Page 72 of Conrad

“At least we won’t freeze to death.” He walked inside a small entry and tried the lights.

They worked, and he guessed the place had some heat that ran year-round to keep the pipes from bursting. As they walked into a great room, the temperature seemed a balmy mid-fifties. A river-stone fireplace rose against one wall, with a worn coffee-leather sofa facing a wooden table. An overstuffed chair faced the sofa, anchored by a round braided carpet.

A round oak table held four chairs, and a small U-shaped kitchen with stools at the counter anchored the far wall.

Like God had planned it, firewood and kindling lay stacked in a wood hoop near the fireplace.Okay, thank You.

“I’ll see if they have a telephone,” Penelope said.

“My guess is no, but have at it.” He went to the fireplace and opened the flue. Then he laid the logs in a log-cabin pattern, kindling and paper shoved inside, and lit it. The flame popped to life and started to crackle.

Penelope returned carrying a couple comforters. “No phone, but two bedrooms—one on the main floor, and there’s another upstairs in the loft.” Dropping the bedding on the sofa, she headed to the kitchen. “We should have brought the leftover sandwiches.”

He picked up a blanket, draped it around himself, felt warmth finding his bones. “Right?”

She had found something, and he heard the clanking of dishes. He went to the counter. “What are you making?”

“Oh, it’s totally gourmet.” She had opened a bag of?—

“Are those saltines?”

“Absolutely. And”—she reached into the cupboard—“peanut butter.”

“Wow, protein!”

“I even found gummy worms. Still packaged, and I checked the date. All good. And . . . for the finale”—she pulled out a box from behind her back—“unopened Christmas Crunch cereal!”

She had pulled out a large bowl and now dumped the entire contents inside. “It’s a party.”

Oh, he liked her. He really, really liked her. And as she stood there, grinning, he just . . .

Yeah, he was in big trouble. Because his brain kept shouting,Slow your roll there, sport.

But his heart—his stupid, impulsive, get-him-into-trouble heart—said,Let’s go.

She carried the bowl of Christmas Crunch to the coffee table, along with the gummy worms, and sat on the sofa. He grabbed the saltines and peanut butter and a couple spoons and brought them over, took the chair.

“It’s like an after-school snack.”

“Right? Except . . . I’m not sure what an after-school snack is?—”

“It’s the snack your mom has out when you come home from school. You know, like frosted graham crackers or peanut butter apples or even Rice Krispies bars?”

“You lived a different life than me. First, I went to a private all-day school and we got meals. And second, my so-called snack was takeout that our driver bought us.”

“Oh.”

She had donned the blanket, something suddenly wan and broken in her expression.

“Penny?”

“Thank you, Conrad. I . . . I would still be out there freezing to death if you hadn’t . . .” She looked at him. “You’re a nicer guy than I deserve.”

He frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“Iknowso. I mean . . . you sort of got roped into all of this, and now you’re eating saltines with me in a cabin that we broke into.”

Roped into . . . oh, right, EmPowerPlay.

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