Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Even though I stare at the small basket of decorations I’ve compiled for my quest to get Adam to decorate his house every morning, I don’t bring a single one over there in the days following our kiss. In fact, I make every attempt to avoid the man whenever possible.
I leave for school earlier than usual, before the time I’ve determined he goes for his run. I take on extra after-care duty when Mr. Saunders asks if I can cover for him. Even though I tell myself it’s just my usual habit of helping, I know in my gut it’s not that.
I’m avoiding my house because I’m avoiding Adam. I’m avoiding Adam because he completely scrambles my brain with his desire to push me to put myself first and, of course, that kiss.
I’m avoiding him because I don’t know what to do about this man who sees past my walls, who continues to pressure me to put myself first, even though he barely even knows me.
The worst part is that even though I tell myself that he’s an asshole and doesn’t understand me or my town, I’m starting to wonder if there’s some truth to what he’s been trying to show me.
Hell, Hallie’s been saying it for some time now, just with kid gloves and in her gentle way, so I could easily ignore it.
Of course, I’m stubborn, so instead of slowing down, I’ve ramped up my schedule, which means I’m even more tired than normal.
When I receive an early morning call from the school district telling me that school has been cancelled due to snow, a wave of relief washes over me.
I laze about in bed for longer than usual, then make a cup of coffee before drinking it in the living room, watching the snow fall in fat clumps.
It quickly piles up on the frozen ground, leaving a thick layer on all of my decorations.
It’s so peaceful, and for the first time in a while, I don’t feel the gut-wrenching anxiety of my to-do list looming.
Instead, I take my time cleaning up the kitchen a bit before heading upstairs to my office, where I put on a show and start binding the quilt, determined to slowly finish it on my unplanned day off.
Unfortunately, I’ve only completed three of the four sides when the power goes out.
The town has tons of trees throughout, so it’s not uncommon during a snowstorm like this for a tree branch to get too heavy and fall on a power line.
Hopefully, the power will return soon, since my heat is unfortunately electric.
Otherwise, I’ll have to brave the outside and grab some of the firewood my brother dropped off a few months ago and get the fireplace going.
Ten minutes later, my hope that the power will return quickly is almost completely dashed, and an unknown number texts me.
Unknown
Do you have power?
I squint at my phone, unsure of who could be messaging me. I don’t think I’ve given out my phone number to anyone recently, but maybe it’s someone who also lost power and is looking for help. Before I answer, though, the typing bubble pops up once more, followed by a new message.
This is Adam.
My stomach flips a bit at the name on my screen. Why is Adam texting me?
And where did he get my number?
How did you get my number?
Again, he answers quickly.
It was in a packet of papers someone dumped on my front door when I moved in.
Do you have power?
Moving to the front window, I check the street that’s now coated in a thick layer of snow to confirm none of the houses are lit up.
I think I see a light on in Adam’s house, but the rest are mostly dark except for a few that I know have generators.
Many houses on this street have gas heat, something my house was never converted to, so I’m not worried about anyone freezing to death.
Except, maybe, for me.
No, I think the entire street is out.
I meant a generator. Do you have a generator?
I don’t respond.
My oldest brother, Jesse, has been bugging me since I moved in that I needed to get a generator for the house, but I kept waving it off.
I had no time or energy to shop for a boring generator.
Especially not when there were many more fun things to get for the house, like decorations and paint.
Generators are pretty common around here, and we had a giant one at the farm I grew up on.
Grandma never needed one because any time there was a forecast for even the smallest bit of snow, my dad would insist on picking her up and taking her to the farm for the night.
I know Madden and Jesse are totally going to get on me about it.
Wren?
And it seems my grumpy neighbor is also going to be on me about it. I don’t respond, knowing he will probably have just as many opinions about my lack of storm preparedness as my brothers. Honestly, I was having a pretty peaceful day.
Wren.
Is your phone charged? Or did it die?
I shake my head at his overprotectiveness, noting that I have an eighty-five percent charge, a small miracle since I never remember to keep my phone charged overnight.
