“Another snowball, this time it impacted on my shoulder. I dusted the snow off my coat with my free hand and gave him the biggest stinkeye I could muster.“How old are you again? Twelve?”He grinned, teeth white as the snow he gathered. “Old enough to make you come, young enough to make you hate me for it.”“Oh jeez,” I muttered, shaking my head, and turned around.Bam.Snowball to the back of my head.”

“They say, he whispers, his lips making the word-shapes on her shoulder, there is a river that heals all wounds. It is pure white, like snow or the blossoms of prarie-cotton. You are my white river. If I die, I will come back to wash my heart in you.”

“Okay, then, if you're sure," he said again and I almost blurted, "I'd consider hitting my mother in the back of the head with a snow shovel if kissing you was in the cards." But I though that would come off as needy.”

“Did I tell you how incredible you look tonight?”I shook my head and hugged him, laying my head on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, and buried his face in my neck, making me forget about decisions or bracelets or my separate personalities; I was exactly where I wanted to be.”

“I shake my head, watching snow tumble and swirl from an all-white sky. The world seems so clean if you only look up”

“He nodded, his forehead fused with mine. "My head fogs when you kiss me like that. I can't think," he murmured."It does?" I grinned. "I like making your head fog." I kissed him again.”