Another hour passed before they managed to extricate themselves from the bar, which they accomplished by Vance creating a diversion—aka juggling shot glasses—while Beat and Melody snuck out the rear entrance. By then, Melody’s coworkers and Beat’s friends were the kind of drunk where numbers were being exchanged and joint vacations were being planned. It was the good kind of drunk. The holiday drunk where the snowfall outside and the glow of lights on stoops and inside of shop windows makes everything surreal and trimmed with magic.
Beat walked beside Melody on the sidewalk, his hands shoved into the pockets of his overcoat so he wouldn’t reach for her hand, the voices of their friends carrying back through the winter wind like a memory in the making.
Park Slope was winding down for the night, but revelers still reveled in the bistros and taverns they passed on the way to the park. Ubers idled at curbs, impatiently waiting for their fares to exit the establishments. A snowplow roared past, spitting out salt onto the streets to keep the snow from making the asphalt slick. Josh Groban’s voice drifted out of an apartment window, serenading the street—and Melody . . .
Her cheeks and the tip of her nose, red from the cold, her bangs peeking out from beneath the edge of her multicolored beanie, smiling at the antics of their combined friend groups . . . well, she was the most beautiful moment of Beat’s life. Perfect was just out of reach for myriad reasons, but he would savor this—savor her—because tonight was the closest he’d ever come. Escorting his best friend to a snowball fight, falling in love with her more with every step they took toward the park.
“If it’s your friends versus mine,” Melody mused aloud, “I guess that puts us on opposite teams. We’re enemies this night, Dawkins. We shouldn’t even be speaking right now.”
He laughed. “I’ve had enough of that over the last two days.”
The color of her cheeks deepened—not from the cold, this time. He really needed to stop voicing every goddamn sentiment that came to mind, but he was taking an odd kind of pleasure from her stunned reactions. That’s right. This is how I feel about you. Restraining himself from having physical contact with her was hard enough, he couldn’t seem to quell the honesty, too.
“What did you do during our break?” she asked, after a moment, voice softer than before.
“Worked. A lot. Went to the gym. Stopped by to see my mother. She’s building you a shrine—it should be finished by Valentine’s Day.”
Melody stopped walking. “What?”
He halted, too. Faced her. “My mother. She adores you.”
A knowing eyebrow raised. “Because I told Trina to go suck an egg?”
“I’m sure that didn’t hurt, but it’s more just . . . you. It’s you. For everyone.” For the love of God, pull yourself together. “She’s debating between hiring an Italian or French chef when you come over for dinner. Do you prefer spaghetti or beignets?”
“That’s like asking me to choose a favorite child. I simply cannot.”
“You’re a good mother.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, sweeping a dramatic hand to her chest.
They started walking again, each of them fighting a smile.
“Speaking of motherhood, do you want children someday?” Beat asked, despite telling himself that he shouldn’t. Her answer could very well torture him for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, he really wanted to know. He wanted to know every damn thing about her. More than anyone ever had. Or ever would.
“It might be selfish not to bear at least one child,” she said, a teasing half smile playing on her lips. “What if my mother’s musical talent skipped a generation, like the red hair gene, and I’m destined to raise the next Adele?” Melody elbowed him in the side. “Same goes for you.”
“You think I could have a mini Mick Jagger on deck?”
“That’s the thing. It’s a crapshoot.” She shivered. “You might accidentally end up with a scientist or something.”
“The horror.”
She went on, “I used to be positive that I didn’t want kids. I was dead set against it. What if I was having a baby just so I could be a better parent than Trina? That doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to bring an entire human into the world.” She exhaled, causing white vapor to dance in front of her mouth. “But I think it’s good to be open to all possibilities, no matter how daunting. Sort of like this live stream.” They both looked over their shoulders at the camera trailing them for an extended beat. “Maybe I’ll never have children and that’s okay. There are enough of them in Park Slope alone to keep the human race going. But I don’t want to be closed off to the idea. What feels wrong one day might feel right the next.”
Beat absorbed every word of that—and he couldn’t help applying it to himself. The pattern of behavior he’d adopted at sixteen was no longer right for him, was it? No. Refusing to let anyone in was hurting his relationships now, including the most important one. His relationship with Melody. Could he stop feeling guilty for having so many advantages? That change seemed huge and impossible, but for the first time, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to stop punishing himself, to let himself open up and trust those closest to him—especially Melody—and he was surprised to find that his step felt momentarily lighter.
Had he reached a turning point?
Melody coming into his life was causing him to question everything. As her presence would probably do for any man worth a damn. But she deserved so much more than any man. She deserved the best. And he was nowhere near the best. Could he get there, though?
“What about you?” Melody asked, reaching for his hand to step over a patch of ice. He took it, helped her over the frozen puddle, and kept it securely in his, because holding her hand made breathing easier. “I think you’d be a really good dad.”
