Chapter 7
Lauren
When I wake up, the sun is streaming in the large windows and the room is crisp, my nose cold. I’m a little stiff but not too bad considering I slept on the floor.
Unexpectedly, I’m not a frozen popsicle either.
I thought for sure I was going out like Jack on the Titanic, but I’m actually pretty cozy in our blanket bed.
Initially when the heat went off, it did feel like an adventure.
But then I started to contemplate life without my fingers and I got a little freaked out.
Dylan was a good port in a storm, though. He kept me distracted.
And dang, that nudge in my backside…the man is no slouch.
Speaking of…
A glance behind me shows Dylan is asleep, his lips parted on a soft snore.
Then I glance at the fireplace, realizing there are still a couple of logs burning, though the flames have died down to embers.
Dylan must have stayed up most of the night tending the fire.
Either he was worried we would freeze to death or he was worried I would worry and not get any rest. I decide I’m going to choose to believe he did it for me.
Because if he is that sweet of a guy with his fire-tending and his grandma’s scarf, then I really am in trouble. Dylan lives in Kentucky and I live in Nashville and I can’t do long-distance again. That was a disaster.
I’m sure it works for some people but it doesn’t for me. I want a guy who can meet me after work for a dinner date or hang out on Broadway listening to music on a Saturday night. Who is there when I roll over in bed and who I look at over my first steaming cup of coffee of the day.
I’m not opposed to snuggling up with Dylan this weekend but I can’t allow my heart to get involved in any way.
Save the emotion for the songwriting, I tell myself firmly, even as I go to extreme measures to ease out from under the blankets carefully so I don’t disturb Dylan.
Poor guy must be exhausted.
Once I’m out and standing up, I carefully add another log to the fire before creeping over to the windows to check on the snow situation.
It’s no longer coming down and the world is a still and sparkling blanket of white fluffy wonder.
It’s beautiful but there does seem to be a lot of it. The driveway is buried.
Plus, there seems to be a tree branch right where we need to drive.
But I’m optimistic that if it’s stopped, the road crews can get to work, and the power company is probably up a pole as we speak, working their electrical magic.
I retreat to my bedroom to use the bathroom and splash water on my face. Without the heat the water is ice cold.
“Ahh!” I say, jumping up and down from the shock of it. “Think of it as a health benefit, Lauren. People do this every day by choice.”
I’m reluctant to change my clothes because right now I’m pretty damn toasty in them. Only the tips of my fingers and my nose are actually cold so the idea of peeling off these warm layers sounds horrifying. I decide to be an outfit-repeater and just stay as I am for now.
I don’t need to impress Dylan. Though I do brush my hair and my teeth and swipe on deodorant. Okay, and use a tinted lip balm. And swipe on mascara. But that’s it.
Humming a melody, I roll my wrists and massage my fingers as I head back into the living room. I want to try a couple of notes before Dylan wakes up. My fingers are a little stiff but there’s no better way to warm them up than to play some chords.
Dylan is sitting up in front of the fire. He looks adorably disheveled, hair sticking up and expression blank. He’s so cute I don’t even mind that I won’t get to play.
“Good morning!” I say cheerfully, pulling out two bottles of water from the cooler Dylan brought. “Water?”
“You’re a morning person?” Dylan asks. “That figures.” He lays back down and pulls the blanket up to his chin. “If you don’t have a mug of hot coffee I don’t want it.”
I would love a cup of coffee too but I’m not going to die without it.
Dylan looks like he might die.
“There’s leftover hot chocolate if you want that.”
“You can’t call it hot chocolate anymore if it’s not hot. It’s just chocolate milk now.” He yawns. “Maybe. I need a minute. How are you not hungover, by the way? You said you don’t normally drink that much.”
“I never get hungover.” I sip my water and shrug. “I’m a physiological wonder, what can I say?”
Dylan gives me a wry smile. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” I sit down on the hearth to warm my back as I hand him a bottle of water. He does accept it but he doesn’t twist the cap off. He looks like he’s still half-asleep.
“I think you’re just a wonder,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine and giving me a very charming and very dirty smile.
It’s a little much, a little over the top, but who doesn’t love a compliment?
My heart skips a beat. Whether it’s from attraction to Dylan or the lack of calories, I can’t say. Well, I can say it but I don’t want to. I’m going to pretend that nothing is happening here.
“I think you need your coffee,” I say dryly. “Or more sleep. Or both.”
Dylan runs his hands through his hair. “Have you looked outside? What’s the verdict?”
“Snow has stopped falling but there’s enough on the ground that I’m a little worried we might be here until March.”
“At least we have our phones. We can call for a rescue mission if necessary. I’m starving. If I can’t have coffee, I at least need something to eat. What do we have?”
