Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
CALLIE
The storm hit hard. Snow is piled up so high already the entire earth is covered in a blanket of white and I can barely see beyond the kitchen window. I pace a tread in the rug as Gavin builds up the fire. No matter how many times I try to contact Luna, she won’t pick up the phone.
Peeling back the edges of plastic from my Curly Wurly bar, I bite into the chocolate-covered caramel. “Do you think they left earlier?”
“Hard to know,” Gavin says patiently, crouching near the hearth. He pokes a log with an iron tool to move it into position.
“Maybe they reached Mr. Darcy’s property and decided to get a hotel somewhere. They have hotels there, right?”
He swings a confused look in my direction.
“You said they were probably halfway through Derbyshire,” I explain. Though, honestly. I shouldn’t have to.
Gavin’s brow clears. “Aye. Derbyshire will have hotels, sure enough.”
I go for another bite, but the candy bar is gone somehow. Instead, I groan.
Gavin rises from his crouch and takes the wrapper from my hand, balling it in his fist. “Fancy some proper food?”
“I can’t eat anything,” I tell him, the stress pushing through my tone and making me sound far more appalled than I feel. “Not until I know they’re safe and warm.”
Gavin glances down at the wrapper in his hand, and I feel personally attacked. “I’ll get something sorted in case you change your mind.”
I say nothing as he slips into the kitchen. We listened to the news on the way back to his house, and the weather woman mentioned this storm is likely to be a doozy. It’s much larger than they had initially anticipated, and the entirety of the Highlands should be prepared for an onslaught of snow.
White Christmas: yay. More alone time with Gavin: boo. The man appears perfect—tall, blue eyes, teasy grin, sexy accent. All he needs is a kilt and a little Gaelic and he’d be the complete package.
And he cooks. Kind of. Those bacon sandwiches? Absolute heaven. He does and says exactly all the right things—except for when he told me to my face he’s too selective to kiss me. So yeah, not an ideal person to be stuck with in a house for another day.
But I can’t bear the idea of my sister and her family traveling through dangerous conditions just because I’m throwing a fit about being here alone with the hot Scot.
Which is why I need to speak to her.
A metaphorical light bulb dings above my head, and I pull out my phone to find Rhys’s number.
It rings twice before he answers it. “Hey, Cal.”
“Oh, bless you for answering! Have you been listening to the weather people? There’s a massive storm coming.”
Rhys sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Yes. About that—”
“We turned around,” Luna says. She must have taken the phone from her husband. “It got a little dicey on the roads, so Hamish called his grandparents and got the details on the storm. I think we need to make sure the roads are open before we set out, Callie.”
Disquiet freezes all my limbs. “What do you mean?”
“Some of those roads become impassable when the snow gets bad. I don’t want to drive all the way up there just to get stuck in Inverness for a week.”
A week? I’m going to throw up.
“If it was me and Rhys, that would be one thing,” Luna says. “You know that. We could get close and Gavin could fetch us with a snowmobile or something. But Oliver complicates the situation. Trying to manage a baby in a hotel while we wait for roads to open sounds like a nightmare.”
“The nightmare is being stuck here with Gavin,” I hiss into the phone.
Immediately I regret it. I wouldn’t wish a weeklong hotel stay on them anyway, but especially not with a two-year-old. The concerning bit was her saying she wouldn’t set out until things cleared up.
“Why are you talking like the roads are already closed, Lu?” I ask.
“They aren’t,” she says soothingly. I can tell the moment she flips into her yoga voice.
I must sound unhinged, because she’s trying to calm me down.
“Hamish’s grandparents made it seem likely, that’s all.
We’re going to wait for more information before setting out.
See what happens overnight. The weather people don’t know everything, Cal. They’re only guessing.”
I look beyond the dark windows to where the earth is covered in a thick blanket of flawless snow. Just hours ago it was dry as a weed.
“For all we know, the storm will move, and we’ll have the thumbs-up to head out tomorrow morning,” she says brightly.
“Right. You’re right.” I inhale deeply through my nose and let it out slowly. “Call me in the morning, then?”
“Of course. Sorry, my phone’s charging, so I didn’t realize you were trying to contact me.”
“It’s fine. Love you. Hug Rhys and Oliver and Ruby and Hamish and both of their little cuties for me.”
“Even Hamish?” She laughs. The man can be kind of a Grinch.
