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If you live here long enough, you learn two things: snow brings out everyone’s inner daredevil, and romance never stays private for long—not with the single moms’ group on high alert, the Mega Mites treating every hill like an NHL playoff, and Shepherd Sawyer unable to blend in even if he tried. Tonight, the sledding hill’s supposed to be empty, but “alone” is just another word for “not yet mobbed.” So when the snow glows with headlights and the kids start chanting about who’s kissing who, the parents are already texting their other half to see if anyone caught it on camera. On my sledding hills, even the moon gets a front-row seat to the drama.

Playlist Song: Ho Hey by The Lumineers

The heater in my truck is working overtime, blasting air that smells faintly like wet socks and pine-scented air freshener.Doesn’t matter. Joely’s sitting next to me, cheeks pink from the cold.

She smiles at me sideways, and I almost miss the turnoff to the hill.

“Did you really think you could convince me into sledding at night that easily?” she asks, one brow lifting.

“I was banking on the company,” I say, deadpan. “And the twinkle lights. Rumor has it, you girls love the strings upon strings of twinkle lights.”

She snorts. “Well played.”

We pull up to the old trailhead, the parking area a mess of snowbanks and tire ruts. Since it’s so late, nobody’s here. Exactly what I wanted. Just us, the star-studded sky, the strings of lights, a couple beat-up sleds, and maybe—if I’m lucky—that laugh she only gives when she’s having too much fun to hold back.

Joely eyes the hill skeptically. “You sure this isn’t some elaborate plan to break both our tailbones?”

I toss her one of the sleds. “Nah. If I wanted to break your tailbone, I’d take you ice skating and pretend I didn’t know how to stop.”

“Tempting,” she mutters, but there’s a grin on her lips as she walks up next to me.

There’s fresh powder on the hill. A full moon overhead. The only sound is the crunch of our boots on the snow and my pulse thudding like I just finished a third-period shift.

I line my sled up beside hers. “Race you?”

She scoffs. “I’m not ten.”

I smirk. “Scared?”

Her eyes narrow. “You wish. Loser buys the first round at the next karaoke night.”

“Deal,” I say, even though I already brought it. I’m not above stacking the deck.

I can’t help it—I glance at her, and the mention of karaoke night flashes me right back to those wild, secret moments in the Power Play supply closet. The taste of her still on my tongue, her breathless laugh muffled by my shoulder as the crowd belted out 90s pop anthems just a few feet away.

Sneaking away twice like a couple of high schoolers, me pretending I was going to the men’s room, her pretending she needed more napkins. Nobody ever said a word, but I swear, half the regulars know exactly why we always came back looking flushed and grinning like idiots. Karaoke nights are pure chaos—bad harmonies, too much whiskey, and her, always her, the best damn song in the bar.

We launch together, the world turning into a blur of wind and laughter. The sled bumps and skids, and I swear I hit every hidden rock on the hill, but Joely’s shrieking with glee the whole way down. When I finally tumble off at the bottom, snow up my back and my sled stuck halfway up the hill, I look over and see her—laughing, glowing, victorious.

“Guess I win,” she pants, brushing snow off her beanie.

I crawl closer, snow sticking to my jacket. “I demand a rematch.”

“You can have one—after you pay up.”

I grin and lean in, my breath misting in the cold. “What if I said I brought you night sleddingjustto get you down this hill so I could kiss you at the bottom?”

She blinks. Then, she leans in, her voice low. “Then I’d say… about damn time.”

And I kiss her.

Not quick. Not shy.

It’s one of those slow, sink-into-it kisses where the world stops spinning and nothing matters but the taste of her and the way her mittened hands grip my coat like she’s anchoring herself to the moment.

And then—

“WOOOOOOOO!”