Page 10 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

He would rather never ponder that again.

“I do not dostuck.”

“Well, maybe not, but that does seem to be the situation. Stuck.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

He went to the front door, and opened it. And saw that outside was nothing but white. It wasn’t just that there was snow on the ground, it was falling thick and hard all around them, and the air was misty.

It was a total whiteout. He turned around to face her. “What do you normally do in a situation like this?”

“Normally?” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, normally, I plow my way out. But the problem is that there is no normal right now, because my snowplow won’t start.”

“Your snowplow won’t start?”

“No—” She heaved back again, and wrenched forward with a giant sneeze. “No,” she said. “My snowplow won’t work. I’ve never had that happen before, I’m not a mechanic.”

“How long do you think this will be?”

“I don’t know. This is going to be part of the reality if you are buying property up here. If you really think that this is going to be where your big, sleek luxury resort is.”

“I was easily able to lure your guests from here to my place.”

“For free,” she said. “And when you told them this place was a mess.”

“This place is a mess. How long do you suppose it will be until you actually find yourself with some sort of insurmountable plumbing issue.”

“I won’t. Because it’s actually in a better state than that.”

A timer went off in the other room.

“Hang on.”

She went through the door, and he followed her. There was a kitchen, large and clean, more modern than the rest of the house, updated he thought, to comply with code. So there was that. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, since this place would not remain standing once he purchased this plot of land, but... Good for him now. Because otherwise he would starve.

She leaned down, and opened up the oven, covering her hand with a cloth, and taking out a sheet with cookies on it.

“What is that?”

“It’s... Breakfast. Of a variety. I was trying to get something on the table as quickly as possible. Since I was out fiddling with the snowplow for so long.”

“Did you make the dough this morning?”

“No,” she said.

“I don’t eat leftovers.”

“You don’t... You don’t eat leftovers?”

He shook his head. “No.”

He wouldn’t explain himself to her. He didn’t have to do that. That was what he chose to do with his money. He chose to make himself into an island. He chose to craft his surroundings into something that worked for him, and he did not have to explain it.

“I don’t know that I have... All that much here.”

He went to the fridge and opened it, and took out a carton of eggs.

“This will suffice.”

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