Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Serena
Great.
Not only is there an ice storm, but the electricity just went out.
“Shit,” I mutter, moving my book and sliding off the couch. There’s a little light from the wood stove and I pad into the kitchen to grab matches.
“What can I do?” West asks.
“Nothing. I’m getting matches so I can light a few candles.”
“Don’t waste them,” he says, leaning against the counters. “We have light from the stove and we’re just going to go to bed soon anyway, right?”
“I suppose that’s true.” I grab the matches and reach for my favorite apple-scented candle. “I can keep one in my room in case Joey wakes up.”
“My phone is almost dead,” he murmurs, pulling it out of his pocket.
“Well, one thing about me, I’m prepared for emergencies.
Hang on.” I walk into my bedroom, using the flashlight feature on my phone to guide me.
Then I reach into my nightstand and pull out both of my portable chargers, along with their cords.
I have several of them and they’re usually charged and ready to go.
Just in case.
Because I’m a single mom.
Because I try not to leave anything to chance when it comes to my son’s safety and comfort.
I walk back to the main room and hand it to West. “There you go. Charge away.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you want to save it for yourself?”
“It’ll charge a phone twice, and I have another one.”
“Thank you.” He plugs in his phone and then looks around. “I’m going to bring in more wood, keep it nearby so if the fire starts to go out, I can add it without going outside when I’m half asleep.”
“Hang on, I have an old mat for that.” I grab it out of the closet and put it on the floor next to the stove. “That way it doesn’t get the floor wet.”
“Perfect.”
I watch as he brings in a few more logs and sets them on the mat. “I’m glad I decided to do this because everything outside is getting wet.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. I have an extra toothbrush under the sink. It’s a kids’ brush but it’s new. I get them free every time Joey goes to the dentist.”
“No worries. I have one in my bag. Because of hockey, I always keep a bag with the basics in my truck. In case I run out of something or lose something on a trip, etcetera.”
“Or you wind up stranded with a stranger during a storm.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. That.”
I take care of business in a mostly dark bathroom, grateful there’s still running water and the toilet flushes.
Now that I’ve taken off my makeup and put my hair up, I feel a lot more vulnerable and I’m not sure why. West isn’t a boyfriend or lover, so I can’t quite pinpoint what’s making me self-conscious about the smattering of freckles on my cheeks or my bare skin. I don’t care what he thinks.
Okay, that’s a lie.
Of course, I care.
He’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met. Just because neither of us are interested in getting involved, it doesn’t mean I don’t want him to find me attractive.
Right?
The bathroom is cold, so I don’t contemplate anything too long, and walk back out to the living room. West smiles as he brushes past me and goes into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
There’s never been a man in my bathroom, and I’m self-conscious all over again. Is he the kind of guy who’s looking in the cabinets to see what I have? To see my boxes of tampons and panty liners? My cheap shampoo and conditioner? My drug store makeup collection?
I shake off the thoughts.
Even if he does snoop, those are all normal things. I need to stop overthinking this. He’s here and I’ve decided to trust him.
Nothing else matters until the storm is over.
I should probably go to bed but my bedroom is already chilly and the heat from the wood stove is nice. I also have to get some pillows and a blanket for West.
Staring at the couch, I realize he’s not going to be very comfortable. Better than trying to sleep in his SUV, but still. He’s a big guy and the couch is just normal sized. I’m five ten and can barely stretch out. How is he going to manage? He’d be a lot more comfortable in my bed.
Ugh.
That’s not happening.
By the time West comes out of the bathroom, I’ve got a pillow and a warm wool blanket set out for him.
“I don’t know what else you might need,” I say. “Do you want a sheet too?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”
I hesitate, unsure what to do. It’s not late, barely ten o’clock, and I’m not used to going to bed this early.
“Do you feel like…talking?” I ask quietly.
“Sure.” He nods. “It’s probably warmer out here than in your bedroom anyway.”
Once again, practically reading my mind.
I sink back on the couch and he sits on the opposite side. We adjust the blanket so it’s covering both of us and then lean back. His large body takes up a lot of space but it’s not a bad thing. Hell, having someone this close is comforting. Warm. Nice.
It’s been too long since I’ve spent time with an attractive single man, so I’m not even sure how to behave. It’s not a date or a hookup—just two people riding out a storm.
Except it’s in my home.
There’s an unspoken intimacy that’s a little heady.
“I want to thank you for your hospitality,” West says after it’s been quiet for a while. “I really appreciate this. You didn’t have to let me stay here.”
“Well, after you saved me from my car, how could I send you out into the storm?”
“I would understand not wanting to spend the night with a man who’s essentially still a stranger.”
I look over at him. “But you’re my…person. Right? So, how can you be a stranger?”
His eyes meet mine and there it is again, that spark of…
something. I don’t know if it’s chemistry or lust or some other type of attraction but it’s unmistakable.
The electricity in the air is almost tangible.
The expression on his face tells me he feels it too and he’s as uncertain about this as I am, which I’ll bet doesn’t happen to him often.
“Then I guess we’re not strangers anymore,” is all he says. “And we have plenty of time tonight to get to know each other.”
“You mentioned your mom earlier… tell me about your childhood,” I say, opting to take the conversation somewhere safer.
“Before or after my mom met my stepdad?”
“I don’t care. Whichever you want to talk about.”
“Now that I’m older, I know that we were poor and my mom struggled, but I don’t remember it that way.
She was always smiling, laughing, taking me places.
We didn’t have money but we still managed to have fun.
Mornings at the library. Afternoons at the park.
Ice skating in the winter. Somehow, she managed to make my childhood wonderful, despite the financial struggles. ”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I whisper, suddenly choked up. “I never want him to think back on our life and be sad.”
“You’re a good mom,” he says, smiling gently.
“Thank you.” I’m startled to feel tears sting my eyelids. I swipe at them in frustration. “It’s so hard to know.”
“Not from the outside looking in. There’s no doubt in my mind you put your son before yourself—and really, what else is parenting?”
“I don’t know. I just know how much I love him and that I’m his whole world. I have to make sure he’s healthy and happy—otherwise, why did I have him?”
There’s understanding in his expression, and my gut tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“My mom was like that too. Before my stepdad came along. I mean, he’s my dad. I don’t think of him as my stepdad, but since we’re talking about childhood memories I wanted to differentiate the time before he came into my life. Stan married my mom and adopted me. And he’s great.”
“Did he and your mom have any kids of their own?” I ask curiously.
He shakes his head. “No. I think they tried but Mom couldn’t get pregnant and then I guess she got too old. But Stan says I’m all the son he needs.”
“That’s nice.”
“He stepped in, doing all the things a father would do. He got up at the ass crack of dawn to take me to hockey practice. He forked out all kinds of money so I could play and then go away to boarding school so I could play at a higher level. My parents sacrificed a lot for me so now I take care of them. Although, to be fair, other than paying off their mortgage, they won’t let me give them money. ”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
“They both still work. Mom’s only fifty-five and Dad is fifty-seven, and they both say they wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they retired. So, I spoil them with vacations and the holidays and stuff.”
“I’ll bet they’re proud of you.”
“I’d like to think so.”
From there, conversation flows easily. I tell him about my family in south Georgia, memories of growing up there and the loss of my parents in high school. How my aunt and uncle took me in, and about my dreams of both going to culinary school and becoming an actress.
He’s so easy to talk to, and we talk late into the night, until we’ve both gotten sleepy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like I should get up and go to bed, but it’s way too comfortable here. And I like listening to his voice.
Before I know it, I’m fast asleep.