Page 21 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

While in the kitchen, I grabbed a few snacks and water bottles from the pantry and cast a worried look at the fridge, where I expected my food was starting to spoil.

Or would it stay cold since my house was becoming colder? I shook my head. I had no idea. Perhaps I wasn’t cut out for being a homeowner.

I sighed, throwing the bags of chips and apples, along with the lantern, on the coffee table next to the couch. I was about to sink into the couch and pile on the blankets when I decided to check outside.

After moving the curtain aside, I gasped. The level of visibility was zero. Moving to the window closer to the front door, I gulped when the view confirmed it: these were whiteout conditions, and I was screwed.

I walked back over to the couch and flopped face down. Still chilled to the bone, I eventually rolled over and pulled the blankets around me, but it barely helped. I was still shaking—how long had I been shaking? At least I couldn’t see my breath yet.

Could it get that cold in here?

Panic rose within me yet again as I fought to keep my breath steady.

I should turn off the lantern. It wasn’t mine.

But I lay there frozen, though only figuratively … for now.

I thought about the inviting sights and sounds emanating from Peter’s house, presumably the living room where a fireplace lit and warmed the room and calmed my senses with the satisfying crackling of wood and ashes.

My shivering, tired body screamed at me to swallow my pride. Go to his house.

Why did I let him get under my skin so much? I’d dealt with condescending assholes before, and it barely fazed me. But just thinking about that face—which was somehow arrogant and smug without even showing any discernible expression—had my blood boiling again. Not enough to warm myself though, unfortunately.

I almost laughed at the direction of my thoughts. An introvert I was not—neither was I a disaster-preparedness expert. I was living my worst nightmare.

I bit down on my lips hard. I tasted a bit of blood, though the pain was absent. My lips were becoming numb.

Would going to Peter’s house and taking advantage of his questionable hospitality make things better or worse?

It was a lose-lose situation.

*****

When I knocked on Peter’s door, he opened it without a word or even a smug expression. He merely stood to the side to let me enter and remove my snow-covered outer clothes and boots. I handed him the lantern, not daring to meet his eyes.

My body was exhausted from another trek through the storm with even deeper snow and a heavy overnight bag on my back, so I was grateful he didn’t say a word. Maybe we could stay like this, just silently accommodating each other.

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”

So much for blissful silence.

But I pressed my lips together and just nodded. I’d have to put up with his terrible attitude until the power came back on. I could do this. I’d done harder things in life. I’d dealt with many awful people in my career, oftentimes internet trolls who hated the pro-woman, body-positive, self-love content I posted online, but occasionally I met haters in person too. I had thick skin.

He waved me toward the room I’d spotted down the front hall, with warm light emanating from the doorway. “Come along.”

We walked down the dim hallway on wood floors with a thick brown rug spanning the entire length of the hall. It felt soothing on my tired feet, and I wanted to stop and rest right here but kept plodding along slowly. Finally, we entered a moderate-sized sitting room. A massive fireplace dominated the opposite wall, flanked by tall bookshelves. Two dark green sofassat in the middle of the room, separated by a large oak coffee table. Stiff-backed chairs were arranged in a half-circle around a small, round glass table near the sizeable front window. And beneath our feet was a soft, richly woven rug that I suspected had a high price tag.

My body screamed at me to go sink into the couch nearest the fireplace and put my sore feet up. Instead, I merely dropped my bag on the floor and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He scratched his head, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time. “So, you’ll be wanting to rest, I imagine. Are you hungry?” He sounded as though it pained him to ask me a question.

“Not really, I raided the snack shelf in my pantry before I left. Fortunately, I had a variety pack of corn chips that I bought a few weeks ago. Otherwise, there wasn’t much left because …” Oh, crap, I couldn’t tell him that I’d nearly run out of food because I was holed up in my house avoiding him. And why was I explaining anyway? “No, not hungry.”

He nodded before pivoting on his heel and leaving the room.

I inhaled slowly, with an even slower exhale. He justleftwithout a word. This man was maddening.

Then again, this was probably the best-case scenario. Being left alone in this cozy room without having to deal with him was better than I could’ve hoped, actually. But I frowned after scanning the room and seeing no blankets or even pillows.

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