“
A snowball unexpectedly and painfully pounded hard into the back of my head. “Ow!”
Putting my hand back there, rubbing the sore spot, I spun around and could hardly believe my eyes. My irksome brother was standing on the deck, a huge cocky grin plastered on his irritatingly handsome face.
Why had I gotten stuck with the red hair and freckles like Mom while he had not a freckle in sight and had inherited Dad’s dark hair? I tried to take consolation in the fact that he wouldn’t hold on to that beautiful thick hair forever. Eventually, hopefully, it would start to disappear like Dad’s was now doing.
“You’re building a snowman? What are you, like, two years old?” he taunted.
I was stunned. My brain wouldn’t function, no words would come forth. Because standing right beside him, grinning as well, was . . .
Brad Connor.
“You’re one to talk,” I finally tossed back at him when my brain kicked into gear. “Throwing snowballs. What are you, like, one?”
Okay, so maybe my brain was still in lock-down mode. It was trying to putter along, but it obviously wasn’t warmed up yet.
“God, Kate, your comebacks are sharp enough to . . . well, heck, I guess they aren’t sharp.
”
”