Page 46 of Unexpected Pickle
HEX’S FIRE, THE THIRD
When I’m finally in Jeannie’s cabin, our situation starts to really take hold.
We are cut off from everyone in a storm.
We prep the room, packing towels against the base of the door and windows to stop any air leaks, filling the tub and sinks with water in case a pipe explodes, and adjusting the fire to be at a good steady level. We don’t want to let the space get too cold, but we don’t want to burn through our wood too fast, either.
“How long do you think this might last?” Jeannie asks. She sits in front of the fire in a mound of blankets.
“Unless something’s changed, only a couple of days.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Really?”
“I talked to my travel agent right after I left the kitchen, trying to move up my flight. She said the storm rolling in had flights canceled right and left, but by the time my scheduled flight came, this would be long over.”
“But they emptied the retreat.”
“I have a feeling this place has a history of losing power in storms like this.”
“They should have checked our rooms to make sure we were gone.”
I nod. “They should have.”
She stares into the fire. “It might have been chaos. And there we were, watching movies, oblivious to what was going on.”
I sit next to her on the rug. The fire is nice. It’s probably getting close to midnight. “We have enough food and firewood for a few days. It’ll blow over by then.”
We’re quiet for a moment, listening to the wind howl. Then Jeannie surprises me by leaning over and resting her head on the edge of my shoulder. “If you had actually left, I might be stuck here alone.”
“Nah. You’d have been in your room when they called or came to the door.”
“Assuming they did. It might have been every man for himself, like the Titanic.”
I want to put my arm around her and draw her close. But we haven’t been like that, not yet. There’s been companionship today, and definitely a much-improved camaraderie since the retreat began.
But nothing romantic.
We sit like this a while, then I realize her breath is even. She’s fallen asleep on me.
I hold as still as possible, letting her get some rest, but slowly she begins to slide off.
I move my arm behind her back. “Jeannie, I’m going to shift you so you can sleep.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
I turn her so she’s fully in front of the fire and lay her on the rug. The pillow is cool from being behind us, so I hold it up to the flames a moment to warm it before sliding it under her head.
I cover her with two blankets, tucking them around her to keep in her body heat. Then I lie beside her, close but not touching, and cover myself with the last blanket.
I listen to her breath. So this is what it’s like to sleep next to Jeannie Young. I turn to look at her. The orange light dances across her cheeks and nose. She’s so calm and relaxed, her features softened without the toughness she uses to navigate life.
I like her hard shell, her cutting wit, but I like this, too. Gentle Jeannie.
I’d rather not sleep, knowing this might be the only time I ever get to see her like this, but as the silence lengthens, my eyes get too heavy…
I snap awake some time later when I realize my leg is pinned. I was dreaming about being in the ring, my opponent trying to trap me so I would tap out.
My body tenses, ready to throw him off, when I realize where I am. The floor. The cabin. The storm.
