Page 62 of Snowed In

“They have to,” I insist. “I need to get to the resort.”

“You’re not going anywhere. The roads aren’t going to be passable in another hour, and it could be days before they’re cleared again.”

“Days?” I shake my head and then clasp my forehead at the woozy feeling the sharp movement causes. “No, that’s… I can’t wait that long. My boss is going to kill me.”

“Could even be a week with the holiday,” he says, ignoring my panic.

“A week?” My half-assed plans of trying to convince the client to either come early or postpone until after Christmas so I can make it to my parents’ evaporates. “You’re saying I’m stuck here until after Christmas, possibly?”

“Maybe. You don’t have to like it, but that’s the reality.”

Considering he’s gone out of his way to save my life, he’s notexactly the most welcoming of hosts. Maybe he’s wrong though. Maybe the storm will pass through and not dump as much snow as he thinks, and I’ll be able to get my car and get to the resort tomorrow, salvaging my job and maybe my holiday.

Trying to finish the trek in the dark doesn’t seem smart though. I’ll wait until morning, thank him for giving me shelter, and then see if I can make it.

I glance around the cabin once more, finally taking note of the lack of decorations. “You don’t decorate for the holidays?”

My place looks like an elf vomited inside it. Mom always goes balls to the walls, and I’ve loved it my whole life, so when I got my own place, I took up the tradition of filling my spaces with as much Christmas cheer as possible.

He scowls at me, slicing the sandwiches in half. Based on the look, I’d say he considers that to be about the dumbest question anyone’s ever asked him. “I don’t do holidays.”

I squint at this big bear of man, my head cocked to the side. What did that even mean? Holidays happen whether you celebrate them or not, so why not add a little joy to your life?

“You don’t celebrate Christmas at all?” I clarify, pushing the warm quilt off and carefully climbing out of the man’s bed.

“No.”

“Are you Jewish or something?”

Another look that questions my sanity. “No.”

After the news he just gave me about the tow, I’d honestly rather stay huddled beneath the covers until the storm passes and the roads clear. Missing my family’s annual party has my heart breaking, but getting stuck in this minuscule cabin on the side of the mountain with this grumpy—albeit hot—recluse and not getting to celebrate at all?

That’s going to push me over my limits.

I’ve had a hell of a day, and I’m this close to throwing up my hands and running back out into the blizzard screaming, never to be heard from again.

Even if he is a Scrooge, he wouldn’t want that on his conscience.

I’m almost sure.

“Christmas has always been my favorite holiday,” I say, figuring if we’re stuck together, we can at least get to know one another. “My family always has a big Christmas Eve party that all of our extended family comes for. It’s like a family reunion every year but with gifts and decorations. It’s really nice,” I finish wistfully, my eyes prickling as I think about missing it this year.

He grunts, grabbing both plates and frowning when he sees me standing a couple of feet from his bed. “You need to rest. You might have a concussion.”

I don’t know what the symptoms of a concussion are, but he might be right based on the whole losing consciousness thing and lingering headache. “No, I need to figure out how to get to the resort.”

He sighs and sets the sandwiches on the small table that separates his kitchen area from the tiny living room. “It’s not happening. Now, sit down before you fall down.”

I let out a slow breath and collapse into one of the chairs. “This is a disaster,” I say softly, poking at the sandwich in front of me. “I’m so going to get fired.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, simply sits down and digs into his own meal. We eat in silence. The cat, Carla, hops down off the bed and onto the table next to my rescuer, and he carefully tears off a piece of meat from his sandwich and offers it to her. I watch, a little incredulous, as this giant man gently feeds and then scratches the head of his cat.

“What happened to her eye?” I ask after we both finish eating.

He scratches under her chin. “I don’t know. Vet says probably a fight.”

I nod, not sure what to say to that. Not sure what to do in this moment. It feels surreal, and I wonder if part of that is due to the lingering head trauma.

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