Chapter 5
FIVE
brYAN
The stairs creaked as I followed Oliver to the second floor. The wind still rattled, and when we entered the room, I could see the snow falling, more gently, through huge windows that took up the opposite wall.
There was a chill in the room, and a blue-and-beige curtain fluttered as a gust of wind hit the windows. Oliver scurried around me to pull the blinds and close the curtains. Turning to face me, he stood in front of the windows as if he planned to stand there all night and block the wind.
An apologetic smile on his face, he pointed behind him. “Ocean-view room. Best in the house. Hopefully, the storm will pass by morning, and you’ll get to see it.” I didn’t respond.
He puffed out his chest and stood a little taller. “Bathroom’s in the corner.” He pointed to where two doors stood. “There are extra supplies in the closet: blankets, towels, toilet paper. Stuff like that. And the TV remote is on the nightstand.”
I nodded, exhaustion and frustration catching up with me.
He took a half step, then stopped. I was standing in the doorway, so I made my way in, clearing his path in an awkward dance.
“You have my phone number from when I called earlier. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate.
My room is on the first floor, near the sitting room.
That’s the room up front, with the all the bookshelves … ” His voice trailed off.
“You may not have noticed it when you … arrived.”
You mean when I’d banged on your door covered in snow.
“Anyway, breakfast will be ready by seven thirty, but it’s just us, so pop down whenever. The dining room is basically straight ahead when you go down the stairs. Good night, Mr. Concannon.”
I muttered “Bryan” before offering him a “good night.” He walked past me then and was out the door when something made me realize I didn’t need to take out any further frustration on the poor man.
He hadn’t planned a marathon wedding or been the one who’d given in when a novice sent pictures of “pretty” flowers to include in their shady urban garden.
And he definitely wasn’t the one who’d sent the worst storm in a decade to this charming, if drafty, beach cottage.
I could feel my shoulders practically touching my ears and a rut forming between my eyebrows.
Hopefully, a good night's sleep would help.
“And Oliver,” I shouted, once again overly anxious to garner his attention. He returned, his head cautiously peeking in, like he thought I might have been yelling at him and not just speaking loudly. “Thank you for everything this evening.”
“You’re very welcome, Bryan.” His whole face relaxed, his eyes losing the glint of nervousness. His smile brightened the whole damn room. I wished I could return it.
Instead, I dismissed him with a promise that I was looking forward to breakfast, and that I didn’t care how my eggs were cooked.
Alone, I explored the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. I’d carried a change of clothes, but Oliver had arrived by the fire with a sweatsuit that was much more comfortable than the jeans that were shoved in my computer bag.
I normally slept in boxers and nothing else, but the room felt like it was taking the brunt of the storm, the wind pulling in from the ocean and pounding on the windows.
There was still a slight flutter to the curtains despite the blinds being drawn.
Heat puffed from the exchange in the corner, but the room was freezing.
So I kept the sweatsuit on, visited the bathroom, and crawled into the chilly bed, setting my alarm.
On the off chance the roads cleared up, I could fetch my car and head to—God help me—the scavenger hunt my sister had planned.
It generally took some time for me to wind down and fall asleep, but I don’t remember much after deciding not to take off any clothing, including the silly socks, until I found myself sitting bolt upright.
Darkness surrounded me, so I mustn’t have been sleeping long.
I got up and looked out the window, some subconscious part of me sure that something other than the insistent wind had woken me.
There was a mound of snow on the boardwalk below, and my sleepy brain made the connection that it had fallen from the roof and crashed on the boards.
The ocean waves looked like they were precariously close to the dunes that provided the only buffer on the far side of the boardwalk.
“That’s a lot of fucking snow,” I said out loud, relieved for my host and for myself that it had found its way to the ground and wasn’t weighing down the roof of the old building.
My phone told me I’d only been asleep for a few hours.
A quick check of the family group chat showed that my family and Wamil’s were safe and sound, having the time of their lives at the Ocean View Hotel.
One post showed a beleaguered-looking bartender pouring a drink behind the selfie-taking couple.
My sister looked so happy, and I was happy for her.