My phone is charged. I don’t have a generator, but I don’t want to hear you giving me a hard time about it. I already have two older brothers and a dad; I don’t need more.
He doesn’t respond right away, something I’m grateful for, before I start looking around my dark house. I glare at the empty fireplace I’ve never actually used before, knowing that I’ll have to go into the shed and get some of the wood there to start a fire.
Or I could wait. Sometimes, the power comes back on relatively quickly.
Wren, you’re going to freeze. I have a generator—just come over here.
I groan at his seeming ability to hear all of my thoughts and second-guessings.
But I am a strong, powerful, capable woman. I don’t need a man and his stupid gas-powered machine to keep me warm. I can do it all by myself.
I’m going to start a fire. It will be fine. Leave me alone.
A text bubble pops up, and I can already see his argument impending, so I add on before he can respond.
I can take care of myself.
Then I throw my phone onto the couch and start bundling up.
As much as I’d like to think things will just fix themselves, I also know I should get a fire going before the house actually gets cold.
I slide a hat over my head, pull on my jacket and a pair of boots, and resolve to throw my soon-to-be-wet pajamas in the wash and put on warm, dry clothes when I’m done.
Then I trudge outside in my pink puffy jacket and my pajama pants with little polar bears wearing tutus that Hallie got me for Christmas last year.
Unfortunately, since I never actually checked the wood storage delivered directly to my storage, I didn’t have nice, neat little logs perfect for starting a fire.
Instead, I had large chunks that I’m pretty sure would be too big for my fireplace.
That was when I remembered that each fall, without her having to ask, my dad or one of my brothers would come to my grandmother’s house and chop wood for her to make sure she had what she needed for the winter, since she loved having a fire in her fireplace when she was home.
It seems they didn’t realize I would need the same assistance, or I suppose I should have checked earlier.
When I walked into the woodshed, I found it empty of anything other than some sticks and things to use as tinder, so I gathered up a pile of that and set it aside before I went over to where Jesse and Madden had stacked up the cured wood for me.
The rounds are small enough for me to lift, though I won’t deny they wind me with their size and weight.
Now I’m staring at the full rounds of wood, the stump I cleared of snow that is quickly piling up again, and the axe in my hands.
I’ve watched my dad and brothers do this for as long as I can remember. I roll my shoulders back, slide my cutesy pink gloves back on, and set the log in place to thwack it a few times until it’s in manageable pieces. I mean, how hard could it really be?
After the third time of hitting the log I’m trying to split and getting nowhere, I realize the answer is very hard.
Just a few hits in and everything already hurts, and I haven’t even split a single piece of wood.
I groan into the snowy sky as the axe gets stuck, and I have to try once again to pry it free.
“You need to go higher,” a familiar voice calls. My back stiffens, and I try not to let it show, but my eyes close, and I pray to anyone who will listen that I imagined the words.
Maybe it’s just a cold-induced dream, maybe it’s—
“You aren’t getting enough force to actually do the job.”
It’s Adam.
I know that, but when I turn to look at the back porch of his house, I see him in a sweater and jeans, watching me with an amused smirk.
He’s leaning on the railing he must have cleared off, and there’s a fine layer of white snow on his hair, so I imagine he’s been standing there for some time.
His smile goes soft after he takes me in.
I can only imagine what he sees: me in my puffy jacket, pajama bottoms tucked into soft boots, my nose cold and probably dripping.
Why can’t the world give me a single freaking break?
“You don’t have to do that, Wren. Just come to my place. I won’t even bother you; you can sit in the living room, and I’ll stay upstairs.”
“I’m fine, but thank you for the offer,” I say stiffly, then turn back around to face my new enemy.
Wiggling the axe until it is free of the log, I bring it up high and drop it harder, the metal splitting the wood right down the middle.
I jump and clap excitedly and then look over my shoulder at Adam.
He’s watching me intently, but there’s playfulness in his eyes.
“Now you just gotta do that a dozen more times,” he says, ruining my high. I glare at him before turning back around, and he sighs audibly. “You’re going to freeze out here, Wren. Just come in where I have heat. You can charge your phone and eat a hot meal.”