The mountain air had begun to warm just enough that the steam curling from our mugs started to fade. I leaned back in my chair, my legs tucked under me, I squinted my eyes slightly, weighing what my next words would be.
“Are you not cold?” Holt asks suddenly, that I jump, he is kind enough to let a sly smile slip and not say anything. I give him a quizzical glance. “It has to be around 40 degrees out.”
I smirked. “The perks of being from the deep south. This weather is the best. I’ll take this over the humidity that Louisiana has.” I inhale deep. “I love the feeling the cold air makes my nose feel.” I crinkle my nose, fix my face, then say, “You know you scared me, right? You made me forget what I was going to say or ask!”
“Oh?” He smiles into his mug as he takes a drink. “I’m sorry.”
