Making Christmas by Laura Chapman

Author:Laura Chapman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Laura Chapman

Eight

Everett

A gust of cold air nips my nose, stirring me awake. Damn. I should have turned on the heater before bed, but no. I always have to see how long I can go without having to run it full-time. I pull the covers over my head and wrap myself up even tighter to ward off the cold. Teeth near-chattering, I give up on the makeshift cocoon after a couple of minutes. Blindly stumbling through my apartment toward the heater, I freeze at the window. It’s snowing. A lot. The ground is already covered with a couple of inches, and there’s even more coming down.

Without considering the time, or even thinking, I hurry back to bed and grab my phone. Hitting “send,” I let it ring while I return to the window to continue my watch.

A groggy but worried sounding Ivy answers just before it goes to voicemail. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s snowing.”

There’s a muffled rustle paired with a muttered “damn it” and an irritated mew from Hazel. The scuffle ends after a few seconds, followed by a reverent, “Wow.”

“I know.”

It’s so beautiful. The snow falling in waves paints the empty streets of downtown Lincoln a peaceful white. The light from the street lamps casts a soft glow for the flakes to dance in as they make their way to the ground. In only a matter of hours, it will create more than a few headaches during rush hour. Everyone always seems to forget how to drive in the snow. It’s like something happens during the spring, and we develop snow-handling amnesia. But for now, with no one out there to disturb the snowy cityscape, it’s more like a Christmas card than real life.

A Christmas card. In a few short weeks, Ivy has certainly changed the way I view my world.

“I haven’t seen a real snowfall in years,” Ivy says at last, breaking our silent vigil. “Living in San Francisco didn’t lend itself to the winter wonderland concept. We didn’t get snow like this in Washington either. This is . . . something else.”

The wistfulness in her voice tugs at me. “I thought you might appreciate getting the sneak peek before anyone else has a chance.”

“I do. Thank you.” We fall silent again, continuing to watch. I’m about to wish Ivy a good night so we can go back to bed, but she speaks up. “Do you want to build a snowman?”

I groan. “It’s too early—or maybe it’s too late—for you to quote Disney movies.”

“I’m serious,” she insists. “Do you want to build a snowman? Now. Somewhere around here. It’ll be too late tomorrow after everyone’s been out there and trampled all over it.”

“The snow is probably too soft to build anything,” I muse. She lets out a disappointed sigh. I hate to ruin her party, but there are plenty of reasons we should stay inside rather than play in the snow. Namely that it is freezing and the middle of the night. But . . . “We could make snow angels instead.”

We meet outside her condo ten minutes later.

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