Page 24 of Snowbound

“I brought dinner,” I say, holding out the bowls. “You want some?”

“Please.” She nods, sniffing hard and straightening her shoulders.

I stride over to her and hold up the bowl. She takes it with a thankful nod and places it on her lap. I put my own bowl out on the side table and grab the tray that lives underneath it. I offer it to Carly and she takes it, clearly thankful because the bowl is burning her thighs.

I should have thought that one through in advance, but in my defense, I wasn’t exactly prepared to host dinner today. And I definitely wasn’t prepared to host it with my guest being an emotional hot mess.

On a whim, I pick up the TV remote and press the on button a couple of times. Nothing. “Guess the power’s going to be out all night,” I say.

“Great.”

With a sigh, I throw another log on the fire, watching it crackle and flicker in the hearth. This will keep the house warm, at least. And staring at it means I don’t have to look at her.

“If you want an extra blanket,” I say as I turn slowly back around, “grab one off the back of the sofa. They’re warm.”

“Do you usually watch TV at night?” Carly asks out of nowhere, clearly trying to deflect the attention away from her own emotional disaster.

“I have cable. I mostly watch sports, or whatever’s on. But in emergency cases like this…” I scan along the mantel and smile when my eyes hit the portable radio. I haven’t used it in ages, but I haven’t lost power in ages. The last couple of times it did go out, I’ve just gone to bed to read, but it is good to have it for some background noise for those times when living alone is too silent.

Gently, I twist the knob, and the radio crackles to life. I have to tune it a little to find a station that’s managing to get through the snow, but eventually I land on country music and decide that that’s inoffensive enough. I turn back to Carly, and she nods approvingly.

“How’s the stew?” I ask as I cross back to the sofa, sitting next to her.

Usually, I would sit in my rocking chair, but I don’t need her to comment on how that makes me look like an old man. I’m already too aware of how much I act like I’m ancient.

“Hot,” she says. “But it smells great.”

“I make this all the time. It’s perfect for these winter nights when you can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything. All you’ve got is the fire and the sound of someone on their guitar. It’s perfect.”

“I love country music,” she says. “A lot of people think it’s just pop country like on the radio or that hard country of guys talking about their tractors, but it’s way more than that. I wish more people would realize it.”

I nod along with her. If I’m honest, I’ve never thought that hard about it. I don’t tend to care what other people think about anything. But I suppose she is right.

“So you’re a country fan?” I ask. She nods. “Who are some of your favorite singers?”

This lightens the mood again, and we get to chatting about our favorite singers, our favorite bands, and the favorite gigs we’ve ever been to see. It makes the time pass quickly, too quickly.

When I finally get up to clear our plates away, I realize I haven’t moved in at least two hours.

“If you want to go to your room, you can,” I tell Carly. “You don’t have to spend time with me.”

Just like earlier, her face falls. “If it’s okay,” she says hesitantly, “I’d rather stay down here with you. I don’t think I want the company of my own thoughts tonight. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I say, and she narrows her eyes a little at my positivity. If I’m honest, it surprised me too.

No. I don’t want to spend my time with her. That’s what I’m telling myself. I’m trying to deny that I want to keep seeing her, that it’s nice to have the company. I don’t. I don’t.

I keep lying to myself.

I dump the bowls in the sink, ignoring my usually meticulous washing-up plan, and rush back into the living room. I sit back down, and we chat about country music into the night in front of the fire, and we stay there until I close my eyes and, tired, don’t open them again.

CHAPTER14

CARLY

There’s a second where the tender embrace of sleep still grips me, and none of the things that happened to me yesterday have happened. There’s a second where the warm, comfortable glow I’m feeling is from nothing more than my own bed, my own pillow.

And then I realize it’s not my own bed or my own pillow.

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