Page 110 of Snowed In

“No, not now, in case you didn’t figure out that part yet.”

“Why would you do that?”

How is he still attractive even when his face is scrunched up in repulsion over my plan? I have a baby face that didn’t get the memo I’m thirty-one, and a layer of love handles around my middle that rarely gets the chance to be handled. Life is not fair.

“Trent,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

“Ah,” he coos. “The plot thickens.”

“Just like the fucking snow outside, huh? Ironic, isn’t it?” I retort, hugging the blanket tighter around me.

I take no joy in his snicker. That wasn’t supposed to be a joke.

He lets out a long sigh, likeI’mthe exasperating one. “Okay, easy killer. Who’s Trent? Ex-boyfriend, married your sister?”

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Ouch. He married your brother?”

“I’m an only child.”

“Thatactually explains a lot.”

My plans getting screwed up are one thing, getting psychoanalyzed by a guy who kissed the office secretary, then told her he‘owed her a baby’for getting him the job is entirely another. I don’t understand him. He’s surprisingly quiet at the shop, barely a peep to the other guys. It’s like he goes out of his way to push my buttons. I don’t know why he has it out for me, but I’m in no mood to find out today.

“It explains nothing.”

“Are you this touchy because of the truck getting stuck?”

“I’m not touchy. I’m just not in the mood to explain anything. Actually, I’m not in the mood to talk, period. Does your phone have a signal?”

He blinks at me as though that was too blunt. What does he expect?

“Uh, no. It hasn’t for most of the day.”

My point exactly. That should have been a red flag about the weather conditions earlier, the idiot.

“Well, until it does, I’d prefer to pass the time without chitchat.”

I can feel him studying me. I know I must sound like a diva, but I’m doing future me a favor, saving myself from more Ronny quips. He must get the hint, because he has no snappy comeback for once.

After the uncomfortable feeling of being haughty finally passes, I make as nonchalant a production of slipping out of my jeans as I can. It brings on another round of shivering when the air hits my bare legs before I can bundle back up in the itchy blanket.

I refuse to think that Ronny stoking the fire and tossing in pieces of leftover wood from our work today are for my benefit. Minnesota native or not, he must be cold too.

The sun sets with no reprieve from the howling wind outside nor the new onslaught of thundersnow and sleet. My phone is still useless, and the realization that we’re trapped here for the duration settles in.

Knees drawn up to my chest, I rest my chin against them and close my eyes. I don’t even care anymore that myholidatewith Henry should be happening right now. I just want to go home to my warm bed. With any luck, someone from Sal’s might realize we never returned and come looking for us. As my eyes droop, I vow to work extra hard on whittling bookends, coasters, and doors for my craft booth when this is over, so I can turn down any winter jobs that pop up, threatening to put me in proximity to Ronny Carmichael.

Chapter Three

“Get up. Your lips are turning purple.”

Ronny’s voice invading my restless sleep sounds concerned, but Ronny being concerned is not possible. Something squeezes my shoulder, shaking me, my head bobbing against my knees.

“Come on. The fire went out. Let’s move to the kitchen by the space heater while the generator’s still running.”

Blinking, I focus on the dim orange glow of the remains of charred logs in the fireplace. The meager bubble of heat they radiated is gone, and its absence becomes instantly apparent.

---