“Do you?”
Melody nodded. “Kids just want to feel safe and . . .” She shrugged. “When you’re around, it feels like nothing can go wrong. Or if something does go wrong, you’ll be the one to help fix it.” He desperately wanted her to look at him after she gave him that incredible compliment, but she didn’t. “You have serious dad energy.”
“And here I thought I was exuding serious daddy energy.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve got that, too.” They stopped at the edge of the park, watching their friends rush to the denser banks of white to begin shaping snowballs. “The question is, will it prevent you from getting crushed in this snowball fight?” Melody snorted. “Doubt it.”
That startled a cough out of Beat. “Are you trash-talking me, Gallard?”
“It’s your fault for coaching me to my first bocce victory,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Now I’ve got an ugly competitive streak.”
“Serious jock energy?”
Her laugh sounded incredible, like a warm bite of sound absorbed by the falling snow. “As soon as spring hits, I’ll be challenging little kids to races in this park. Tripping them before the finish line. I’m going to be out of control.”
“I’ll stage the intervention.”
“See?” Slowly, she let their fingers disconnect, walking backward into the park. “You’re such a Fixer Daddy.” To his amusement, she shot at him with finger guns. “And you’re going down, baby.”
Beat followed Melody, trying not to let it show how much he enjoyed her calling him baby. “What are the stakes of this snowball fight? Is there a prize?”
“Yes. If you win, I’ll have a T-shirt made that says SERIOUS JOCK ENERGY and wear it to dinner at your mother’s house. And if I win—”
“Let me guess. I wear a SERIOUS DADDY ENERGY shirt to dinner?”
Her smile spread in response. She knelt down and started crafting snow into balls.
Beat was pretty sure he was smiling, too—like a lovestruck teenager. There was nothing he could do to wipe the expression off his face, though. He was enjoying himself too much. A snowball fight with Melody? He didn’t care who won. The fact that they were together was enough. Together with plans to see each other again in the future at his mother’s house for Italian. Or French. What the hell else could he ask for?
All of her, that’s what.
That meant being honest, though. That would mean total trust.
“Okay!” Vance piped up, trudging through the ankle-deep snow to a space in between the two groups. “We need an impartial judge to declare the winner. And as I was on the debate team in high school, I think that qualifies me to sit back and determine the champion.”
“Are you serious?” Beat shouted. “You organize this snowball fight and then sit out? No way. Not happening. Melody should be the judge.”
“You just don’t want her getting hit with snowballs,” Vance accused.
“Correct.”
There was a loud chorus of sighs from all the women present.
A snowball unexpectedly clocked Beat in the side of the head.
To his utter disbelief, it was Melody who’d thrown it.
“What’s wrong, Dawkins?” She pursed her lips. “You scared of me?”
It was an image Beat would remember vividly decades from now. Melody with snow melting in her hair, cheeks rosy from the cold, the streetlamp making her eyes luminous, expression taunting and tipsy and playful. He hated spending money on frivolous luxuries, but he would be commissioning a painting of Melody in that moment. Needing to capture it somehow in the meantime, he took out his phone and snapped a quick picture.
“I’ll be the judge!” someone volunteered behind him, their steps crunching in the snow as they got out of harm’s way.
“Great.” Vance clapped his hands, made eye contact with everyone. “We now commence the first annual Prospect Park Rumble: Nerds versus Preppies. A few rules before we begin—”
Beat caught Vance in the neck with a line drive. “No rules,” Beat called, shooting Melody a wink. “No mercy.”
Melody threw up her fists. “To the death!”
Utter chaos ensued.
Everyone scrambled at once, some of them too drunk to remember where they’d put their premade snowballs. Participants were falling without even being hit, getting stuck in the deeper drifts of snow. Others treated it like a proper war, mainly Melody’s coworkers. They formed a V, spearheaded by Savelina, squatting to collect snow in their palms and hurling the balls like major-league pitchers.
“No fair,” Vance screeched, after taking a snowball to the throat and staggering backward. “They have home field advantage.”
Behind Vance, someone pinwheeled and ass-planted after getting hit in the knee.
Beat shook his head. “You guys are embarrassing me.”
“Fan out!” Melody’s boss shouted. “Their defenses are weakening. It’s time to press our advantage.”
Melody jogged out from behind Savelina with—no joke—an armful of snowballs. One by one, she launched them at Beat, striking him repeatedly in the chest. Meanwhile, he had one single snowball in his hand. Up until now, Melody had been in the rear of the V formation, so Beat’s targets had mainly been her coworkers. Now that she was out in the open—and apparently trying to kill him—he couldn’t bring himself to throw an object at her. Even if that object was soft and slushy.
“Stop taking it easy on me!” she yelled, laughing and pelting him harder than before.
“I’m not!” he fibbed smoothly. “I can’t get a clear shot.”
