Page 57 of Saved By the Boss

Still, I was loved for who I was and I didn’t have to try hard to fit in. I wasn’t an outsider there since I knew the culture and landscape.

I’ve picked up a few useful skills since moving here, but owning my own home is a different beast. This storm is already shaping up the be one of the worst since I moved here, and I don’t have the benefit of Ron as my landlord anymore. For our one big storm last year, he shuttered up the windows on my apartmentand did all the work winterizing the place. As the wind continues to whip dangerously around us, I realize that I’m in way over my head.

Not that I’m going to admit this to Declan, who’s carefully making his way around the rest of the house to make sure all the windows are latched properly. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I see a roll of weatherstrip in his hands, and I blush as I realize I must not have done it as well as I thought.

I’m halfway back to the truck when the first gust of truly strong wind hits, nearly knocking me off balance. The snow is falling harder now, the flakes coming down in thick, blinding waves. I hurry to grab another bundle of wood, my breath visible in the freezing air.

Declan appears beside me, his toolbox still in his hand.

“Storm’s moving in fast,” he says, his voice steady despite the wind. “We should get this done before it gets worse.”

I nod, following him back toward the cabin. The snow is already ankle-deep, and the sky is a swirling mass of gray. It’s almost beautiful, in a way, but there’s an edge to it that makes my stomach tighten.

We work quickly, the piles of wood on the porch growing steadily. Declan doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t need to. There’s something reassuring about his presence, the way he seems so calm and in control. I still don’t know how to trust strangers, how to believe that their acts of kindness are selfless and not serving some other agenda.

Yet Declan makes no move to hit on me. He speaks very little, and works efficiently, despite the increasingly worsening conditions. He seems to just be acting in a genuinely neighborlyway, not asking for anything in return.

It’s almost disappointing. Despite myself, I had gotten a little carried away with Tawny’s ideas of a snowed-in romance.

8

Declan

I’m halfway back to the cabin when my foot slides out from under me for what feels like the tenth time. The wood bundle I’m carrying tips awkwardly in my arms, nearly taking me down with it. Somehow, I manage to stay upright, but it’s a close call. The ice under the fresh layer of snow is slicker than I expected, and this driveway is turning into a death trap with every passing moment.

“Careful,” Jade calls from behind me, her voice laced with amusement. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see her taking a step forward and promptly losing her own balance. Her feet go out from under her, and she lands on her back with a muffled thud in the snow.

I can’t help it. I laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that comes from sheer exhaustion and the absurdity of the situation, the sound cutting through the howl of the wind. She glares up at me from the ground, her cheeks flushed, whether from embarrassment or the cold, I can’t tell.

“You okay?” I ask, setting down the wood bundle and taking a cautious step toward her. The last thing I need is to fall on top of her, but I can’t just leave her there.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, brushing snow off her gloves. She tries to sit up, but the icy ground sends her sliding a few inches farther downhill, and the laugh escapes me again before I can stop it.

“Here,” I say, holding out a hand. I’m half-expecting her to swat it away, but after a moment’s hesitation, she takes it. Her hand is small in mine, yet it somehow feels like it belongs. I try to focus on keeping my balance as I pull her to her feet.

The attempt is almost heroic. Almost. The second she’s upright, my boots lose their grip, and we both go down like a couple of dominoes. This time, I land on my side, my shoulder hitting the snow with a dull thud, and she falls halfway on top of me, her elbow jabbing me in the ribs.

“For the love of—” she starts, cutting herself off with a groan. “This driveway is a death trap.”

“No argument here,” I say, pushing myself up onto one elbow. She’s still sprawled beside me, her face scrunched up in frustration, and I can’t help but notice the way the snow has caught in her dark hair and eyelashes, the damp strands framing her face.

I look away quickly, focusing on brushing the snow off my coat.

“You good?” I ask almost breathlessly, forcing myself to find some composure.

“Yeah,” she says, sitting up with a sigh. “The snow is a pretty nice cushion. It’s just my pride that’s bruised.”

I offer her my hand again, more carefully this time, and she lets me help her up. This time, we both manage to stay on our feet, though I’m not entirely sure how. She wobbles slightly, her gloved hand gripping my arm for balance, and for a brief moment, we’re standing there, closer than we probably should be.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and dark, and I catch a flicker of something there, something that makes my chest tighten in a way I haven’t felt in years, not since Cassidy. The wind tugs at her hair, and the world around us feels muted, the storm a distant roar compared to the silence stretching between us.

And then I force myself to look away.

“Let’s get the rest of this wood inside,” I say gruffly, stepping back. “The storm’s not waiting for us to finish.”

“Right,” she says quickly, her voice a little higher than usual. She lets go of my arm, and I pretend I don’t notice the lingering pressure from where her hand was.

We fall into an awkward rhythm after that, both of us hyper-focused on the task at hand. The snow is coming down harder now, the flakes thick and wet, turning to sleet as the wind picks up. It’s nearly impossible to keep our footing, and we slip and slide our way through the rest of the unloading process like a couple of clumsy ice skaters.

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