fire with wine and...Cole rubbed his temple and tried to remove the forthcoming image.
He swallowed a gulp of coffee, tuned out the blasted Christmas music and stared out the window. In the time it had taken him to get his coffee, the snow had grown heavier, the light sheen of fluff now covering the streets and sidewalks getting thicker by the minute.
The sight combined with his melancholy state-of-mind took him back in time, to the day he’d first met Rachel. He was eleven, she was ten, and a bunch of the local kids were messing around over at the school playground. Cole and his two older brothers, Reid and Dylan, were involved in one of their massive snowball fights when the mother of all snowballs crashed into the back of Cole’s head, sending him sprawling face-first in the snow.
His brothers stood there like statues, their mouths hanging open in shock. Cole pulled himself up with a snowball ready to go, pivoted and saw...her. Pink cheeks, huge sky-blue eyes and short, wispy blond hair that stuck out around her face like a newborn chick’s feathers.
A rich kid, based on the fancy boots, coat and car parked behind her. Scowling, Cole lowered his snowball. His family owned businesses that catered to the tourists. Ticking off this girl’s parents wouldn’t please his folks, and he’d learned that rich-kid tourists didn’t take well to being one-upped by the local kids.
It irked him that he couldn’t retaliate. Being laid out by a girl wasn’t cool, and Reid and Dylan would be merciless in their teasing later. Their sister, Haley, upon hearing the story, would go on and on about how much better girls were than boys, and wow—wouldn’t that suck?
Still, he followed his common sense and shrugged it off, as if the dumb girl and her snowball meant less than nothing. His eyes had locked with hers, and she’d given him this spunky, I-win sort of grin that made him even madder, so he turned his back to her.
Seconds later, Cole was kissing the snow again. This time, his brothers broke into laughter. That alone was enough to force Cole into action. Sputtering, he flew to his feet and let his snowball fly. She staggered backward when it smacked her on the chin, but stayed upright. He expected her to stomp her feet and throw a hissy feet, to run to the safety of her car and burst into tears to whomever sat inside.
But she didn’t. She smiled broadly, and in almost slow motion, pulled another snowball from behind her back and whipped it through the air, hitting not him, but his brother Dylan square on the chest. That had been the start of their friendship.
For the next many years, Rachel and her parents spent the holidays and the occasional summer in Steamboat Springs, and their friendship grew stronger as they grew older. During their teenage years, they began to stay in touch throughout the months in between her visits, and once they were in college—and after—they found ways to spend time together on a more consistent basis.
Always as friends, though. Until that last year. Until the kiss, the accident and the hell that followed. Cole’s gut tightened at the memory. Hell, had he turned into a sixteen-year-old girl? The past was the past, and dwelling on what had happened, versus what might or might not have happened, did him absolutely no good in the present.
A tingling sense of awareness snapped into place. Cole shifted to the right to get a better view and...yep, there she was, crossing the well-lit street with her arm linked in a man’s. For a millisecond, he forgot everything else as he watched her long-legged, slender body in motion. Her middle-of-the-back-length blond hair blew around her face, the strands merging with the swirling snow, creating the image of a mythical snow princess.
His heart did the galloping lurch to his throat, and his blood seemed to warm beneath his skin. God, he’d missed her. Even more than he’d realized. He gave himself another few seconds to enjoy the simple pleasure of just seeing Rachel again. She was as beautiful as always.
The man—Andrew—tipped his head to her level and whispered in her ear. Her lips opened in a silent laugh, and she bestowed a light kiss on his cheek. Something primal roared to life inside of Cole, reminding him of what was at stake, and it was all he could do to stay seated.
Narrowing his eyes, he now focused all of his attention on Andrew.
He was tall, but not as tall as Cole. Stupid and meaningless, for sure, but that pleased him. He walked in a smooth, polished gait that spoke of authority, and his black Burberry trench screamed style and wealth. Not a surprise. Rachel came from style and wealth and everything that lifestyle granted, so why wouldn’t the man she decreed might be the one?
That didn’t bother Cole. What did was how good they looked together. He supposed he could hope there was something wrong with Andrew...some ulterior motive buried behind his interest in Rachel. She’d been involved with men before who were more interested in her family’s wealth and her father’s business connections than they were in her.
Somehow, though, Cole’s intuition told him that wasn’t the case here, even though he hadn’t yet spoken one word to Andrew. If there was something—anything—going on that could potentially hurt Rachel, Cole would ferret it out. More for her sake than his. Not that he wouldn’t use any such information to his advantage, because he would. Without doubt or hesitation.
He supposed he could also hope that Rachel would bolt, as she had with him and other relationships over the years, but wishing for that felt wrong. Cole wanted her to be happy, and that wouldn’t happen until she’d figured out that running away never solved a damn thing.
The couple stopped outside the window. Andrew pulled Rachel close for a kiss that reignited Cole’s mental images of how they might have spent their afternoon. Cole swallowed, squeezed his hand tight around his coffee cup and waited the interminable seconds until they separated. Rachel said something, laughed again and tugged Andrew toward the door.
It took every bit of willpower that Cole could muster, but he had his smile warm and welcoming when they entered the coffee shop. Rachel squealed, dropped Andrew’s hand—which, yeah, also pleased Cole to no end—and flew toward him for a hug.
Standing, he opened his arms and caught her when she landed. Pulled her in tight to him and squeezed. Her scent, a delicious mix of spice and fruit and winter, wrapped around him, securing the knowledge that Rachel belonged in his arms.
Soft hair, damp from the snow, brushed his jaw as she whispered, “I’m so happy to see you. It’s been too long.”
“Good to see you, too,” he said. “And it’s always too long.”
She stepped out of his arms and turned toward Andrew to introduce them. Her pretty blue eyes softened and a glow entered them that Cole had only seen once before—in the seconds before their solitary kiss. Well, hell. So far, nothing was adding up the way he’d hoped.
Widening his smile, as fake as it might be, Cole reached out to shake Andrew’s hand. A faint smirk colored Andrew’s expression, but he met Cole’s hand with his own and—surprising Cole—squeezed a tad harder than required. And then, harder still, as if out to prove his machismo.
Immature, possibly, but Cole wasn’t about to ignore the challenge. He tightened his hold incrementally, smiling all the while, knowing he could outlast just about anyone in the handshake wars. It took all of fifteen seconds, maybe twenty, before Andrew gave up and released his grip.
Score one for the home team.
“Good to meet you, Kyle,” Andrew said as he flexed his fingers. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the man that Rachel considers a brother.”
“Friend.
