Page 41 of Bracing The Storm

And what did that kiss do to me that I literally cannot stop thinking about him? I also can’t stop wondering what he’s doing when he’s not around.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice when Sinead announces it’s closing time. She presses another goodie bag into my hands and ushers me out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Did I miss something?

I press my hand against the doorframe before she can slam it in my face. “Wait, did you say tomorrow night?”

“You didn’t pick up on it?” she asks in disbelief. “There hasn’t been talk of anything else for a week. Half the village’s gathering at the Four Bell’s for our local talent competition. Actually, it’s not really a competition. We have the same winner every year so people mostly come for the free ale, but—” She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s always great to catch up with people. You should come. The food’s really good, and did I mention the ale’s free?”

A social gathering?

I open my mouth to tell her I’m not a fan of those but stop when I remember Duncan mentioning something about wanting to take me to the local pub on Saturday. I completely forgot to cancel that and my good manners forbid me to do it a day before the actual date. But given that the Four Bells is the only pub in the area and Duncan’s date coincides with the talent show the whole thing doesn’t sound like a date at all. There’s going to be plenty of other people present, so it’s definitely not the romantic setting I feared he might go for after sending me the gifts.

Besides, a talent showdoessound like fun.

“I must have missed that,” I say. “That’s tomorrow? I’ll see you there.”

“Six p.m. sharp. Don’t bother to doll up. Most people will be too inebriated to notice,” Sinead says and closes the door in my face.

What feels like an eternity later, I’ve arrived home, kicked off my old pair of sneakers, and am ready for a nice, hot shower. After losing my job in Manhattan, I spent the last couple monthsworking for minimum wage in various food establishments, but my legs can’t take the exertion of climbing up that steep hill once a day.

I step out of my clothes, kicking them into a tiny heap near the bathroom door, and step into the luxurious walk-in shower, eager to let the cascading waterfall massage all my knots and pains away. It took me a few attempts to figure out the modern high-tech panel but now I know exactly what I want. I press the button to choose the temperature and switch on the faucet, lifting my head and closing my eyes in eager anticipation.

A torrent of ice-cold water pours down, drenching me from head to toe. It feels like I’ve just stepped out of a Swedish sauna right into the freezing cold of the Antarctic. I let out a startled yelp and jump a step back, but the showerhead covers the entire shower space so there’s nowhere to hide from the tiny icicles raining down on me. By the time I find the right button to switch it off, my body is covered in goosebumps.

I don’t even think about reaching for the towel to dry myself. I just jump out of the shower and onto the tiled floor, leaving huge puddles all over the place as I return to the bedroom and the first warm thing I can get my hands on. I grab the bedspread and wrap it around my shivering body, then sit down on the edge of the bed. Water’s dripping from my wet hair, soaking the bedding, but I don’t care.

Something’s wrong.

Pulling my legs to my chest to warm up, I peer around me to take in the room, scanning every surface to figure out what’s rung my alarm bells. As far as I can tell, everything’s as I left it—everything but the stack of wood arranged next to the open fireplace.

It’s not there.

That’s when I realize the room’s freezing cold. Is the heating not working? It sure was this morning when I stepped out of mycozy bed and spent half an hour sitting in front of the window relaxing and enjoying the view while checking in with Mia. Compared to this, it felt like I was in the Bahamas and the only thing lacking was a Bahama Mama with a little umbrella to top it up.

Did someone forget to pay the bill? Come to think of it, wouldn’t that someone be me? Maybe there’s a switch somewhere and it only needs to be pressed or flipped and everything’s going to be cozy again.

Heaving a sigh filled with regret at leaving behind the comfort of my bedspread, I squeeze back into my work clothes and make my way downstairs to check for anything resembling a mechanical room, which I expect to find somewhere in the basement or maybe the garage. Obviously, that’s something I should have done upon my arrival but I didn’t think I would stay long enough to need to familiarize myself with the heating system.

I make it to the first floor when I hear noises coming from the kitchen. Given that Patrick’s truck wasn’t in the driveway and I didn’t hear a car pulling up, I can’t rule out the possibility of a home invasion. My heartbeat picks up in speed and cold sweat begins to trickle down my back as my mind goes through all the steps I would take back home.

Call 911.

That isn’t an option; what with Patrick mentioning the only local man of the law being a regular at the Four Bells after working hours and hence not available to take calls.

Don’t play the hero; usually they’re the first person to find their untimely demise.

That sounds like great advice. But running isn’t an option either because I would have to pass the kitchen on the way out. I could climb out a window but I’m not keen on killing myself either. In the end, it all comes down to taking matters into myown hands. I may not be an expert in kickboxing but I sure know how to swing a bat. So I grab a hold of the first heavy item I can spy—a silver candleholder that weighs more than my oversized, overpacked handbag—and tiptoe down the hall.

The door’s ajar and the noises carrying over sound like someone’s frying something. Sure enough the smell of toasted cheese is wafting over.

Is the burglar making himself a sandwich?

I push the door open and step inside, my gaze instantly settling on Patrick who’s busy placing a toasted sandwich onto a plate garnished with more salad than I usually eat in a year.

“Want some?” He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides and holds out the plate when his gaze lowers to the candleholder. “Were you going to rob your own place? Let me save you the trouble. It’s not worth more than a pint down at the pub. Now, the lion head, on the other hand—” He winks, meaningfully.

My heart flips at the way his eyes twinkle. He’s so stunning, for an instant I forget to breathe.

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