“I try,” he said, with faux modesty. They reached the incline again. “So, are you willing to brave the slopes again or are you done with snow tubing for the day?”
“I’m game to try again. But this time, I’m riding in front.”
~*~
“Sure you don’t want another run?” asked Brandon.
“Not without ski pants,” said Isabelle. “I stopped feeling my butt two runs back.”
He tipped his head to check out her behind. “Still there, still pretty damned perfect. But hot beverage station it is. And some food. I could eat a moose. Let me just turn this thing in.”
She waited while he walked to the equipment hut to return the snow tube. It had been an unexpectedly fabulous morning with a wholly unexpected guy. She kept thinking she had him pegged, then he’d say or do something to turn her assumptions on their ears.
Well, they do have that saying about assuming, she mused.
Being wrong had never been so appealing. Except for that almost kiss. She’d been certain he was going to do it, and she’d welcomed it. There was no question he was interested. But he’d pulled back. God, how she wished he hadn’t. But perhaps another opportunity would present itself before the day was through.
Brandon started to turn from the equipment window. A snowball smacked him in the back. “Hey!” He whirled around, a mock stern expression fixed on her.
Isabelle opened her hands to show innocence and looked in the direction the missile had come from. A quartet of kids, maybe nine or ten years old were running, shrieking, and lobbing more snowballs at each other. One of them, a boy in a bright yellow jacket and a black beanie was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t involved.
She crossed to Brandon, keeping an eye on Yellow Jacket. “I think we can take them.”
He send her a sideways glance. “Is your aim decent beyond six feet?”
“Ten years of summer league softball. What I lack in speed and force, I make up for with accuracy.”
“In that case, I like the way you think.” He bent and scooped up snow. “Hey kid!”
Yellow Jacket turned just in time for the snowball to splat against his shoulder. His stunned surprise gave way to a grin as he rallied his friends to the cause. Within moments Isabelle and Brandon were engaged in an all out war. They took cover behind a trash can, gathering ammo and launching it toward the enemy. Outnumbered, they took as many shots as they made, but they were laughing, cat calling as they did it.
When the barrage stopped, Isabelle hunkered down behind their makeshift bunker for a powwow. “Do you think it’s safe?”
Brandon dared a peek. “They’re gathered behind that drift over there. Pretty sure they’re stockpiling ammo.”
“What’s the plan?”
“This thing isn’t great cover. If we can sneak around to that other snowdrift, we could circle around behind them. They’d be sitting ducks.”
“There’s no cover for covert approach. You’ll have to run for it.”
“True enough.”
“You go first,” she said.
“Fine, fine. My plan. I’m the man and all that.” He darted in, brushed a lightning fast kiss across her cheek. “For luck.” Then he made a break for it.
The fresh volley of snowballs started immediately, pelting him from head to toe until he stumbled—entirely on purpose, she was certain—into the snowbank and adopted a posture of defeat. Unwilling to abandon her comrade in arms, Isabelle followed, enduring the bombardment against back, shoulders, and legs until she too collapsed into the snowbank. At least, that had been her intention.
Brandon snagged her on the way down so she fell on top of him instead. “Imagine meeting you here,” he said, hooking his arms around her waist.
“Hi,” she said softly. She imagined she felt the heat of his body through all their layers of clothes.
His gray eyes twinkled with amusement. Isabelle’s gaze zeroed in on his mouth, curved in amusement. Looked like that second opportunity was going to present itself after all.
Hallelujah.
“Isabelle!”