Melody gasped. “You liar.”
Having no choice, Beat lobbed the snowball at Melody. Underhand. She watched it arc upward and soar gently downward where it landed softly on her shoulder.
She leveled him with a look of disgust. “Really?”
He cleared his throat hard. “That was a valid shot.”
Melody pointed to the girl standing twenty yards away. “Judge?”
The girl presented a definitive and dramatic thumbs-down.
“I will not stand for this insult,” Melody said, staggering back when Vance hit her in the stomach with a brutal throw.
“Hey!” Beat growled at his friend. “Watch it.”
Vance gulped.
Beat strongly considered turning on his friend, but Melody demanded his attention when she shouted, “I’m coming for you, Dawkins.” Once again, she produced an artillery of snowballs seemingly out of thin air, cradling them in her arm as she ran toward him, firing as she came closer. They’d already established that Beat couldn’t bring himself to throw anything at Melody, giving him no choice but to jog backward, deflecting the balls being launched at him. One by one, white burst in the air as the snowballs connected with his palms. When there was finally a cease-fire and Beat realized she’d run out of ammunition, he watched in disbelief as she barreled toward him, launched herself through the air, and tackled him backward into a snowdrift.
Melody, who just about reached his shoulder, had brought him down. And pure joy almost fractured his chest muscles. Tendons stretched to allow the feeling to expand and it didn’t merely spread, it ran wild, rocketing a laugh upward from the deepest recesses of his stomach, busting down a sky-high barrier—a barrier against feeling this much happiness all at once—he’d put in place without even realizing it. There was no keeping her out, though. She kicked it down and hurled herself over the debris and he could barely breathe over the rush of . . . everything. All at once.
Relief. Shock. Gratitude.
Love.
The avalanche of emotion was so overwhelming that it took Beat a moment to realize Melody had lifted her head to watch him in awe. “Ohhh . . .” she breathed.
“What?”
“You’re letting me see it, Beat,” she whispered.
He started to breathe hard, more tendons snapping in his chest.
“You’re so beautiful like this. Not hiding anything from me. From yourself.”
Despite being lodged in a snowbank, he was hot. Everywhere. His skin prickled and heated more and more. What the hell was happening inside of him? He didn’t know. But he couldn’t look away from her unblinking eyes. She was the anchor holding him in place. Hiding wasn’t an option. Not from Melody.
“Mel, I want to tell you everything tonight,” he said gruffly. “Why I need the network’s money. Why I needed to do this god-awful live stream. All of it. Okay?” He wet his lips, desperate to get the rest out. “Maybe I needed two days away from you to realize . . . you’re this gift I’ve been given and I’m squandering you by keeping things to myself. You’re the one person who will get it. Get me. Every time.”
“Beat,” she murmured, a sheen forming in her eyes, her mouth lowering to his—
“Hey, guys. I hate to interrupt.” Beat jolted, wrapping his arms around Melody on instinct, tucking her face into his neck. Jesus Christ. There was the camera, pointing straight at them from ten yards away. Vance stepped into the shot, possibly on purpose, with Savelina at his side. “There are people coming. Like, a lot of people.”
Savelina shot a look toward the edge of the park. “They must have figured out your location pretty quickly, thanks to the live stream.”
“But fear not.” Vance waggled his eyebrows. “We have an idea.”
Beat watched as both groups of friends, nerds and preppies alike, moved in a big herd and blocked them from view of the camera. Meanwhile, Vance and Savelina hurriedly removed their outerwear. “Quick,” said Melody’s boss. “Swap jackets and hats with us. We’ll lead them one direction, you guys run in the other.”
Melody pushed up into a sitting position but remained on Beat’s lap. “Really?”
“Hurry,” Vance prompted. “I have to pee.”
Savelina giggled, throwing her orange beanie at Melody, shouldering off her black parka. “We have to hang out again,” she said to Vance.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“What else? Watching these two pretend they wouldn’t die for each other.”
“Oooh. Viewing party?”
“I’ll bring sangria.”
“We can hear you guys,” Melody murmured, casting Beat a fleeting sidelong glance.
He took her chin before she could look away, holding her stare, smoothing his thumb across her plush bottom lip. “I’m not pretending,” he said firmly. “You know that, right?”
A shudder coursed through Melody. She nodded.
“Good,” Beat said, releasing her chin to unzip his coat.
The clothing trade took under a minute. Beat put on Vance’s jacket, though it was a tight fit, and donned his flannel ski cap. Melody pulled Savelina’s orange beanie down low over her ears and buttoned up the black parka. It was going to be a tough sell that Vance and Savelina were Melody and Beat, but maybe from a distance?
Didn’t matter. He would have taken any odds in the hopes of being alone with Melody right now. Tonight. Something inside of him had changed and he didn’t know what it meant for him. For them. He only knew Melody would be there while he figured it out—and that made everything okay.
