Page 13 of Snowed In With the Snow Queen
There is a long pause. “I’ll be fine, Randy. It’s the babies’ first Christmas. Nolig doesn’t have a lot of time. I’m not going to intrude on the pack.”
I sigh and look around. The cabin has seen much better days. It’s old and rough and pretty ugly. I can’t imagine what it would look like through the eyes of Soojin. The only feminine opinion I’ve ever gotten of it is Zelda’s, and she hated this place long before Robert’s accident.
On the other hand, it’s clean and safe. The great room is relatively warm, and would maintain a steady temperature throughout the night when the temperatures drop. I’ll have to drag the mattress back into the bedroom and sleep there so shedoesn’t think I’m some creep, but she could have the couch. It would be a safe place to ride out the storm. Would she be offended if I invited her here?
Better question: Can I survive twenty-four hours in such close quarters with her and not lose my mind?
“Sorry to bug you, Randy,” she says. “I’ll let you go–”
“Wait. Would you consider staying out here with me and the cat in the cabin? It’s the least luxurious place you can imagine, but it’s warm by the fire.”
She says nothing for a moment. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Not at all.”
“Okay. Let me pack some things and–”
“The roads aren’t passable right now. I’ll have to come get you.”
“How are you going to get me if the roads aren’t passable?”
I can’t help but smile. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
Chapter Eleven
Soojin
I’ve never been so nervous in my life.
I just practically invited myself to spend the night at Randy Lamar’s cabin out in the middle of the woods.
His secluded cabin. Alone. Just me and him.
What is wrong with me?
I spend way too long in the freezing cold of my apartment trying to decide what to bring. Do I bring my “good” silk pajamas or the warm ones? (I go with the warm ones) Socks or slippers? (Both) Do I need a blanket? (No) Or a towel? (Yes)
Before I know it, I’m staring into space, holding a half-empty backpack because I’m so overwhelmed by my indecision.
This is stupid.
“It’s just Randy.” I mutter to myself. “He’s just being nice.”
We know how this is going to go. It doesn’t matter what I wear. Hell, I could walk around naked and he would probably just offer me a blanket to wrap up with. With that depressing thought rolling around my head, I shove a few more things into the bag and zip it up.
I don’t know where his ranch is, and honestly no clue how long it would take to get here by horse. Randy told me to expect him, at the earliest, in an hour. I check my watch. It’s been forty-five minutes since we got off the phone.
I hurry around my apartment, unplugging everything, opening all the cabinets, making sure the pipes are all covered, before I throw my phone charger in the bag–just in case the power comes back on–and head outside.
The normally busy road is completely dead and eerily silent. I’ve salted the steps multiple times, but I still take each step like an elderly woman, slowly and carefully, my hands tight on both rails as I make my way down. It’s only because I have to move at a snail’s pace that I even end up seeing the note.
On the second step from the bottom is a mangled square of yellow paper. It looks like it’s been torn or gnawed on a bit. I’m a sucker for the pig family that runs around, so it was probably one of them that got to it first. It’s stuck to the side of the stairs, so I have to wait until I’m at the bottom to reach for it.
The paper is dirty on one side, but on the back in smeared blue ink are the words:
like to take you to dinner
don’t have your number.
