Page 15 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

“Enough,” I said aloud.

My gaze slid over to the clock on another wall, and my eyes widened. I still had to pack! I quickly put the finishing touches on my makeup and then changed into one of my many “business travel” outfits. I wasn’t going on a plane, only driving my own car, but I could still look put together.

In an hour, I was leaving to drive to St. Paul for a meeting with my agent. So far, we’d only met virtually, but she wanted to introduce me to some important people and had even set up a meeting with the editor of a midsized publisher.

My lovely assistant, Roxy, had found a literary agent for me from the Franchersantz agency in the Twin Cities. Sofia Jackson had been looking to expand her nonfiction list, andwhen we met in a video call, we connected instantly. The vibe was natural, fun at times and serious at others, and Sofia was genuine, at times brutally honest, and always empathetic. My only experience with an agent was a few years ago when I published my one and only book with the help of my former agent, Sandy. She had been … fine. Not great, but she got the job done. She sold my idea to a decent-sized publisher, and we had decent sales. But Sofia was on another level. As a fellow woman of color, she was one of the most confident people I’d ever met, at least outwardly with her killer smile, and I loved that she’d been championing other POC in her work even years before it became the popular thing to do. But more than anything, I loved that she was direct with me. Always kind, but always honest. That’s what I needed more than anything, and I’d never really had that in my life.

I couldn’t wait to meet her in person.

After hastily packing a small suitcase, I scanned my fridge for a snack for the road. I sighed when I saw how empty it was. It was long past time I ventured out to the grocery store. I needed to stop putting my life on hold for some stupid jerk that happened to live next to me. We could be neighbors, and maybe I’d be cordial since we had mutual friends. I could manage that, surely. I’d do anything for my best friend, even be nice to the grump … or nice-ish.

I bit into the very last banana as I hauled my small suitcase and purse to the side door. My garage wasn’t attached, but it was just a few yards from my house. I thought wistfully of my idea to someday pay a contractor to build a four-seasons room to connect the house to the garage. I could pay for it with my huge royalty check from all the books I’d be writing.

I laughed wryly. I already knew being a writer likely wouldn’t pay many bills, but I had other business ideas to supplement my income, in addition to having saved acomfortable amount in the past few years. And writing books wouldn’t payanythingif I didn’t actually write them first.

I frowned while opening the wooden door and then the screen door, only to have it forcefully swing open and out of my grasp. In a split second, my face was covered in freezing, wet snow, and I instinctively reared back and closed the inside door.

What on earth! Since when was it snowing? I’d seen no signs of snow—not even a flurry—this morning while working at my window-adjacent desk. The sun had even made an appearance.

My mind raced as I went to grab a towel and dry off my face and hair. I moved the shades aside as I looked out my front window, my heart sinking at what I saw.

Nothing.

I couldn’t see a damn thing.

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself to stay calm. Freaking out wouldn’t fix this. I walked over to the foyer to switch on the outside lights, thinking I’d already turned them on earlier.

Oh. Ihadturned them on earlier. They just weren’t working.

I headed through the kitchen to the back door to look behind the curtain.

Thankfully, the back porch light had a switch just inside the door. After flipping the switch, I gasped. Even my large, covered porch was blanketed in snow drifts at least a foot high, with snow swirling around so fast and so high that I could barely even see the ceiling. The light fixture up there showed only a faint light through all the blowing snow. Beyond the porch, the view was cloudy white from what little I could see.

Letting the curtain fall back down, I leaned back against the pantry door.

Fu … dge. Fudge, fudge, fudge.

Because one of my other resolutions was to stop swearing.

But if there was ever a time for profanity, it was now.

I wouldn’t give in—don’t give in, don’t give in. Don’t break down. Don’t freak out.

Mmm, fudge—I could make some. Or maybe I could try making that chocolate and cream cheese lasagna I’d read about yesterday.

I was already tying my apron strings when I caught myself.Wow, Hazel, stress baking is one thing, but this is a crisis.

My mind went blank as my fingers itched to start gathering ingredients.

Think, Hazel. Think.

I forced myself to remove the apron and go sit at the dining table. I dug my phone out of my pocket as reality began to sink in. That was an all-outblizzardout there. How had I not known? I frowned, pressing the power button repeatedly on my phone before remembering I’d forgotten to charge it last night when I went to bed. It was dead.

I hurried to the bedroom to get my charger but paused to head over to the TV remote first. There was probably some local news and weather coverage I could get through my antenna. Then again, the antenna probably wouldn’t be working in this weather. I continued on my way to the bedroom and then froze abruptly.

I was plunged into darkness, accompanied by a quick whirring sound and errant beeps from devices gasping their last breath.

Remaining rooted to the spot, I placed my arm on the hallway wall to steady myself. The thick silence and heavy blackness threatened to suffocate me until I heard a faint ticking sound.

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