Page 46 of His One True Wish

“For what?” I whispered, afraid he could read my mind.

“For linner. It’s not lunch and it’s not dinner. It's hard to know what time it is anymore.” He placed another gorgeous omelet on the table in front of me. The eggs were buttery and fluffy, and none of the filling spilled out.

“You are a master omelet-maker,” I said, picking up a fork.

He sat down beside me to eat, a whiskey neat before him. “In the Air Force, I was stationed in Afghanistan.”

I took a bite, not wanting to interrupt.

“It was very cold, and there was a lot of downtime between missions.”

“What type of missions?”

He squinted as if the memory hurt.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I brought it up.” He exhaled. “The type of missions where the bad guys die. Hard missions.”

“I see.” I nodded. I didn’t see. I’d never been in a situation where the stakes were that high. Life or death was a whole other level, and Axl clearly lived it.

“In the downtime, I practiced cooking. I got sick of eating mush and shitty stir-fry, so I started making stuff. And omelets were the easiest thing to make. We always had eggs and the fillings can change. So, they are kind of my thing.”

“It’s delicious,” I said, taking a bite. “My mother used to have a catering business. She probably would have hired you.”

“Nah,” he said. “I only do omelets, but I do them beautifully.”

I raised my shot glass. “To whiskey and omelets on a winter’s day.”

Axl got up from the table and brought the whiskey bottle in from the great room. He raised the bottle in a silent offer.

“Please,” I said, pushing my cup toward him. “Are you trying to get me tipsy, Axl? Hoping I’ll get sloppy?”

“Hoping?” He winked and poured me a shot of whiskey. The air crackled between us. Was it the whiskey? Was it his glorious arms and mischievous smile? Was it the forced proximity and the feeling we were the only people in the world?

We sipped our drinks and nibbled on our omelets as we watched the snow fall outside.

“It feels like we are in a snowglobe,” I said, breaking the silence.

“A what?” Axl said.

“You know, a snowglobe? Round glass full of water and falling snow.”

He nodded. “I was thinking something along the same lines earlier.”

“Right,” I said. “A snowglobe with just this cabin inside, and we can’t really tell what time it is, and we don’t know when we’ll get out.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, dotting his mouth with a paper towel. “Time is getting weird for me, too. It does when you’re trapped.”

“Trapped.” I pretended to shiver.

“Have you ever heard of cabin fever?” Axl asked.

“Well, I have, but I think I’m beginning to really get it. I feel restless and jumpy.”

“That’s how it starts,” he said, teasing. “After that, you might get sleepy.”

“I might be sleepy because I’m a teensy bit drunk and I think it’s late.” I squinted and looked outside. “Is it late?”

---