“Lots of crackers and trail mix. Snack cakes in the shape of Christmas trees. Snowmen marshmallows. Eggs we can’t cook.
Bacon we can’t cook. There is bagged salad that I bought in a moment of delusion that I might try and eat healthy to fuel my brain.
” I turn and put my palms in front of the fire to warm them.
“Feel free to eat it because I will save that until the bitter end when it’s either eat a bag of salad or you. ”
Dylan laughs. “That doesn’t sound very festive. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“It won’t. When push comes to shove I won’t be able to eat you or the salad,” I joke.
“I feel confident the power will come back on before difficult choices need to be made.”
Then as if Dylan has a direct line of communication with the higher power known literally as the power company, the kitchen light flicks on. We hear the hum of the furnace fire up and random beeping from various appliances and the TV.
For a second, we stare at each other, stunned.
Then Dylan leaps up and yells, “Brew the coffee!”
I stand up too, patting my pocket for my phone. “Give me your phone, I’ll charge it!”
“Fry an egg!” He tosses me his phone as he jogs to the kitchen.
I manage to catch his phone and I run to where we have a charger on the kitchen island.
Dylan is already scooping coffee grounds into the machine like a man possessed.
I check whose battery is lower and conclude at eighteen percent, mine has to be plugged in first. Dylan is at a respectable forty-two percent.
“We have to charge in turns,” I declare. “For safety. Mine for five minutes, then yours for five.”
In my socks, I slide over to the stove, reaching into a cabinet to grab a frying pan.
“Done,” Dylan says, punching the button to start the coffee brewing. He rushes past me to the fridge, grabbing the eggs and bacon.
By the time he’s back I have the pan warm and we’re tossing in butter and cracking eggs with the precision and coordination of a downtown restaurant. We add bacon to a second pan. As the food cooks, I finally breathe, giggling at the absurdity of it all.
“Are we forgetting anything?” I ask. “You know, for survival in case the power goes back out?”
“Reheat your chocolate milk back into hot chocolate? Put our blankets in the dryer to warm them up? Take a hot shower?” Dylan turns off the eggs. “Eggs are done at least. The bacon is struggling.”
“Geez. Survival is hard work. Even in a luxury chalet.”
“So much work.”
“Snow much trouble,” I manage to say with a straight face.
Dylan flips an egg and points the spatula at me. “That was a violation of roommate rule number three—no unauthorized puns.”
“We have roommate rules? What are one and two?” I ask as I make my way to the thermostat and nudge it up a couple of notches. It’s going to need the extra kick to get this house back to a temperature where I can exist without two shirts and two sweaters on.
“One: No thermostat adjusting.”
I make a face. “It’s just for now,” I promise, crossing my fingers behind my back.
“Two: No crossing your fingers behind your back when you make promises.”
That makes me laugh. “How did you know I was doing that?”
“Easy. I’ve been with you for twenty-four hours almost and you’ve never put both of your hands behind your back at the same time. It’s very…noticeable.” He makes a gesture to my chest with the spatula.
I think that’s a compliment. Or at the very least confirmation he’s noticed me. But I refuse to give up my stance.
“Dylan,” I say sternly.
“What? It’s true, I can’t help it! And you seem like the finger-crossing-kind-of-girl who doesn’t take rules all that seriously to begin with. You’re a loophole girl.”
“How dare you,” I show in faux outrage. “I’m at most a workaround kind of girl. Absolutely never a loophole girl.”
Dylan grins at me. “Good to know. And here I was worried I was attracted to a loophole girl.”
For some reason that flusters me. I never get flustered. It’s my golden rule. Speaking of rules…
“What is rule number four?” I demand.
“That whoever breaks rule number three must agree to a punishment.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. Well, I’m certain he’s not serious but how not serious is he? That’s the question.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I bite. “What is the punishment?”
The lights flicker. I forget all about being punished.
I actually jump. “Shit, is the power out again?”
“The lights are still on.” Dylan points to the stove. “Stove still on, see the coils?”
He’s not even being sarcastic. He’s clearly trying to be reassuring. I still feel instantly ridiculous. “Oh. Right. Good. Great. Lights on, lights off. Lights on. We’re good.” I walk out of the kitchen, my cheeks feeling unmistakably warm.
Dear God, am I blushing? I haven’t blushed since middle school.
I pet Buck on the antlers, needing to touch something.
“Hey,” Dylan says, moving up behind me. “You okay?”
I nod, my throat too tight to talk.
“Let go of the reindeer. It’s not a life jacket and we’re not lost at sea.”
Dylan turns me around, gently.
Easy for him to say.
I actually feel like I’m drowning in his green eyes.
I instantly have a whole verse in my head for my Christmas song and it involves being snowbound with a man who is trouble.
It’s very country.
It’s very accurate.
Especially when Dylan brushes my hair back, leans in, and kisses me.