“Baby!”
“What?!”
I was already laughing before she even turned around.
Everything about this trip had been a terrible idea in the best way possible.
Two people born and raised in warm weather deciding it’d be romantic to spend our anniversary in a country that looked like Elsa had unionized.
The snow was damn near up to our ankles.
She had on a puffer jacket that made her look approximately three feet wide.
And despite complaining about the cold every five minutes—
she was having the time of her life.
I held my phone up, recording as she marched through the snowfield ahead of me.
“Tell them how you almost cried putting on thermal leggings,” I called out.
She whipped around.
“I did not cry.”
“You absolutely did.”
“It was frustration.”
“You said and I quote—”
I deepened my voice dramatically.
“‘These pants are attacking me.’”
She pointed at me.
“They were!”
I zoomed in.
“That’s my girl. Fighting long johns before breakfast.”
“Oh my God.”
She turned away, muttering something about betrayal while continuing through the snow.
“You having fun?” I asked.
She looked over her shoulder.
“Ask me again when I regain feeling in my toes.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“It’s a strong maybe.”
I grinned behind the camera.
She kept walking for a few more steps before stopping near a cluster of snow-covered trees.
Everything looked straight out of a postcard.
The kind people framed in their houses.
“Baby!” I called.
“Yeah?!”
“Do a twirl.”
There was a pause.
Then she immediately went, “Absolutely.”
Because of course she did.
No hesitation.
No questions.
Just blind confidence.
She spread her arms dramatically.
“I dedicate this performance to—”
“You got this, babe.”
“I know.”
She attempted the twirl.
One foot slipped.
The other tried to compensate.
There was about half a second where she genuinely thought she’d recovered.
Then—
Face first.
Straight into the snow.
The sound I made couldn’t legally be called laughter.
I folded over instantly.
“Oh my God.”
She didn’t move.
“Baby?”
Nothing.
“Are you alive?”
Her muffled voice came from somewhere inside the snowbank.
“…Turn that damn camera off.”
I lost it all over again.
“I can’t breathe.”
“CORTEZ.”
I was wheezing.
“You just disappeared.”
“I hate you.”
“You went down so fast.”
“Cortez Freeman.”
I finally managed to stumble over to her, still laughing hard enough to have tears in my eyes.
“You okay?”
She slowly pushed herself upright.
Snow covered the front of her jacket.
Her gloves.
The side of her face.
She looked at me with the expression of someone contemplating violence.
“You know,” she said evenly, “in a healthy relationship, your partner helps you.”
I offered her my hand.
She took it.
Then yanked.
Hard.
“OH—”
The world tilted.
Then suddenly I was flat on my back in the snow beside her.
The phone landed safely a few feet away.
She rolled over onto her side to look at me.
“You were saying?”
I blinked up at the gray winter sky.
“…This feels targeted.”
She smiled sweetly.
“You embarrassed me.”
“You embarrassed yourself.”
“You recorded it.”
“That’s because it was funny.”
“You don’t support women’s rights.”
I turned my head toward her.
“Actually, I support women’s wrongs. Which is why I let you do that spin.”
She stared at me for two seconds.
Then started laughing.
The real kind.
The kind that made her shoulders shake.
I reached over, brushing snow off her hat.
“Seriously though,” I said. “You okay?”