Take Care, Sara

much?
    ***
    “What are you doing?” she asked, staring at his gloved hands packing snow into a round, firm ball. Sara’s breaths were visible and she crossed her arms in an attempt to keep some of her body’s warmth from leaving her.
    Lincoln glanced up at her, his eyes shining silver against the white atmosphere. “I’m making a snowball.” The sun glowed behind him, making him appear haloed all around.
    Sara slowly backed away. “I thought we were finding you a Christmas tree.”
    “We are.” He straightened, a flash of white teeth showing as he grinned. A dark blue stocking cap covered his head and he wore a brown coat and gloves that had been a birthday present from her and his brother one year. Lincoln’s breath left him in frosty puffs of air and he looked like an ad for an outdoorsmen magazine.
    “What—“ The snow smacked her chest, cold chunks of winter flying up and hitting her neck, face, and going down the front of her jacket. Sara sucked in a sharp breath at the icy sting of it against the heat of her skin. She stood there, disbelief holding her immobile.
    Lincoln laughed, bending down again.
    Panic set in and Sara searched for cover, her eyes zooming in on the trees closest to her. She knew he wouldn’t really throw another snowball at her and yet her pulse began to race. Then he looked at her, his facial expression telling her, yes, he would.
    “Don’t you—“ An involuntary cry left her as the second snowball whirred through the air and made contact with her face. Sara gasped, stunned to find her upper body encrusted in slush.
    His head tipped back as his laughter filled the woods around them, loud and deep. Birds chirped in response, their chatter taking the place of Lincoln’s mirth. It was a beautiful sound and Sara went still as it washed over her. The trees, the snow, nature; it was close to perfect. She hadn’t enjoyed anything so simple and significant in too long.
    “Come on, Sara. Fight back.” Lincoln opened his arms wide, a grin on his face. “Hit me with your best shot.”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    With narrowed eyes, Lincoln purposely crouched and grabbed a handful of now. “Sure?”
    “This is not Christmas tree searching,” Sara pointed out, her voice a little shrill.
    The snowball hit her leg. “Lincoln—“ Another one smacked her arm. Sara gritted her teeth, determination snapping through her. “Fine. You asked for it.”
    “Oh, I’m scared. Look, Sara. I’m terrified .” He raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by her declaration.
    “You’re gonna be terrified,” she muttered as she firmly packed snow into a misshapen ball.
    “What was that?” he asked, one hand behind his ear.
    Sara straightened and whipped the snowball toward Lincoln as hard as she could. It flew over his head and splattered against a tree behind him.
    “Really, Sara?” He gave her a disappointed look.
    Scowl in place, she quickly scooped up more snow and flung it at him. Lincoln ducked and it hit the ground to the left of him.
    “You suck.”
    Flushed, her breath leaving her in pants, Sara went to make another snowball.
    “I think you should stop before you embarrass yourself anymore.”
    She chucked the partially made snowball to the ground and glared at him. When Lincoln laughed, a cry of frustration burst from her and Sara took off toward him, the look of surprise on his face when she clotheslined him across the chest one she would never forget. He stumbled back, hanging onto her. Sara lost her balance and fell on her face in the snow, Lincoln on his back beside her, clutching her arm.
    Her shoulders shook and gasps left her as she fought to breathe. She laid there, the front of her lodged in a mound of snow, and laughed, inhaling the icy particles and not caring how wet and cold she was getting. Sara couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed and it surged from her, loud and close to hysterical sounding. The laughter soon turned into a sob and then she was tugged to the left.
    Lincoln pulled her into his arms and held her, shielding her upper half from the snow with his body. He rested his chin on the crown of her head as she wept, not speaking, just holding, and Sara was so grateful for that. His arms were warm and tight around her back, his body heat trying to block out the shivers that were taking over her body. The side of Sara’s face was pressed against his cold jacket that smelled like winter and laundry detergent.
    “I think,” he began