Page 42 of Single Dad's Christmas Cookie

“Nova!” I yelled as I yanked open the car door.

“Bryan,” she cried and fell into my arms.

“Are you okay? What happened?” I ran my hands over her hair and over her arms and shoulders. “I’ve been calling you. We’re so worried.” I clutched her to my chest.

“Stupid deer.” Nova’s teeth were chattering together. She was wrapped up under a tattered quilt. “My phone battery died. I didn’t think I could walk. It’s too far, and these boots suck at keeping the cold out. I hoped somebody would drive this way,” she said through gasps of stuttered talking. She sounded as if she wanted to cry but was entirely too cold for any other emotion to take hold.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“Come on, let’s get you warm.” I lifted her out of the car and carried her to the warmth of the SUV. I yanked open the passenger door and set her inside.

“The groceries,” she called out as I started to run to my side of the car. “They’re in the trunk.”

I let out a heavy breath of air. If she could tell me what to do, she was going to be fine. It took me a few trips to move the bags of groceries from the trunk of her car into the back of mine.

“Should we call a tow truck? My phone died as I was about to call for roadside assistance.”

“Not for a couple of days. Not until after the snow clears up, at the very least. They have to help people in bigger trouble.”

“But my car,” Nova said as I started to pull away.

“Your car isn’t going anywhere, and we need to get you home and warmed up. I can’t believe you’ve been out here all this time.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted.

“Next time, you’re going to make sure you have a car charger and an extra battery for your phone.”

“I have those, but I left them at my apartment. Next time, I’m not driving when it’s snowing like this. That sounds like a better plan.”

“That is also not a bad idea,” I agreed.

She held her hands out to the vents and rubbed her fingers to get warm. It looked like the gloves I got her for a Christmas gift were needed.

“When we get back, I’m making a giant mug of hot chocolate,” she said.

“When I get you home, you are getting wrapped up in blankets and put in front of a fire. I’ll make the hot chocolate. How are your toes?”

“Cold,” she said.

“Can you feel them? Wiggle your toes.”

“They are cold and wet,” she admitted. She reached down.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking my boots off. I told you they are crap at keeping my feet warm and dry. I want to put my feet in front of the heater.”

I grunted. She was cold. She deserved a chance at warming up. “You’ll have to put them back on once we get to the house.”

“Yuck, cold, wet socks.” She let out a sigh. “I’ll leave them on for now.”

She twisted and reached back for Amelia in the back seat. “Thank you for coming to get me. Did you do anything fun while I was stuck in the car?”

“Your French fries are probably cold,” Amelia said.

“You got me French fries? And I missed it?”

“We got lunch at the drive-thru,” Amelia said. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but you weren’t at home.”

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