Page 18 of Snowbound

“Um… sometimes. I try to be a vegetarian as much as possible, but bacon is a weakness.”

Sometimes I lie to clients and tell them I’m totally vegetarian, especially if they are themselves. I do usually pick plant-based options when I can, but sometimes I can’t resist a good burger or some crispy bacon.

Gabe grunts again. “Well, I was going to fry up some. If you want any, it’s all yours.”

“We have no power.” I frown, unable to figure out how that’s going to work.

The look he gives me is withering. “This baby runs on gas. All I need here is a box of matches. And look what I got prepared earlier.” From his pocket, he fishes out a box of matches.

He stalks over to the stove and lights it up. The gas hisses up and bursts into flames, and I feel like I’m in some sort of small-town TV show. You know the type: one where you’re surrounded by people who have been born and lived in this town forever and will until they die, who can’t let go of their country ways even if it kills them.

Except in TV shows like that, the small-town people usually come to embrace a few modern indulgences. I don’t think I could persuade Gabe of the joys of an automatic coffee machine even if I tried.

As he places a tea kettle on one of the burners, I ask, “Do you have Wi-Fi here?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “This might be a small town, but it’s not the early eighteen hundreds. Of course I have Wi-Fi.”

“Sorry for asking,” I mutter.

He ignores my snarky reply. “I’ll give you the password, but you won’t be able to use it.”

“Why not?”

“Power cut. No power. No internet.”

“Right…” I say quietly, staring at the floor to avoid looking at him.

“Go on. Eat up,” he says, gesturing to the cereal. “You’ve got to make room for all this bacon.”

I watch as he lays out rows and rows of meat, far more than both of us are going to be able to eat. But I’m not worried about not being able to put it in the fridge, at least. He’s using the natural freezer of the outside world to keep stuff cool, and I highly doubt the world is going to warm up here quickly enough to make all Gabe’s food go bad.

He cooks in silence, and I let my eyes wander around the kitchen, trying to get any sense of who he is and where he came from. He hardly has any photos on the walls, and everything is arranged in tidy perfection. He’s clearly a man who takes pride in his living space. It’s all ordered but not very personal.

As casually as I can, I wander over to one of the only pictures he has on the wall. A military airplane sits in the background with a squad of men and women in front of it in military uniforms and smiles on their faces.

Feeling brave, I turn to him. “You were in the military?” He glances over and scowls at me.

“Yes, I was. I had a good squad. They were good people.”

I want to ask him more about it, but as I lean close to the picture and see his smiling eyes staring back out at me, I lose my nerve. It’s starting to make more sense why he’s this way, though. He has the stature of someone from the military. The sharp way with words, the haunted look in his eyes. He’s younger in the picture, and I wonder how long he served.

There’s no date.

If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a few years older than my thirty. He must have been in his twenties when this was taken.

I’m curious about his life, but I don’t think he’d take well to me being nosy, so I swallow all my questions and sit at the table instead.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Gabe produces two white mugs from the cabinet. He scoops some instant coffee into each of them, followed by the boiling water. He turns to look at me again. “Milk?” he asks.

“Please.”

He brings the mug over and places it in front of me, and a few moments later, I get a plate with my second breakfast. I thank him, and he says nothing.

We eat in silence and all the questions I’m learning to ask him bubble up in my mouth, but I bite my tongue. I’ve already done enough to annoy him in the last twenty-four hours. I don’t need him to be any grumpier with me than he already is.

But the silence is killing me.

“Thank you for getting my stuff, by the way,” I say, remembering my suitcase upstairs. “Didn’t you have work today?”

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