Chapter 24
N ora
Ignoring Jericho turns out to be a hard thing to do.
Especially when we both live in a small town with few options for grocery shopping and getting coffee.
In our various run-ins, he tries several times to deny what happened, and something within me wants to believe him, but I just can’t shake the feeling of betrayal.
The feeling that I have no right to even feel because we aren’t together.
Some days I just flat out refuse to speak to him at all.
Others I snap at him like a petulant child.
Before meeting Jericho Landell, I was sure about my own maturity, but he’s making me question it every single day.
I open my eyes to the alarm—instead of the shrieks of that feathered monstrosity—and feel a sharp chill when my foot pokes out from under the covers.
The house is so drafty, I might need to find a contractor to replace windows or figure something else out because taping them doesn’t protect from the frigid Maine temperatures anymore.
When I’m brave enough to get out from under the fluffy comforter, I pull the curtain from my window and realize that I’m going to be late for work.
A strong wind is blowing an almost solid wall of white around the house, and judging by the snowdrifts against the backyard fence, there’s no way I’m getting out of here without shoveling at least a narrow path for my tires.
The only good thing about this snowstorm is the lack of cock-a-doodling. The little terrorist probably couldn’t come out in all this snow—it looks like it would be taller than him. At least I got those couple extra hours of sleep.
I don’t have time for a shower so I quickly brush my teeth, pull my hair into a low ponytail, apply a layer of lipstick, and run downstairs to get myself a cup of coffee before heading outside to brace for the storm.
Grandma’s back from Cheryl’s and still sleeping, so I try to stop the coffee machine before it starts beeping.
Somehow, she always knows when the caffeinated drink is being made, and she’ll be up before I can switch the beans to decaf.
Pouring the scorching hot liquid into the travel mug, I keep glancing at the stairs in fear that Grams is coming, and I’ll have to throw it all away so she doesn’t get my extra strong brew. And I don’t think I can take on that mountain of snow without a strong drink.
When the dirty deed is done, I clean the coffee maker, switch the beans, and set the timer for when she wakes up, hoping with a fresh pot ready she’ll be less tempted to look for the caffeinated beans.
I put my extra heavy coat on, along with a hat, scarf, and gloves, open the door, and try to push the storm door open.
It gives in only on the second attempt due to the brutal wind.
Hiding my face behind my scarf, I walk to the corner of the porch to get the shovel.
Then walk back to the stairs. Then pause.
The snow is slashing sideways right into my face, casting a thin layer of white on our clean porch.
Our already clean porch which has been cleared and salted. I mean, I don’t lick the surface to know it’s salt, but the melting pieces of ice are a clear indication even to my still sleepy brain.
I shift my attention to the little pathway toward the house and I find that clear too.
As is the sidewalk next to it. I press my eyes harder and open them again, trying to figure out if I’m not sleeping because there’s no way our driveway, along with the sidewalk and porch would be clear.
Ever. The only one who does it around here is me.
Cheryl is usually busy shoveling snow around her own house if she’s not working during the storms—a lot of weird stuff tends to happen around here when people are bored inside their houses.
I walk to my truck, still blinking slowly, a shovel tight in my hands in case all of this is a dream. The cold creeps in even through the layers of clothes and my thick jacket, revealing to me that it’s not a dream—my fantasy wouldn’t have icicles slicing my face.
Then Jericho’s door opens, and his giant frame shows up, illuminated by the light from his house.
Without noticing me, covered behind a curtain of falling snow, he starts walking to his truck which currently has a plow attached to its front.
His cheeks are red, probably from being outside too long in the cold.
His eyes are droopy, his shoulders hunched a bit forward while they are usually straight and proud. He looks extremely tired.
The puzzle pieces start connecting. I straighten my shoulders, because it’s easier to swallow my pride this way, and head toward him.
He looks a bit startled when he notices me on his path. After blinking a few times, instead of sending me on my merry way as I’d been doing the whole week to him, he asks over the sound of the wind, “Are you okay?”
This genuine reaction to seeing me in his driveway in the wee hours makes me feel like a total witch considering my treatment of him. Then I recall the kiss he gave to his girlfriend when a few days before he was telling me about his sudden love for peaches, and the guilt evaporates in an instant.
“Nora,” he reminds me about the present, stepping closer. “What happened?”
“Did you shovel our driveway?” It comes out as an accusation, and I almost flinch at myself.
His eyes drift behind my back toward my house. “Yeah.” He sounds distant. “I contract for the town for storms.”
