Page 39 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

His expression changed, morphing into the blank one I’d seen the first couple of days with him. “That’s right.”

My eyes flared wide. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I?”

I scoffed. “Uh, because you could’ve lent it to me to use atmyhouse instead of having me invade your space … why wouldn’t you tell me this?”

He sighed. “You weren’t invading anything.”

“Then why? Did you—do youhate me that much that you wouldn’t even lend it to me during emergency weather?”

“Hazel, let’s go back to the fireplace where it’s warmer. I’ll get us a hot drink, a snack—”

“I don’t want asnack, Peter. I’m not a child. I want answers. I want—” I stopped midsentence, unsure whether to continue.

Did I really want answers?

Maybe I didn’t.

“Never mind. Fine, let’s go inside. But I don’t want anything from the damn kitchen. I just want to go to bed.” I started striding past him, but he stopped me with a hand on my forearm.

“Hazel? It’s simple. I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snapped. His face changed then to one I hadn’t seen before. Almost like sadness or regret. “At least not right now. Please, I’m tired.”

He stared at me for a long time and then slowly let go of my arm. “OK. Let’s go back.”

Chapter 11

Iawoke the next morning with my feet half-numb from Randy sitting on them and my forehead cold, as I’d forgotten to put on my sleep cap last night. I groaned, trying to bury myself deeper under the blanket, but then stifled a cry when it hurt to turn my neck. Great, neck problems too. Just what I needed.

After pulling my sleep cap off, I tried to smooth out my hair when I heard him rustling around on the other couch. I wondered why he hadn’t just slept in his bedroom. I didn’t know a lot about generators, but I assumed you could allocate energy to some things but not others—being able to sleep in a decently warm bedroom seemed like a priority.

Maybe he liked torturing me with his nearness.

Though with any luck, he would never know of my conflicted feelings. Iprobablyjust imagined that moment last night anyway. There’s no waythatguy was about to kiss me. I just haven’t been myself lately, so my imagination was overactive.

I felt his eyes on me as I pulled the covers off fully and rose. Needing to get away, I dashed over to the front window, peeking behind the curtain. For the first time, the wind seemed to have settled down. And the beautiful, glittery white powder in every direction was a sight to see. I marveled at the beauty for amoment before frowning. Half the window was blocked by snow, and from what I could see, drifts were high in many places.

“I can’t even see the mailboxes out there.”

My body jolted as I spun around to face him. “Why are you always sneaking up on me?” I took several steps sideways, needing distance.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the window. “I didn’t realize I was. You scare easily.”

I scowled. “No, I don’t. Your house is just … creepy.”

His mouth curved into a deep frown. “Creepy? I thought it a rather nice old house, or else I wouldn’t have bought it.”

I felt a pang of remorse. “Well, maybe it’s nice when all the lights are on and the place is properly decorated. I wouldn’t know, as the place has been vacant since before I moved in.” Admittedly, I’d only lived here a few months, but he didn’t need to know that.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and I tried not to stare at his biceps. “Well, I can’t turn all the lights on. But I’m not sure what you mean about decorating.”

“There’s almost nothing on the walls. Hardly any framed photos, paintings, or anything else you’d expect to see in a big house.” I paused. “I mean, I know you just moved here, but everything else seems to be unpacked and fully furnished.” To be fair, I hadn’t even seen most of the house; maybe he did all his best decorating in the other rooms I hadn’t visited. That would be odd too though.

He shrugged. “So, I’m not into decorating. That makes my house creepy?”

“Well, that’s not exactly—you know what, fine, it’s not creepy.” I sank into the chair nearest the window and buried my head in my hands. “Peter, I’m just … tired.”

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