Grayson leaned his head back in the snow, his eyes closed as he pondered the ways of life. "Jackie, my love, if I never see you again, know that you were the most dear thing to me on this earth and that I hid your Christmas present in the front closet."
I formed another snowball. "You're not going to die, Grayson."
"You clearly haven't met my brother."
"Sure I have. I plan on giving him a snowball right in the kisser," I said determinedly.
"You're so adorable," Grayson said. I couldn't tell if his tone was fond or pitying.
I ducked as a rocket of a snowball came whizzing past my head. I immediately jumped back up, shouting, "Clay Borgen!"
"Not really sorry!" he shouted back, still cowering behind the little fortress on the other side of the yard.
Suddenly a cold, suspicious feeling settled over me. "Grayson, arm me," I said grimly.
He meekly handed me a snowball and I launched it lightly, getting over the little snow wall. Unfortunately, I heard no kersplat. "Kylie's gone," I said breathlessly.
Grayson paled. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean she's not with Clay. Which is weird, since she's always with Clay," I said frantically.
"Perhaps we took her out," Grayson offered, sounding much too hopeful.
I gave him a look. "We both know she's too smart to be taken out."
"Aiiieeee!"
Grayson and I both peeked over the barrier and my heart melted. Little Astrid was toddling towards us, her puffy-coated arms extended for balance as she waded towards us.
My heart sank. "Grayson."
"Jackie, we can't attack a two-year-old!" he said in alarm.
"But can we?"
"No, we can absolutely not," he said, smacking the snowball in my hand.
"She's on their team!"
"She's of no real threat," he corrected me.
"JackJackJackJack," Astrid chanted, waddling over and offering me a hug.
That was the end of my battle strategy. "Awww, okay, you can switch sides," I laughed, plopping her in my lap.
Pwooof! Grayson did not get a cute, smol child. He got a snowball in the face. "YES! I knew you'd fall for a cute diversion!" Kylie crowed, dancing back to the cover of her and Clay's fort.
Astrid giggled hysterically at the downfall of her uncle. Grayson stiffly wiped the snow out of his eyes, saying, "Astrid, I'm sorry, but your mother is getting coal in her stocking tomorrow."
"Mama," Astrid giggled. I sighed; clearly Kylie was forever perfect in her daughter's eyes.
Packing up a snowball, I handed it to the little girl (awww, it's the size of her entire face) and whispered, "Go throw this at daddy."
"Daddy?" she asked, lighting up. Clay was the light of her life, the joy of her soul. Yet she wasn't able to comprehend the evil intentions of an attack, so she would gladly go throw snow at her beloved father.
"Yes, throw it at him," I said, scooting her out into the open. She shrieked with delight and went waddling back to the Borgen side of the backyard.
"Astrid!" Clay yelped a minute later. Grayson and I broke down in silent hysterics, wheezing at our pure evil. Across the way, Clay popped up, shaking snow out of his blonde hair and holding Astrid over his shoulder. She was laughing so hard that she almost choked. Even Kylie was biting back a round of laughter, unable to keep a straight face.
"I call a truce!" he yelled over the wind.
Grayson and I looked at each other. "Do we take it?" he asked in a hushed tone.
I relented. "I want to go in and have hot chocolate, it's cold out here."
"Fine, mostly since we all know who really won," Grayson said with a grin. He climbed to his feet and said, "We accept your–ow!"
Clay cackled, having no guilty thoughts about firing during the obvious moment of peace. Grayson sprinted across the yard, shoving his little brother into the snow. Kylie, with Astrid riding piggyback, came over and said, "Should we go in? I think they'll be a few hours."
"Yes, I'll start the hot chocolate," I said, opening the back door.
It took Kylie a while to undress Astrid, who loved a good clothing struggle. By the time she was down to her little leggings and butterfly t-shirt, Grayson and Clay had worn themselves out and were back inside.
"You boys look tired," I teased, helping Grayson out of his coat.
He glared at his brother. "Well someone apparently doesn't understand a ceasefire."
"Nope," Clay agreed, taking off his boots. He picked up Astrid, who had missed him dearly in his five-minute absence.
"Here is hot chocolate for everyone," I said, passing it out and making sure Astrid got the lukewarm cup.
"Thanks, Jacks," Grayson said, putting the mug to his blue lips. Hmm. That's probably not a great tint for him to have.
Astrid giggled and pointed to Clay. "Daddy, mustache!"
"Do I have a mustache?" he asked, astonished. She nodded and handed him a napkin, for which he traded her a kiss to the cheek. "Thank you, princess."
I caught Kylie smiling her face off, so I murmured, "Thinking of having another one, perhaps?"
"If it happens, it happens," she said, blushing.
"And if it doesn't happen?"
"Then she grows up to be the most spoiled little girl in the world," she laughed.
I laughed too, knowing Clay would quite literally buy Astrid a palace if she asked. It also didn't help that dear Uncle Grayson was willing to treat her like a princess as well. Her poor future spouse would have to meet impossibly high standards.
"We should probably get going if everyone wants to be asleep before Santa comes tonight," Kylie said, reaching for Astrid's coat.
The little girl's face fell. "Pweese, Jack and Grayson?" she begged us.
"You need to sleep in your own bed if Santa is going to find your house and get you presents," I told her, helping her zip her coat.
"Sorry, kiddo," Grayson said sympathetically. "Maybe we can do a sleepover another time."
Disappointed, she hugged us both goodbye. Kylie and Clay did the same, and Clay stole another cookie before they made their way out to their car. Grayson and I stood at the front door, waving until they were out of sight.
"Sometimes I think he's all grown up, y'know. He's got a wife, a daughter, a house. But no, then he throws a snowball at me during a ceasefire," Grayson sighed, locking up the front door.
I giggled. "I've never had a brother, but you two almost make me want one."
He snorted. "You have Clay; that's plenty."
"Clay is always plenty," I agreed. "Why don't you warm up with a hot shower while I start dinner?"
"I'm okay; you're plenty toasty. Toaster oven," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"I'm trying to figure out just how romantic it is that you just called me a toaster oven," I laughed, leaning my head back against his chest.
"Of course it's romantic," Grayson murmured, kissing the top of my head. "It means I love you."
I twisted in his arms. "Toaster oven, Grayson."
"Aw, toaster oven, Jacks," he said, sweetly kissing my temple.
I treasure all the ways he says he loves me.