Page 43 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

How long had I ogled him? He must have watched me watching him. I took a deep breath and raised my chin, attempting a neutral, unaffected expression. “Whatever. I’ll go grab breakfast, and hopefully you’ll be done by then.”

He pressed his lips together. Was he trying not to laugh at me? I almost wished he would, so I could see his face transform—

No!

Stop thinking like that, Hazel.

You don’t like him, and he doesn’t like you. Period.

Before I could humiliate myself further, I darted out of the room and speed-walked to the kitchen.

While making a small salad, I’d almost convinced myself everything was fine—great, even, since I was going home. And then I remembered.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

And I couldn’t pass it off as not caring about the stupid holiday, because Peter overheard more than I cared to remember from that video call.

Ugh, it was a whole new level of awkwardness, and that wasbeforeI walked in on him wearing only a towel.

*****

Each hour that passed, my hopes deflated a bit more, and by dinnertime, I felt defeated. I’d be stuck here for another night, at least. With that in mind, I accepted Peter’s offer to cook and wandered down to the kitchen at the suggested time.

Laid out on the kitchen island was a buffet of muffins, salami, and nonperishable foods, and I felt the rumbling in my stomach as my eyes flew to his.

“Is this adequate?” he asked with a completely straight face.

I bit my lip, trying not to smile. “I’m still mad at you for the generator thing,” I said while pulling out the stool to sit. “But I’m not going to lie: this is a great way to start making amends.” I offered an overly sweet smile before grabbing a muffin.

Delicious chocolatey banana goodness exploded in my mouth. “What kind of muffins are these?”

He finished chewing a blueberry and replied, “Banana and chocolate.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, of course, but what kind? Like, what brand? They’re to die for, and I want to buy my own.”

“You won’t find them in a store.”

“Why—” I stopped, looking at him closely. He was avoiding my eyes. “Did youmakethese yourself?”

He nodded, popping two more blueberries in his mouth, and I tried not to stare at his lips.

“Wow. I thought I was the baking queen of Shipsvold, or at least this neighborhood.” I laughed. “I might have to give up my crown though. These are amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying them,” he said quietly.

We ate silently for a few minutes until I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. We seemed to have reached an uneasypeace now, and though I wasn’t eager to put that at risk, I’d had enough of the stifling silence of recent days to last me a lifetime.

“Tell me more about your heart condition.”

His gaze traveled from his plate to my face and then back down to his food. He stuffed another forkful of bran cereal in his mouth. Finally, he turned to me with his fork down. “What do you want to know?”

“Sorry if it sounds intrusive, but …” I paused, waving my hand around. “This whole situation is so bizarre; I figured the question isn’tthatout of bounds. After all, you’re not only my new neighbor but also a close friend of my best friend’s husband. Wow, that is a mouthful.”

His eyes flickered down for a moment and then returned to stare at me. “Ask whatever you want.”

“Well, what did the doctors say? How are you doing? How’d you know you had the condition?”

He took his time drinking from his water glass. “It became hard to ignore the palpitations, though I tried. Then one day I fainted, so I went to a cardiologist, who said I can manage the condition with some lifestyle changes. Relatively standard advice for heart health. Sleep more, exercise but not too hard, eat healthy, reduce stress, quit my job.”

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