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I shiver when Patrick’s warm breath hits my ear, his body close to mine as he leans down to whisper to me. Clearing my throat, I adjust my hold on my helmet and say, “Just that I think my family would have a lot of fun here.”

Patrick makes a noise in his throat, yawns again, then takes a breath like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t get a word out because the dogs are ready to go, and it’s time for us to get the rundown on how to steer them.

“Feet go here,” an instructor says after I clip my helmet on and step into a sled. “I’ll be riding with you, but you can try and remember the commands. This here in the middle, that’s the brake. And we’ll run to start, remember?”

I grip either side of the sled tightly, nodding. I might not be an Olympic athlete, but I did sports in high school and go to the gym at least three times a week. The instructor gives the word and I take off running, laughing without meaning to as we reach top speed and both jump onto the sled.

In a way, I almost expect to come to a full stop when we stop running and rest our weight on the sled, but just like I saw in the videos, the dogs take over, all working together to pull us along.

Turning my head, I say to the instructor, “I feel kind of bad for them!”

“They love running!” she says back, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the rushing air around us, the pounding of all their paws in the snow. “They were bred for it—and don’t worry, they’ll get lots of treats for their work today.”

We ride around in the practice course, giving the commands for left and right. I can’t stop laughing as the cold stings my cheeks and the bright sunshine pours over us.

When we come back to the group, there are others just returning, and some waiting for their turn. Patrick waits with his arms crossed, that tired look still on his face.

“Hey, how was it?”

“It was amazing!” I’m a little too loud, and I know that, but it was fun. Without thinking too hard about it, I bounce right up to Patrick and take his face in my hands. My hands are warm, and his cheeks are cold from the winter air, and he blinks in surprise a few times at the touch. “Well, go on.” I laugh, putting some space between us. “It will wake you right up.”

Patrick looks hesitant. He clearly doesn’t want to go on the sled, and especially not with my pink helmet, but he takes it and climbs on with the instructor, going through the same steps I followed when we took off.

“So, how did you like it?” Gloria asks, appearing beside me. Her hair is in a tasteful bun twisted up at the nape of her neck. I wish I’d thought of that. Mine is surely a mess already.

“It was so fun.” I turn to her, doing my best not to gush, but I’m pretty sure I am, anyway. “But I do feel sort of bad for the dogs.”

“I know,” Gloria says, nodding and tugging off her gloves. “But we did our best to find the most ethical option, and you know these dogs have been bred over generations to do this. If they don’t run, they’ll be unhappy.”

Our conversation ends as the other sleds return, and we all get ready to ride together out to the picnic stop. Now that the dogs are exercised, and to accommodate our large group, we board a set of snowmobiles. I find myself sitting on one with Patrick right behind me, settling his arms around me.

“You know how to drive one of these?” he asks, dubious.

“It can’t be much different than a jet ski, can it?” The moment the words are out of my mouth, we rocket out, my thumb on the throttle a little heavy. Patrick lets out a whoop and holds onto me tight as we soar over the brilliant white landscape, and once again I’m laughing as tears trickle out of the corners of my eyes.

We’re the first ones to make it to the picnic spot—a pavilion they pointed out to us on the map, with a few grills and hot drink machines—and I park the snowmobile as best I can, stumbling off and doubling over with laughter.

A moment later, something crushes against my side, exploding and falling to the snow beside me.

“Patrick Dunne!” I squeal, straightening up and watching as he leans back down to the snow, balling up another ball for attack. “Did you just throw a⁠—”

But I’m cut off as another snowball flies my way. This time I dodge, laughing and ducking down to make my own snowballs. Luckily, my gloves are waterproof enough that none of the freezing water seeps in.

“Oh.” I laugh, straightening up and launching a ball in his direction. “You’re dead!”

Patrick’s face flashes with genuine fear as I start rapid-fire launching snowballs at him. Between each duck, he says, “Come on.” Duck. “Cami.” Duck. “You wouldn’t want to kill your fiancé!”

“My fiancé never should have been dumb enough to challenge a Colorado girl to a snowball fight!”

Patrick mutters something unsavory under his breath, and I nail him with another snowball as we hear the roar of approaching snowmobiles. Turning, Patrick attempts a full-on retreat, but I don’t let him. Instead, I run and tackle him into the snow, a maneuver my sisters and I relied on as the last resort.

Getting hit with a snowball is bad. But plunging into the snow is much worse.

“Cami!” Patrick wails, but there’s laughter there as he reaches around, grabbing me around the waist and tugging me back so I can’t get up and instead fall into the snow beside him. “Who knew you were so ruthless?”

I roll over so I can face him, knowing my red cheeks match his, my excited breath puffing out and mingling with his in the air between us. “It’s a lesson you had to learn sometime, darling.”

“Oh, come on, lovebirds!” Chris calls, laughing and whooping when he and Gloria come around the corner. “There’s time for cuddling later. For now, let’s eat!”