20. Stranded
Stranded
Noah popped a grape in his mouth and watched the TV on the facing wall.
Claire sat next to him, picking at the snack tray on the coffee table, her gaze never straying from the screen.
The room they sat in was cozy, darkened from the angry skies outside, but warm and friendly from the light offered by various lamps scattered around the space.
After their late lunch earlier today consisting of a delicious roasted hen dish with cooked onions, carrots, and potatoes, they'd spent the afternoon getting updates from the airline, communicating with their team, and watching the news about the storm.
While other guests occasionally wandered through, the main parlor was mostly theirs.
According to Mrs. Ferguson, everyone else was camped out at the local pub a block over.
Noah's initial concern that their accommodations separate from the other passengers would cause a lack of updates proved unwarranted.
Turned out, Mrs. Ferguson's husband was on the town council and knew everything going on with the downed plane, which made Leesburgh Guest House the place to be for stranded passengers.
And the news was grim. On a normal day, they might have been back in the air by now or, at worst, tomorrow morning.
But the "storm of the century," as it was now dubbed by the overly-excited weatherman on TV, was wreaking havoc across the United Kingdom.
Power lines down, roads washed out, and severe flooding were being reported across the nations.
"I didn't know y'all got hurricanes. And in the winter!" Claire said, her words quiet against the howling of the wind battering the house.
Mrs. Ferguson, sitting in the corner knitting, commented, "Cyclones, dear. We call them cyclones. It's rare, but it happens. We had two bad ones back-to-back in 2020."
Noah checked to see if Claire understood and found her digging through her backpack, pulling out different cables.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Charging all my electronics. I don't know what happens here during hurri?—cyclones, but according to my dad, Houston often loses electricity during a storm. So, I'm charging everything up to one hundred percent." An ominous clap of thunder punctuated her words.
"Good idea." Noah pulled out a cable and plugged in his phone. His computer was already charging.
The banging of the front door startled him, and he spun around. Mr. Ferguson—"call me Archie"—wrestled the door against the wind. Noah grinned at the inventive string of curse words the man used as he pushed it shut.
Mrs. Ferguson paused to watch her husband. She spoke rapidly to him in what Noah assumed was Gaelic, and while he didn't understand exactly what she said, he picked up enough to know she was chastising the man for his language.
As Archie removed his raincoat, Mrs. Ferguson put down her knitting and moved to help him with his outer layers. "Thanks, love," he said. He kissed her cheek, then addressed Claire and Noah. "I've got news and ye're not going to like it."
He moved to stand by the fire, warming his hands and throwing his words over his shoulder at them.
"Looks like ye're stuck with us for a while.
The roads are too dangerous to traverse and the storm isn't abating anytime soon.
The good news is, we're stocked for winter and have plenty of supplies on hand. "
Noah looked at Claire to see if she understood, only to find her watching him with expectant eyes. "We're likely stuck here for a few days, but they are well supplied, so food isn't an issue." Her jaw dropped as if she hadn't considered their situation fully.
He turned his attention back to Archie, who tilted his head at Claire. "American," Noah explained. "First time hearing a true Scottish brogue."
Archie laughed and told Claire not to worry. He'd slow down for a bonny lass like her. Noah chose not to translate. Instead, he told Claire he was going to fetch his tablet from the room and charge it as well.
When she didn't answer, he saw she was engrossed in a coding window. The guest house came equipped with Wi-Fi, and they'd been catching up on work while they waited out the weather with nothing else to do. He shrugged and continued upstairs.
After plugging in his tablet, he decided he should use the toilet while he was there, but stopped dead in his tracks when he spied the lacy undergarments mixed in with Claire's other clothes hanging over the shower door.
He never would have figured Claire for a red lace type of girl.
Pristine white? Yes. Sunny yellow? Sure.
But never anything as racy as red. He stepped closer.
Red lace with little black bows. God, that was hot.
He scrubbed his face, trying to work that image out of his head before making his way back downstairs.
Claire climbed the stairs to their suite, tired from the day's events.
