Page 33 of Dreaming of Dawson

“She’s fine. Her car’s stuck, but she’s just fine.”

“That’s good.”

“It doesn’t solve your problem, though, does it?”

“No.”

“But at least you’re in town. Is there someone you could stay with for tonight?”

I can’t think of anyone. The only people I know, apart from Aunt Bernie, are Peony and Ryan… and Dawson.

I glance up at the bar. The lights are still on inside and although I doubt he’ll welcome me, I can’t see what choice I have.

“I’ll work something out,” I say into the phone. “Thanks for your help.”

“Take care,” she says, and we end the call.

I put my phone back in my pocket, and suck in a breath, hoping Dawson hasn’t locked the door… because I’m not sure he’ll hear me if I have to knock.

I try it, and luckily, it opens, and I step inside.

“What happened?” Dawson asks, putting down his glass and quickly hiding the vodka bottle under the bar.

“It snowed… a lot. Goodness knows how we didn’t notice it, but…”

“The windows are tinted,” he says, like explaining our lack of observation is the most important thing here. “At night, you can’t see anything outside, except lights. If it had snowed during the daytime, we’d have seen it.”

“I guess.”

He steps out from behind the bar and comes over, opening the door behind me, and we both look out.

“Fucking hell,” he says, and then glances down at me. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

He shrugs and I have to smile. “It hasn’t snowed like this for years,” he says, looking outside again. “And I guess it explains why it’s been so quiet tonight.”

“Yeah. It also explains why I’m still here.”

He turns again, frowning down at me. “Because you don’t like driving in snow?” he says.

“It doesn’t bother me, one way or the other, but the problem is, I don’t have a car, and the lady at the cab company has just told me it’s too dangerous to get someone out to me. She said the sheriff had to rescue a woman who drove her car into a ditch.”

“Brady will have loved that,” he says, shaking his head.

I can’t comment, never having met the man, and I’m about to explain when he closes the door and turns to face me properly.

“What do you mean, you don’t have a car?” he says, like that part of my explanation has only just filtered into his head.

“Exactly that. I don’t have a car.”

“Your aunt has one. Haven’t you been using that?”

“No. That’s her car. And in any case, it’s still being fixed.”

He frowns, then pushes his fingers back through his hair. “No. That’s not right. I remember Levi telling me it was only gonna take a couple of days. He said so. He was sitting right there.” It’s like he’s piecing the scene together in his head. He even points to the bar while he’s talking.

“That’s what he told Aunt Bernie, too. But he couldn’t get the parts he needed. They only came in over the weekend, and I’m supposed to collect the car tomorrow.”

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