Page 49 of Blindly Yours

Nate passes me a green plaid scarf from the closet. “Put this on. It’s only a ten-minute walk, but I don’t want to listen to your complaining.”

I glare at him while I pull on the boots, and then I wrap the scarf around my neck. It smells like cinnamon, and I’m instantly reminded of being pressed into his chest this morning. I inhale deeply.

Outside, we crunch our way through the snow. The top layer crystalized in the sun today, so we’re able to walk on top of it most of the way. It even holds Nate’s weight.

The sky is clear now, and a million tiny stars are starting to dot the deep evening blue. It’s quiet, apart from Kara’s commentary, and we pass seven or eight houses with smoke swirling from their chimneys before we arrive at a small brick building on a corner. Warm light pours from the windows and a blue and red neon sign flashes“Nelson’s Bar and Grill”on the exterior. Nate pulls open the door and loud music flows out into the street.

The moment we step inside, people are patting Nate on the shoulder or offering him a beer. There’s a bar on the left with football playing on a flat screen, a few tables and chairs are set up nearby, and a green pool table is lit by a stained glass pendant overhead. Kara sprints to the far corner where a few other children are playing board games at a card table.

Nate greets the few who have wandered over and steps aside to gesture to me. “This is Rose.”

There’s an elderly gentleman, a woman on his arm, and two younger men staring at me with inquisitive eyes. They probably don’t get strangers visiting very often. But there’s something else in their expression I’m trying and failing to read.

“She’s a client of mine,” Nate continues. “She got stranded in the snow last night, so she’s been staying with Kara and me until the roads clear.”

They all look at him. One of the younger men raises a brow.

“Rose, this is Rod Nelson.” Nate nods to the older man. “He owns the place. And this is his wife, Mary. And Chuck and Andrew. They all live in the area.”

“Hi,” I say quietly, giving an awkward wave.

Rod steps forward and outstretches his hand. “Glad to have you here, Rose. And glad you’re safe from the storm. We haven’t seen one quite like this in a few years.”

Mary shakes my hand too. She has kind eyes and wiry grey hair pulled into a bun. “You’re from the city?”

I nod. “Yes, I work for AWP.”

Her expression is blank.

“Astor Wealth Partners,” I clarify.

She still looks like she has no idea what I’m talking about when she glances at Nate. “Is that one of your bigger clients?”

He nods. “One of them, yes. Joe usually takes their calls, though.”

“Is he still up at the lake?” Rod asks.

“Yeah, he’s trying to get back tomorrow though,” Nate replies.

Mary wrings her hands. “Oh, I do hope he’s ok in the storm.”

“I gave him a call,” Nate confirms. “He’s doing just fine. They stocked up before the front rolled in.”

“Well, come in, come in,” Rod beckons us forward. “Take a load off. The burgers are just about ready.”

Nate clears his throat and glances at me. “You wanna sit? Watch the game?”

I shrug. I don’t particularly care about football, but I do like to people-watch, and there’s plenty of that in this small establishment. Beyond who I’ve met, there are about a dozen other adults here. A few are chatting at tables, and the others are engaged in a lively game of pool.

I slide onto a barstool next to Nate. “So, you guys do this every time there’s a storm?”

He takes a sip of his beer. “Any time there’s enough snow to have us all stuck at home, yeah.”

“And you know everyone here?”

“Yep.” He sets down his bottle. “You want anything to drink? I don’t think they have fine wine.”

I eye him with displeasure. “I’ll take a beer.”

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