It wasn’t her fault that I was six years older and still single, and it definitely wasn’t her fault that the job I thought was a dream come true had proven to be a nightmare, and that I felt miserable and alone living in Philadelphia even though I’d moved there after college, thinking I would love city life.
And it most definitely wasn’t her fault that I found myself in a downright freezing room, worried about the roof caving in while the curtains billowed like they were caught in a summer’s breeze.
Another gust slammed, and more snow plopped onto the boardwalk. I convulsed in a full-body shiver. I thought about returning to the bed, but I knew no matter how deep I burrowed or how many layers I piled on top of me, I would not warm up.
Wrapping myself in the fluffy blanket that I had kicked to the floor in my obviously restless sleep, I grabbed my phone for entertainment and headed back to that fireplace.
The stairs echoed with each step, making me glad I was the only guest. I wondered if my host could hear the noise from his bedroom and hoped not, as it wasn’t my intention to bother him.
At the foot of the stairs, I was surprised to hear the crackle of the fireplace, the room seeming to glow in a dancing light from where I stood. Before I could head that way, I heard a voice from the other direction.
“Those waves are really close, Gran.”
I rounded the corner and saw him, standing at the window by the front door, looking out into the swirling darkness.
His petite frame stood straight and steady. The tone of his voice betrayed the confidence of his stance. He wore flannel pajamas in a pink plaid and huge green slippers. His brown hair was messier than a few hours earlier. His arms were wrapped tight around him, fingers digging into his sides.
I wasn’t sure he could see the waves, but even from the far side of the foyer, I could hear them, and he would certainly know much better than I if they sounded closer or stronger than he was used to.
I wondered if I should leave him be but decided there was no way I could sneak back up the stairs without him hearing.
I was shocked he hadn’t heard me on the trip down.
I cleared my throat, and he jumped, sucking in air as he turned toward me.
“Did I wake you?” he worried.
I shook my head “no.” “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
He returned to gazing out the window without responding.
“It’s slowing down.” His voice sounded uncertain. “I’m friends with the mayor. He said they’ll start clearing the roads in the morning.” He turned toward me. “I didn’t even ask. Where’d you leave your car?”
“Town hall.”
“Oh, perfect.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll let him know that’s your car, and that we’ll come get it as soon as it’s safe.”
I stepped further into the foyer to look at the swirling snow over his shoulder; the light flakes whipped into a frenzy as they fought their way to the ground.
“This is the worst wind in a long time. At least since I moved in full-time with Gran. We had a hurricane once, and the storm surge …” He shivered.
“That time the water came up to the boardwalk. It never reached our doorstep, but it got close. I guess that was worse. We’re approaching low tide soon, so that’s good. ”
“Oliver?” He turned quickly to look at me.
“Bryan. I’m so sorry! You didn’t come down here to listen to me fret. How can I help you?”
“Oh, no! I didn’t come down here to bother you. I think the crashing snow woke me up. I thought …” He looked worried, so I changed tactics.
“You said the storm is calming, right? And it’s low tide.”
“Almost,” he muttered, clearly still worried.
“The two of us looking out this window isn’t going to make either of those things happen faster. I came down to warm up by the fire. Will you join me?”
His gaze found the storm again, but then he agreed, leading the way. He gestured for me to enter the room first.
I passed in front of him, but he didn’t move to follow, so I turned, putting us face-to-face. He had a crisp, clean, slightly medicinal smell to him. He was close enough for me to map his anxious eyes. I smiled.
“Sit,” I insisted as if I were the host. “I’ll throw another log on the fire.”
“I can do that …” Much as I was enjoying being close to him, I wanted him to relax, so I scurried, tossing my blanket on the chair, beating him to the stack of firewood.
“Okay.” He did this cute half step forward before pivoting and turning back toward the archway.
“I’ll, um … I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I said to his back, the loose-fitting pink pants fluttering as he retreated.
“Okay,” I said again to nobody as I added logs to the fire before sitting down.
A small candy dish sat where my dinner tray had been, and I popped one of the chalky confections into my mouth as I adjusted the comfortable chairs, moving them slightly closer to the heat.