Page 33 of The Unlikely Pair
There is absolutely no point in lying. “Yes. I’m freezing.”
“I think we need to consider other strategies of heat retention,” Harry says.
My teeth are almost chattering. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, consolidating our heat by being in closer proximity.” It’s not his actual words but the distaste in his voice that clues me in to what he’s suggesting.
Closer proximity…he can’t mean…
Is Harry actually suggesting we snuggle?
But even as part of my mind immediately rebels against the idea, the other, practical, freezing-my-arse-off part sees the advantage of his suggestion.
Conserving heat is what is most important.
And I’m so cold right now that I’d cuddle up to a porcupine with anger management issues if it meant I’d get slightly warmer.
“I guess we could maximize the efficiency of the survival blankets that way,” I say.
There’s a flash of light from where Harry is. The glow from his watch lights his face as he walks in my direction. He looks like he’s on his way to an execution.
My mouth is weirdly dry as I pull myself into a half-sitting position.
“Um…so how do you want to do this?” I ask as Harry settles awkwardly next to me on my bed of pine needles.
“If you lie back down, I’ll lie behind you,” he says coolly.
“What? I’m not going to be the little spoon.”
His watch is still glowing, and the dim light is enough to see his scowl.
“Well, neither am I. I am decidedly a big spoon,” Harry says firmly.
“Well then, I’m an ice cream scoop.”
“You’re a what?”
“An ice cream scoop. Big enough to envelop all spoons of any size.”
“I’m an inch taller than you, Toby.”
“Ah, but my ice cream scoop persona is more about my personality than my size.”
“Fine, if you’re an ice cream scoop, I’m a soup ladle.”
“Actually, I think you’re more of a salad fork.”
“Exactly how am I a salad fork?”
“Formal, rarely needed, and incredibly pretentious,” I offer.
Harry pinches the bridge of his nose for a few beats before he responds. “As incredibly productive as all this speculating about how our personality traits align with utensils, how about we agree to take turns? I’ll be the big spoon to start because it will keep you warmer, so hopefully, you’ll be able to sleep. When it’s my turn to sleep, you can spoon me. And tomorrow night, we’ll change the order of who gets to sleep first.”
“Hopefully, by tomorrow night, we’ll be rescued, and having to snuggle close to you will just be a memory I’ll need extensive counseling to forget,” I say as I lie back down.
“We can only hope,” Harry replies crisply.
I arrange one of the survival blankets underneath myself to provide some insulation from the cold ground. Then Harry lies down behind me, pulling the other one over us. The only sound is the rustling of the blanket as he tries to arrange it around us, his movements careful and deliberate.