“Oh.” My anger deflates at his logical answer till I remember that private driveways are not considered a part of town property to be maintained. “And you just cleared it all?”
“I have a plow already attached to my car, and your driveway is ten feet away.” He scratches the back of his neck, sounding a bit ashamed.
“And what about our porch? Did you get the plow there too?” I ask, squinting as snowflakes pelt my face.
For some reason, I need him to admit that he did something nice for me.
Like it will make me feel like I still matter to him, which is ridiculous considering he was sucking another woman’s face recently.
His shoulders drop even more in a defeated gesture, and even though this is what I’m after, it doesn’t make me feel as good as I expect it to. Quite the opposite—it feels like I just kicked a puppy who was already at his lowest.
“I cleared it with a shovel.” Without any obvious snark, he adds, “I didn’t want Moon to slip over the ice.
” His voice drops lower. “And I didn’t want you to have to shovel the heavy snow at the crack of dawn.
” He wipes melting snow away from his face.
A few wayward snowflakes are stuck in his thick eyelashes, drawing my attention to his eyes .
A wiggling chrysalis in my chest suddenly erupts into a full-grown butterfly who detaches itself from my chest and flies down to my belly.
The stupid creature keeps beating her giant wings even when my brain keeps telling her that Jericho is not ours to be salivating over.
The warmth it creates is so intense that it’s melting my already frozen fingers.
“Thank you.” I mean it to sound confident and sure, but my voice comes out breathy and giddy.
He nods awkwardly while glancing at his truck. A couple of inches of snow already cover it, indicating that Jericho must have been inside his house for some time.
I feel awkward too, so I start rambling. “Are you coming home from the shift?” Even I know the question is stupid since he just emerged from his house fully dressed. He’s clearly on his way somewhere.
“No. I’m going back to the roads. I came back to grab some coffee since everything in town is closed.
” A beautiful one-sided smile changes his face to one of a less tired person.
“And to refresh your driveway a little bit. The snowfall is really heavy. More than we anticipated. I’ll probably be out until the evening. ”
I feel my brows furrowing. “But you’ve been out the whole night it looks like.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “But the snow keeps falling, and the roads are a mess. There’re not enough people to handle the load.”
Looking at his empty hands, I ask, “Did you get your coffee?”
He lets out a truly pained laugh. “No. Turns out I’ve run out of it.”
Without thinking further, I push my travel mug into his chest. “Here. It’s my witch brew. It will keep you alive until everything opens.”
His large hand covers mine and starts slowly sliding off, moving onto the top of the mug. His palm is cold and yet it makes my skin burn.
“Witch brew?” His nose flares with hidden laughter. “Does it have something to do with Roman’s mud water?”
I laugh with a shake of my head. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. This is my personal mix of super-duper nasty beans that taste like shit but have enough caffeine to keep you awake for a week.”
“So it does have something to do with Roman’s mud water.
” His husky laugh warms the rest of me that his hand didn’t reach.
Which is a lot of very unexpected places.
Without noticing my inner turmoil, he presses the button on the side of the mug and opens a drinking slot.
Then he brings it up to his lips and takes a long, thirsty sip.
“Damn.”
“That good, huh,” I manage, sounding a little breathless.
“Yeah,” he says, pausing to lick his lips.
“I told you it tastes like shit but gets the job done.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Nora.” His voice is even huskier and sends a shiver up my spine.
“What do you mean then?”
Jericho gives me a look that reaches deep under my skin.
“The mug.” He brings the rim slowly back to his lips, eyes still on mine, and licks the drinking slot with a deliberate motion. “It tastes like your lipstick.”
At this moment, I’m sure that the snow under my feet just started melting, and I’m also sure that if he says another word, I’m jumping his bones right here and right now. Consequences and guilt be damned.
While I’m standing here and blinking at him with an open mouth like a fish out of water beneath my giant scarf, he takes another sip and moans. Like actually moans.
“Thank you. I don’t know if I would be able to survive today without this. ”
“My witch brew?” Why do I sound like a hussy in a burgundy-colored boudoir with her legs already spread?
His tongue peeks up to lick his lower lip. “That too.”
Before I do something stupid like maul him in his driveway, I start slowly retreating backward toward my truck. “Stop by the diner when you have a chance. I’ll save you a warm plate.” Then add with a shy shrug, “For your service to the town of course.”
“Of course.” He chuckles, drinks more of the coffee, and gets into his truck.
A few seconds later my phone chimes with a message.
Wait till I pull out and drive after me. I’ll clear the road.
Well, damn.Chivalry isn’t dead yet.