suck in a slight breath. "Izzy. . . . This is where you say, 'Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake'," he whispers.

"Saints do not move. . . ." His other hand finds the side of my face as I speak. "Conrad, I'm supposed to be Romeo."

Conrad pulls back slightly. I'm looking up at him, smiling slightly. I pull his hands off my face, slowly, tentatively, then place my hands on his cheeks. "Let lips do what hands do. Pray, or despair, or whatever on earth Shakespeare wrote."

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." His hands find my waist, pulling me tightly against him.

"Then don't move," I whisper. "I'm about to kiss you."

"Good," he whispers back, already leaning down.

His lips find my own, and I sigh into him a little. Even through the thick fabric of my sweater, I can feel the cold of his hands against my skin. His mouth is just so soft. It feels so right. I can taste peppermint and hot chocolate, and as my hands snake up the sides of his face to his short, black hair, I can't help but wonder what he's thinking.

Conrad shifts a little, and suddenly I'm leaning back against the counter, him pressing against me. How have we not done this before?

He pulls away, tawny eyes wide and wild. "So, this is nice," he says. "Insanely nice."

My hands are still in his hair, his grip still on my waist. "Super nice."

I don't know what to say now.

Conrad buries his face against my neck. His breath brushes across my skin in slight, warm whisps. "I think you know I like you."

I wrap my arms loosely about his shoulders. "I know. And . . . me too." I speak softer than the snow lightly tapping against the window. Quiet. Serene. And just the two of us.

It's perfect.

Olivia Vaughn aka Olivaughn  is a YA author with a love of contemporary romances and high fantasy, featuring dense plots and diverse casts of well-rounded characters. A full-time student, she finds herself writing for her Wattpad readers as a means of escape, and it's her favourite pastime in existence. Having been a Wattpad Star and Editor's Choice for only a few months now, she looks forward to continuing to work hard to deliver sappy commercial fiction to those she loves