Chapter 17 Reed
Reed
The weather app on my phone shows an angry red blob moving toward Pittsburgh, complete with warnings about ice accumulation and power outages. I tell myself I’m checking road conditions because I need to get home safely before the storm hits.
I’m definitely not thinking about Eliza.
Except I am. I’ve been thinking about her for the past six hours, replaying the moment she signed that liability release and the way her face lit up when I asked her to the Yule Gala. Then the sprinklers went off, and she looked at me like I was something dangerous and bolted.
Again.
The rational part of my brain knows she’s dealing with abandonment issues. The irrational part wonders if I can somehow plead my case that we can try to be together. God, even thinking it sounds pathetic.
My phone buzzes with a severe weather alert just as Paolo texts the group chat:
Roads are getting bad. Everyone go buy bread and toilet paper, STAT.
I laugh, knowing I should go to my apartment, defrost something, and wait out the storm like a sensible person. Instead, I drive toward Eliza’s neighborhood, telling myself I’m just concerned about her animals in this weather.
Which is partly true, but mostly, I’m worried about her.
The roads get progressively worse as I head uphill to her neighborhood, snow beginning to mix with sleet, tinkling as it all hits my windshield. This is Pittsburgh, so of course the roads haven’t been pre-treated. By the time I reach Eliza’s driveway, my car is sliding more than driving.
I park behind her truck and see her wrestling with the trailer gate, trying to coax Chiron down the ramp while snow swirls around them. The donkey plants his feet and refuses to budge, ears pinned against the wind.
“Come on, you stubborn ass,” Eliza yells over the weather. “It’s warm inside!”
I approach carefully, not wanting to spook either of them. “Need help?”
Eliza whips around, her face a mix of surprise and possibly relief. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought you might need extra hands getting everyone secure.”
She eyes me suspiciously, snow collecting on her knit hat. “You drove out here in this weather to help with goats?”
“I really love ruminants,” I say, which makes her snort.
“Chiron’s not technically a ruminant.”
“I love equids, too.”
That gets me an almost-smile before she turns to the donkey. “He’s being dramatic about the ice. Thinks he’s going to slip.”
I study the situation—Chiron’s wide stance, the way he’s eyeing the ramp, the patches of ice forming on the trailer floor. “He’s not wrong. That ramp is getting slick.”
“What do you suggest, Dr. Dolittle?”
I grab the bag of goat manure I’ve had in my trunk for the past two weeks since she and I argued about it. I scatter it on the truck bed and ramp, creating, if not traction exactly, a familiar-smelling surface I hope Chiron will trust.
He sniffs the poop, takes a tentative step, then walks down like it was his idea all along.
“Oh yeah.” I pump my fist and shoot finger guns at the donkey, like he and I won some sort of contest.
“Show off,” Eliza mutters, but she’s smiling.
For the next hour, Eliza lets me help her. She directs while I follow orders, which is pretty hot. We check on the animals’ bedding, fill their water troughs, and make sure they have enough hay.
We move around each other carefully, both hyperaware of the other’s presence.
The physical work feels good, purposeful. This is what a partnership should look like, I think. Two people working toward the same goal, complementing each other’s strengths. I feel useful here in her space, like she was in mine.
“Last load,” Eliza calls, gesturing toward a stack of hay bales around the back of the barn.
I grab two bales, muscles straining against the weight. The snow is coming down harder now, and ice has formed a treacherous layer over everything. I’m three steps from the door when my foot hits a slick patch.
Physics takes over. Again.
The hay bales go flying as I crash hard, my right ankle twisting beneath me at an angle that definitely isn’t natural. Pain shoots up my leg, sharp and immediate.
“Reed!” Eliza drops her own bale and rushes over. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I grit out, trying to stand. The ankle immediately buckles, sending another wave of pain through my system. “Shit.”
“Don’t move.” Eliza kneels beside me in the snow, her hands gentle as she examines my ankle. “Can you wiggle your toes?”
I try, wincing. “Yeah.”
“Good. Probably not broken.” Her face creases with concern. “Can you put any weight on it?”
I try again, managing to stand with most of my weight on my left foot. “Not really.” Walking is going to be interesting.
“Come on,” Eliza says, sliding under my arm to support me. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I should go home—”
“Reed, look around.” She gestures at the weather, which has turned into a proper storm… and not the sexy woman variety. “Nobody’s driving anywhere tonight.”
She’s right. Visibility is maybe ten feet, and the roads will be impassable by now. Our phones both start beeping with an emergency weather alert, like a punctuation mark on this disaster of a day.
“You can take over my couch,” Eliza says as we make our slow progress toward the house. “It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry.”
“I don’t want to impose—”
“Reed, you literally just hurt yourself helping me take care of my animals. The least I can do is give you somewhere to wait out the blizzard.”
As always, her house feels like a refuge from the chaos outside. Eliza settles me on the couch with ice wrapped in a dish towel for my ankle, then disappears into the kitchen. I hear her moving around—opening cabinets, running water, and the gentle clink of dishes.
“Cocoa?” she calls.
“Please.”
She returns with two steaming mugs and settles into the chair across from me. “I wish I had warm nuts.” She shrugs. I fight the urge to make a joke. The silence stretches, filled with the sounds of wind howling outside and tree branches scraping the roof.
“Thank you,” I say. “For letting me stay.”
“Thank you for helping with the girls.” Eliza wraps her hands around her mug. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to help.”
“Why?”
The question catches me off guard. “Because I care about you and your ridiculous villains.”
She studies my face as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Reed, about earlier, at the greenhouse—”
The lights flicker once. Twice.
Then everything goes dark.
“Well,” Eliza’s voice comes through the darkness, dry and amused. “This should be interesting.”
In the sudden silence, with the familiar hum of electricity gone, I can hear my own heartbeat. And somewhere in the darkness, Eliza’s breathing.