Page 46 of Stuck with Me

ME

I mean I was gonna say the Moretti men have some huge dicks. But yeah, the cowboy aspect isn’t bad either.

Being a café owner when there’s a power outage and you’re not in town makes it tricky. I send a few texts and emails to be sure our dairy and baked goods don’t get delivered until after the power comes back on.

Since the Brew Box is only a few businesses down from The Pines Bar and Grill, I also send a quick text to Jones and ask him to check on the café again and assure there’s no frozen pipes or anything. The last thing I need to worry about right now is my business when the fate of the cabin could be in jeopardy.

* * *

For over an hour,Nico and I shovel snow until we uncover the buried firepit. Instead of freezing outside in the frigid air, the exertion has my body heated. Sweaty even. It also makes for a good distraction from thinking about Nico and how much I want to screw him again.

Except we aren’t talking much. And there’s no wind today. It’s quiet and peaceful. There’s only the sound of the snow crunching underneath our boots.

While I use a lighter to light the newspaper and dry kindling, Nico hauls a stack of firewood from the cabin’s porch. He doesn’t say anything when the fire roars to life and it catches the wood. But when I glance over my shoulder, his expression tells me he’s impressed. What did he expect? That I wouldn’t know how to make a fire? Or that I couldn’t do it, especially in the snow? I’ve watched my fair share of Man vs. Wild. Bear Grylls would be proud.

“I’m gonna get the percolator ready. Mind grabbing the grate that’s leaned against the side of the cabin near the porch swing?” I ask him.

He gives me that charming, crooked smile. “Sure thing.”

I go back into the cabin and set up the percolator with water and coffee grounds. It’s been a few years since I’ve used it. Gigi loved the taste of percolated coffee. She’d bring it out once in a while and get all nostalgic. Talk about simpler times. Share stories about her and Cammie’s grandma, Nettie, and their teenage years. Not once did she talk about Nico’s grandfather. I don’t know if that makes me more angry or sad.

The thought of Gigi makes my chest hurt. I snatch a bottle of Irish Whiskey out of the cupboard along with two Christmasy mugs on my way back outside.

Nico has already set the grate over the fire pit. The flames are too high to put the percolator on it yet.

I wave the bottle in the air. “Guess we’ll have to drink the whiskey while we wait.”

“You want me to bring out some blankets?” Nico offers.

He’s being too nice for how mean I’ve been. Snapping at him was unnecessary. So was not making enough coffee to begin with this morning. But I’m mad he’s here. I’m mad at thereasonof why he’s here. I’m mad at Gigi for keeping secrets from me.

None of these things are his fault, I know. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.

“There’s some outdoor blankets in a crate just inside to the left of the door.”

He nods and heads toward the cabin while I shovel the snow off the wooden bench so we can sit.

“Here,” Nico says, handing me the end of a blanket.

I help him stretch it out and lay it on the bench before taking a seat.

“Are you gonna pitch a hissy fit if I sit next to you?”

I scoff. “No. As long as you remember, this truce is temporary.”

“Understood.”

He sits next to me, and I toss a blanket over our laps. I unscrew the cap of the whiskey and pour some into the mugs.

After I hand him one, he holds it up. “Cheers?”

I roll my eyes at him but clink my tin mug against his. “Cheers.”

The whiskey burns as it slides down my throat. But it’s a welcomed contrast to the cold traveling through my fingers and toes. The towering trees are draped in heavy snow and it’s white across the terrain as far as my eyes can see.

We’re quiet again. Both of us mesmerized by the flickering flames coming from the fire. It’s a strange feeling. To be here with the last person you’d ever expect and still be glad to not be alone. I thought December 25thwould be hard, but turns out December 26this also a real bitch.

I break our unspoken vow of silence and ask the question that’s been itching for me to know the answer to. “What happened last night?”

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