Page 23 of Snowbound

I swallow hard, tears burning in the back of my eyes. “No,” I whisper.

“What’s that?”

“No…”

“Okay, well in that case, you’re fired. Bye.”

“Wait, no!” But before I can say anything else, Millie hangs up the phone and leaves me open-mouthed in the middle of Gabe’s living room. There’s no point in trying to call her back, in attempting to beg or grovel. I know she meant it.

Just like that, my life is in ruins.

CHAPTER13

GABE

It’s not that I’m trying to listen; it’s just hard not to when all I can hear is Carly trying to get a word in edgewise about her car and how hard she’s been trying to get to this meeting. I can only imagine the yelling-at she’s getting. It sounds like her clients are tough cookies.

It’s not something I would want to do. I find it hard enough to deal with customers in my job, and most of what I do is sit and listen to heavy metal and fix cars all day.

I try to focus on stirring the stew, but it really is tough not to hear the desperation coming through the wall.

Finally, it sounds like Carly stops speaking. I open the kitchen door a crack and lean out into the hallway. From inside the living room, I can hear sniffles. Definitely the sound of crying.

I’m not sure what to do next. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with anyone crying, even less a strange woman in my house.

It’s not something I’ve ever been prepared to deal with.

I dart back into the kitchen, not wanting to seem like I was spying on her if she came out. I wait awkwardly by the stove, stirring the stew, watching as it bubbles, but there’s no movement from the other room.

At a loss for ideas, I stare out of the window and frown. What am I meant to do now?

Is it weird to go to try and comfort a crying woman who is also a stranger, who is in your house, who you’ve been trying to make feel better all day?

I stare back into the stew and decide that if I hear nothing in the next five minutes, it’s best to serve up dinner and go from there. At least bringing her food isn’t trying to comfort her.

Pretty much anything I could say would be completely useless, wouldn’t it? I know this for a fact. I’ve never been the best at emotions, and it’s just gotten harder as I’ve gotten older and lost all my close friends.

Five minutes pass agonizingly slowly, and my heart sinks when I realize she’s not coming back to the kitchen.

What are you meant to do in your own house when someone’s upset?

Carefully, I go to the cupboard, grab two of my best bowls and start serving. For the first time in years, I’m glad that I have so much tableware.

I’ve hardly used any of it. I hardly ever have anyone over, and I live alone. But I’m not going to be serving Carly out of microwave tubs or leftover takeout boxes.

That would be really embarrassing.

Cautiously, I sneak up to the living room door and tap quietly on it. “Carly? Are you okay?”

A sniffly grunt comes from inside the room, and I take that as an affirmative. Slowly, I push open the door to see Carly swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. It seems pointless to me that she’s pretending not to be crying. It’s not like I’ve never seen her cry before. In fact, the very first time I met her, her eyes were puffy and red.

It has almost seemed strange today to see her as her normal self.

But even puffy-eyed, with no makeup, she’s still beautiful.

That thought makes me want to harden my heart against her even more. I can’t let her in. I can’t be weak.

She’s not staying.

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