Page 60 of When Fences Fall
“I have a plow already attached to my car, and your driveway is ten feet away.” He scratches the back of his neck, sounding a bit ashamed.
“And what about our porch? Did you get the plow there too?” I ask, squinting as snowflakes pelt my face. For some reason, I need him to admit that he did something nice for me. Like it will make me feel like I still matter to him, which is ridiculous considering he was sucking another woman’s face recently.
His shoulders drop even more in a defeated gesture, and even though this is what I’m after, it doesn’t make me feel as good as I expect it to. Quite the opposite—it feels like I just kicked a puppy who was already at his lowest.
“I cleared it with a shovel.” Without any obvious snark, he adds, “I didn’t want Moon to slip over the ice.” His voice drops lower. “And I didn’t want you to have to shovel the heavy snow at the crack of dawn.” He wipes melting snow away from his face. A few wayward snowflakes are stuck in his thick eyelashes, drawing my attention to his eyes.
A wiggling chrysalis in my chest suddenly erupts into a full-grown butterfly who detaches itself from my chest and flies down to my belly. The stupid creature keeps beating her giant wings even when my brain keeps telling her that Jericho is not ours to be salivating over. The warmth it creates is so intense that it’s melting my already frozen fingers.
“Thank you.” I mean it to sound confident and sure, but my voice comes out breathy and giddy.
He nods awkwardly while glancing at his truck. A couple of inches of snow already cover it, indicating that Jericho must have been inside his house for some time.
I feel awkward too, so I start rambling. “Are you coming home from the shift?” Even I know the question is stupid since he just emerged from his house fully dressed. He’s clearly on his way somewhere.
“No. I’m going back to the roads. I came back to grab some coffee since everything in town is closed.” A beautiful one-sided smile changes his face to one of a less tired person. “And to refresh your driveway a little bit. The snowfall is really heavy. More than we anticipated. I’ll probably be out until the evening.”
I feel my brows furrowing. “But you’ve been out the whole night it looks like.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “But the snow keeps falling, and the roads are a mess. There’re not enough people to handle the load.”
Looking at his empty hands, I ask, “Did you get your coffee?”
He lets out a truly pained laugh. “No. Turns out I’ve run out of it.”
Without thinking further, I push my travel mug into his chest. “Here. It’s my witch brew. It will keep you alive until everything opens.”
His large hand covers mine and starts slowly sliding off,moving onto the top of the mug. His palm is cold and yet it makes my skin burn.
“Witch brew?” His nose flares with hidden laughter. “Does it have something to do with Roman’s mud water?”
I laugh with a shake of my head. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. This is my personal mix of super-duper nasty beans that taste like shit but have enough caffeine to keep you awake for a week.”
“So it does have something to do with Roman’s mud water.” His husky laugh warms the rest of me that his hand didn’t reach. Which is a lot of very unexpected places. Without noticing my inner turmoil, he presses the button on the side of the mug and opens a drinking slot. Then he brings it up to his lips and takes a long, thirsty sip.
“Damn.”
“That good, huh,” I manage, sounding a little breathless.
“Yeah,” he says, pausing to lick his lips.
“I told you it tastes like shit but gets the job done.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Nora.” His voice is even huskier and sends a shiver up my spine.
“What do you mean then?”
Jericho gives me a look that reaches deep under my skin.
“The mug.” He brings the rim slowly back to his lips, eyes still on mine, and licks the drinking slot with a deliberate motion. “It tastes like your lipstick.”
At this moment, I’m sure that the snow under my feet just started melting, and I’m also sure that if he says another word, I’m jumping his bones right here and right now. Consequences and guilt be damned.
While I’m standing here and blinking at him with an open mouth like a fish out of water beneath my giant scarf, he takes another sip and moans. Like actually moans.
“Thank you. I don’t know if I would be able to survive today without this.”
“My witch brew?” Why do I sound like a hussy in a burgundy-colored boudoir with her legs already spread?