Noah was downstairs watching a game with Archie and she wanted to take advantage of having the room to herself.
A nice hot shower and some quiet reading time before snuggling into bed sounded like the perfect end to this crazy day.
In her room, she unloaded her electronics on the second bed before gathering her pajamas and robe.
Thank goodness she'd brought the robe. When packing for the trip, she'd debated the need for it considering the limited space in her bag.
Of course, she'd never anticipated sharing a room with another person.
She flicked on the bathroom's light and stopped cold. Her breath hitched as she took in the scene.
Her bra and panties were front and center, draped over the shower door like a flag of shame. Heat rushed to her face. She yanked her clothes off the shower door and tossed them into a heap, frantically thinking back to this morning.
She'd been distracted by the tub, then Noah had called for her and she'd left without hiding her unmentionables.
Claire slumped. Sometimes her look-it's-a-squirrel brain didn't do her any favors.
Thank goodness Noah was still downstairs.
She'd have died of embarrassment if he'd seen her underwear in all its glory.
She shook off the mishap, resolving to pay better attention and flipped on the water in the shower.
A few minutes later, the hot water sluicing down her back washed the stress away.
Between the emergency landing, the drowned-rat hairdo, and the near-miss underwear reveal, today had every reason to be awful. But somehow, it'd been okay.
"Man, that was the best breakfast I've eaten in a long time. I wasn't sure what to expect when Mrs. Ferguson said we were having drop scones. But they're sweeter than pancakes. You think she'd share the recipe?" Claire asked.
Noah watched the sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs to their suite. "You should ask. My mum's always delighted when someone asks for her recipes. She takes it as a great compliment." He forced his gaze away from her shapely bottom.
Inside the suite, he grabbed his laptop and sprawled on the settee. It was Monday morning. The rest of the team was in Norway and, while he and Claire couldn't help much with that problem, they could get ahead on some of their other project tasks.
"We need to do further testing on the site code load from last week.
I have couple of other reports I want to run, but I'm thinking we could use your coding skills to pull data in areas where we don't have reports set up, just to make sure everything is flowing through correctly. Does that work for you?" he asked.
"Sounds good. Do you mind if I take the desk?"
"No worries."
Noah pulled out his handy travel speaker and connected it to his phone. He chose his favorite playlist and set it to a working volume, while Claire organized herself at the desk.
"Are you always so fastidious when arranging your workspace?" he teased. Her office in Houston was always neat, and he now knew from traveling with her that her tidiness was a personal trait.
He watched her tie her hair back, the female equivalent of rolling up his sleeves before getting to work.
"Um, yes. How about you? Do you always work like that? Half-reclining with your laptop precariously balanced, ready to tip over with any sudden movement? Aren't you afraid of dropping it?" She grinned at him. "Also, what is this techno bop music we're listening to?"
He tossed one of the small throw pillows at her. "Hey, no trashing the music. Just because it doesn't have the country twang you Southern belles like."
They teased each other back and forth as they steadily worked away, occasionally interrupting the other to ask a question or confirm a process. They'd just finished their last test run when Mrs. Ferguson rang them for lunch.
Claire raised her hands overhead and stretched, her spine giving a satisfying crack. She leaned back in the desk chair, letting her gaze drift toward the fireplace as she mentally replayed the day.
She and Noah had spent a pleasant morning working in their shared sitting room. The camaraderie had been easy, the teasing light and familiar. His sharp comebacks during their banter reminded her of hanging out with Lucinda. Except… different.
Later, several of the other guests had joined them for lunch, swapping stories from their travels.
Claire had soaked it all in, fascinated by the different cultures and experiences.
When she'd asked Mrs. Ferguson for the pancake recipe from breakfast, the woman practically beamed and gave her a full tour of the kitchen.
Even with the language barrier, Claire had enjoyed herself immensely.
A loud gust buffeted the windows, pulling her back to the present. Something clattered outside, and she glanced at the clock on her laptop. The battery was still holding strong, but the time made her sit up straight.
"Oh, shoot!"