Page 129 of Snowed In

It becomes apparent that I probably shouldn’t be here. Whatever Ronny had planned originally, he definitely didn’t need me for this—an evening of football, pizza, and beer with all of his five brothers and two of his nephews. From what little I’ve gathered, they invited themselves over after learning that his date had been canceled for the evening and now, I’m stuck living this.

It’s fine. At least he can’t say I didn’t honor my commitment. We’ll be totally even after this, and I can get on with my life, Ronny Carmichael-free.

The Carmichael brothers are, in fact, loud, but they do possess manners, offering me a seat on the couch. Ronny looks like he’s been shell-shocked, so I do my best to avoid eye contact. It’s strange, but he seems out of his element around his brothers who talk over him at every turn, while I always had the impression he was the overbearing type. He’s the calmest of all of them by far and, dare I say, refined after glancing around his digs.

His house is…tidy and elegantly masculine, with log walls and stone wainscoting. I’m trying hard to ignore how cabin-y it is. Sleeping bag flashbacks are the last thing I need right now.

The black leather couches and armchairs add a modern touch to the lodge feel of the space with all the wood furnishings like his coffee table, which…

No.

It can’t be.

The cushion next to me dips, but my eyes are glued to the coffee table legs, searching. It cannot be. It cannot. Except, I find the lettersG-Ccarved into the corner of one leg.Green Creations.

It’s one of mine.

Ronny has one of my tables?

“Hey, man. This cool?” Carm asks, holding out a beer in front of me.

“What? Oh. Y-yeah. Thanks.”

“Use a coaster,” he warns, leveling his index finger at me, “or his head will spin around likeThe Exorcist.” Dropping into the next chair, he tosses a wooden disc down on the table.

When it stops spinning, I immediately recognize the design. It’s one of the signature styles I use for the coasters I stock in my craft booth. He has my coffee tableandmy coasters?

“Some people are just civilized,” Ronny mutters, cheeks looking rosy.

Does he know these are mine? Iknewthe door looked familiar. He has one of my freaking doors too! Is Ronny my number one customer?

The brothers cheer at some play on the TV, so I try to look intrigued. This is so awkward and confusing. All I can picture is Ronny trolling around my craft booth. He can’t know. There’s no way he could know they’re mine.

Get a hold of yourself, Marshall. What are you hoping for? That Ronny secretly stalks you?

Something bumps the back of my shoulder. I suspect a rogue beer can was thrown, but I’m wrong. It’s Ronny’s arm, slinked over the back of the couch behind me.

“Can I get you anything?” he whispers, leaning in, and I swear his thumb just stroked my arm.

When our gazes connect, it hits me like a flash of lightning—he’s concerned about my comfort, like he’s checking to see if I’m okay with his brothers’ behavior. It’s evident in his worried expression. For some reason, it floods my entire body with warmth and relaxes all my nerves.

“No. I’m good. Thanks.”

Once again, I think I was wrong about him. He’s… all right. More than all right. Too bad we’ve had so many awkward moments and butted heads so many times or I might attempt to get some of those bizarre fantasies I’ve had to come true. Maybe we can be weird friends, where one of them secretly lusts after the other one. Because Ronny looks really good in sweatpants, surrounded by things I’ve carved.

By the time the game wraps up, I’ve just about gotten used to the arm that’s slung protectively around me and even the few laughs we’ve shared over his brothers’ antics. They prod us to come out with them for drinks, but Ronny adamantly declines. I can’t help but wonder if their smirks are an insinuation of what they think is to come between us after they leave. I have never been more keenly aware that their brother looks like he belongs on an athletic poster, while I more closely mirror a sweater model from the big-and-tall section of a discount catalog. Our compatibility label would read, ‘Not gonna happen.’

When Ronny herds them all to the door, I make myself busy cleaning up pizza boxes, plates, and beer cans. I know I’ll have to leave soon, but I don’t want to. What else was I wrong about?

“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” comes a soft voice from the doorway.

“It’s no problem.”

My stomach flutters when he rounds the couch to help. There’s no denying it anymore. I like Ronny. His unassuming air, the way he moves, his calm demeanor, and even his playful side. I like the hints of tenderness I’ve seen that chipped away the image I once had of him.

Now that we’re alone, however, and my stark honesty has hit me, I don’t know what to do. So, I babble. “I should head home. I hope that all went over okay with your brothers. I wasn’t sure how to act.”

Setting a pizza box down, he straightens up. “Be yourself. Always just be yourself.”

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