“Hug him extra tight.”
We hang up, and I collapse on the rug in front of the roaring fire.
My mom always says the best things for stress are meditation and chocolate.
I’ve done the chocolate, so I might as well try the meditation.
I kick off my shoes and form a basic butterfly pose, breathing in deeply as I bend my head toward my feet.
Even as I’m doing my best to breathe and relax my muscles one at a time the way my mom taught me, all I can think about is the man in the next room and how we’re stuck together for the foreseeable future.
I squeeze my feet and push my face into the back of my hands, letting out a strangled cry.
“Thought that was meant to help with the stress, not make it worse?” Gavin asks from directly above me.
I jerk back in surprise. My heart races. “It’s not magic.”
Gavin is holding two bowls and looking down at me. “Mushroom scampi?”
“I don’t know what that is.” It smells divine, whatever it is.
“Like prawn scampi, but…you know what? It’s a pasta dish with mushrooms.” He holds one bowl out.
Is the man an actual chef? He fixes toilets during the day and creates recipes at night? I climb to my feet and take the bowl. “Thanks.”
Gavin sits on the sofa, so I follow his lead. The pop and crack of the wood in the fire is the only sound as we make our way through the pasta. It’s delicious, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started to eat.
When he finishes eating, I rise, reaching for his bowl.
“Sit yourself down,” he argues, getting up.
“You cooked, I clean.”
“But you’re—” Gavin clears his throat.
My eyes narrow. “I’m what?”
He gestures. “Rattled. I can manage the dishes.”
Great. He thinks I’m fragile.
“I’m fine.” This time, when I reach for Gavin’s bowl, he lets me take it and follows me into the kitchen. He might be a fairly tidy man, but he makes a mess when he cooks. He puts away ingredients and spices sitting open on the stone counter while I wash our bowls and forks.
The kitchen is warm, the water is soothing over my cold hands. I push the sleeves of my sweater up to my elbows and reach for the pot and pan he used, then submerge them in the sudsy water, along with the cutting board and knife.
“Did you speak to your sister?” Gavin asks.
“Yes. They returned to Snowshill after Hamish called your grandparents and heard about the storm. None of them wanted to manage their children in a hotel if the roads close and keep them from getting through.”
“Fair enough,” Gavin says.
I pause, my forearms resting on the edge of the sink, and look at him. “Are you always so level-headed?”
“Not a bit.” He speaks quickly, with confidence. The man is stalwart. I’ve known him all of twenty-four hours and it’s already clear he inherited his sense of self from the greats. William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, probably.
I want to know what pushes Gavin’s buttons. What would ruffle his feathers? Make him lose composure?
His blue eyes blink down at me, drawing me away from images of men on horseback with blue face paint, back to the soapy water. I clean the knives he used to make our dinner.
“That was wise of them,” Gavin says, and it takes a minute to recall he’s still talking about our family in England. “The roads could be shut for days.”
“Is that common?”
“Very.”
A scoff rips from my throat. Days?! I dunk a cutting board too hard and splash myself. “Who thought it was a great idea to do Christmas in Scotland again?”
“I believe it was your sister.”
Right. Because Luna wanted to get Rhys and Ruby out of Snowshill, take their minds off the fact that it’s the first holiday after their Nan passed away.
It’s nice in theory, but a more accessible house might have been better.
Why didn’t we all go to California? Mom and Dad can’t come out here until right before Christmas anyway.
It would have meant spending more time with them.
“Maybe one of you should have made her aware of this,” I grumble.
“It’s not as likely this early in December,” he says. “Usually January or February is when we see the worst of the storms.”
“I suppose I brought my bad luck with me.”
“You could have brought your California sunshine instead.”
“If that’s a joke about my sunshine-y demeanor, let the record show that I’m ignoring it.”
We finish the dishes and put everything in the drying rack, then wipe the counters and stove.
I find the broom in the utility closet and sweep the kitchen before I feel satisfied that we’re finished for the evening.
If I’m going to live here for three weeks, I’m going to treat it like I would my own home—no, even better.
We return to the living room and sit in front of the fire. I pull my sleeves down over my hands and draw a blanket over my lap, ignoring the damp dishwater on my shirt. “Does the cold seep through everything here?”
“I thought you were going to wear sixteen layers of thermal underwear?”
“How do you know I’m not?”
Gavin laughs. “You need thicker socks. Hud on.”