Chapter Twenty-nine
Kenna
I’m awake before my alarm goes off. I don’t look outside. I’m afraid to. What if there isn’t more than three inches on the ground?
What if there is?
I spin back and forth between wanting to stay—something my heart desperately desires—and doing what my brain keeps telling me is the only logical option: leaving.
Other than making the deal about the snow, Carter didn’t outright ask me to stay.
Not while we were in bed anyway. He hasn’t mentioned it since we texted each other.
But I know he wanted to. I could see it in his eyes.
Feel it in his touch. The first time we made love last night was fun, exciting, and playful.
The second time was the complete opposite.
Slow. Deliberate. Emotional. It felt a little too much like goodbye.
Like we both knew it might be the last time.
And even though it felt like a farewell, I never wrote him that letter. I’m not sure if it’s because I anticipated having to stay, or because I simply couldn’t write down my feelings. There are so many feelings.
It hasn’t even been two weeks since we met, but it’s hard to see my future without Carter in it.
When I dream, he’s there. When I envision Amelia’s first dance recital, her high school graduation, her wedding—I see him standing next to me beaming with pride.
When I fantasize about giving Amelia a little brother or sister, that child has hazel eyes, an inviting smile, and maybe a little grease on their hands.
How is that even possible?
Footsteps upstairs pull me from bed and have me reaching for my robe.
Bypassing the bathroom, even though I really have to pee, I head right for the French doors.
On my approach, I see snow dancing beyond the cold, frosty panes of glass.
I hold my breath as I peer through. There’s snow on the ground, I just can’t tell how much.
Is it two inches? Four? It’s been blown around and drifted, so it’s pretty hard to tell.
Movement startles me. Then I see a bundled-up Carter walking in the back yard.
He looks at the ground in both directions, then crouches down and pulls something from his pocket.
I laugh when I see what it is. A tape measure.
He draws it out and pokes the end of it down into the snow.
He leans way down, his left cheek nearly touching the snow, and he reads it.
Then he stands abruptly, jumps up, and punches the air.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath this entire time until it rushes out of me in a powerful gush of relief.
I know I should leave. But I can’t control the weather.
And now that my car is fixed, the weather may be the one thing that can keep me here.
Suddenly, I’m wishing for a whole lot more than three inches.
I want a blizzard. One that will last forever.
Because I’ve also just realized that if I can’t get out, Cyrus can’t either.
He’ll be stuck in the city. Sure, he might be able to get to work, which is a few short blocks from his apartment, but no way could he get all the way to my dad’s home or church on the far side of Queens.
And no way could he get to Amelia and me.
I’ll be safe here. Snowed into this town. Snowed in with this man.
This man. I look back outside and am amused when Carter walks around the back yard measuring the snow in different places, smiling every time.
He even takes a few pictures of the tape measure in the snow.
Proof to show me is my guess. Not that he needs any.
I’d have taken his word for it either way.
I watch until he walks out of sight, going back in the house.
“It snowed!”
Amelia’s voice makes me jump.
“It sure did, baby. Isn’t it pretty? Looks like we won’t be leaving today after all.”
“Good.” She rubs her tired eyes. “I like it here. I don’t want to go to the beach.”
I get down on my knees and take her hands in mine. “Amelia, we’re going to have to leave. This isn’t our house. It’s not our town. We have a plan, remember? We’re going to live at the beach and go to Disney World.”
She stomps a foot. “I don’t want to go to Disney World unless Carter and Christian and Bug can go.”
Well, then. It seems I’m not the only one who has become attached to this town. To these people.
“I’ll miss them too, sweetie. But going to Florida is something we have to do.”
“I don’t wanna.” She tears her hands out of mine and runs back to the bedroom. I watch her go, knowing an argument now won’t do either of us any good. And there are better ways to get her to refocus.
I use the bathroom, and after making sure I look presentable and pulling on yoga pants and an old sweatshirt, I head for the stairs. “Pout all you want. I’m going to make breakfast for everyone, and it might involve chocolate chips.”
I’ll leave the door to the kitchen open, knowing that if my words don’t entice her, the smell will.
As I near the top of the steps, I quickly realize I won’t be making breakfast after all.
Based on the smell of things, it’s already been made.
Sure enough, a pile of pancakes is on the table.
Next to it is a large bowl of scrambled eggs.
There’s bacon and sausage too. All the food is covered with cling wrap, presumably to keep it warm.
Carter comes walking in the room, hair damp from a shower. When he sees me, a massive smile works up his face. I hold up a hand to keep him from gloating. “I know. I know. I saw it.”
He pulls out his phone anyway and shows me the picture. “Three and three-quarter inches. And much more is predicted.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”
He nears. “Oh, I’m happy all right. I may or may not have gotten up early enough that if there wasn’t enough snow, I’d have time to rent a snow machine and make my own.”
I laugh.
He gets even closer, leaning in, his hot breath on my cheek. “You think I’m kidding?”
When I look into his eyes, last night comes rushing back. It was supposed to be goodbye.
He pulls back, sadness and possibly a little frustration clouding his expression. “Are you really that upset, Kenna? You look sad.”
I shrug. “I was just thinking that last night was… well, it was amazing. I’m not sure we’re going to be able to top it when I really do have to leave.”
His eyes close and he shakes his head. Does he think we can’t top it either? Or is he simply dreading the day as much as I am?
I break the tension by crossing the room and getting the platter of pancakes. I take them to the top of the stairs, unwrap them, and use my other hand to fan across them so the smell wafts downstairs.
“What are you doing?” Carter asks when I turn back.
“Trying to get Amelia to come up. She was upset.”
He looks concerned. “About what? Being stuck here?”
I scoff. “No. The opposite. She doesn’t want to leave. And now I feel like the bad guy for insisting on it.”
He leans against the counter. “If you could change it, would you?”
I sit and pour myself a glass of juice from the carton on the table. “In a perfect world, yeah. But the world is far from perfect, Carter.”
Amelia bounds up the stairs and beelines to Carter, wrapping him in a hug. Him. Not me, her own mother.
Christian comes into the kitchen, and Carter and I both look surprised. It’s too early for any teenager to be up on a non-school day.
“What’s got you up so early?” Carter asks, helping Amelia get situated at the table.
“You.” Christian parks his forearm crutches against the counter, drops heavily into a seat, and bites into a blueberry pancake. “Since when do you sing in the shower?”
I raise an amused brow and stare at Carter.
He chuckles. “Today seemed like a good day to start.”
Then it hits me. Oh, God. If Christian heard him singing in the shower, did he—my chest seizes—hear us last night?
My question is answered when I say good morning to Christian and he mumbles a return greeting but doesn’t make eye contact.
I pinch my brows, mortified, and slowly lower myself into a seat.
Five minutes later, all of us eating and talking and laughing, Carter turns to me. “This world seems pretty perfect to me.”
His words settle over me like a warm blanket, bringing hope for calm nights, a promise of protection from the storm, and the peace that normalcy provides. All the things I can only dream of.