Page 102 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
My phone buzzes with a text from Josh.Gramps is coming to get you. Don’t freak out when you hear his truck.
I start to type back,When?But my phone dies and I groan in frustration. I can’t even charge it now.
Minutes start ticking by, and I try counting them in my mind, but I lose track after about twenty. I have no idea if it’s an hour or an ice age later when I hear the sweetest sound in the world: tires crunching over gravel. Headlights bob through the cabin’s front window, then stop, followed by footsteps on gravel and across the porch, and a knock at the door. It creaks open and Josh’s grandpa sticks his head in, cautiously, like he doesn’t want to scare anyone.
“Samantha?” he calls.
“Sami,” I say, and his eyes fall on me where I’m curled and shivering in the corner of the sofa.
“Poor mite,” he says. “Josh called and asked me to come check on you. Looks like the power’s out?”
I nod. “And I think the pipes froze too.” My voice wobbles.
“Aw, honey, he should have told me you were coming up. I’d have been over here much earlier to check on you. Let’s get you over to the big house. It’s only about twenty minutes from here but I’ve got a generator. Truck’s warm, so you can leave the blanket, but why don’t you gather the rest of your things while I put out the fire?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, climbing from the sofa and doing a shuffle run to grab my overnight bag from the bedroom. I sweep the few skin products I brought from the bathroom sink into my bag too, then hurry back to the warmer living room to pack up my guitar.
“Fire’s out,” he says. “Let me take your things and you make a run for the truck. That fleece jacket won’t keep you too warm.”
I don’t even bother arguing. I shove my feet into my Vans—trickier than usual with three pairs of socks on—and run for the truck, crawling into the warm cab with chattering teeth. It’s a nice truck, a Chevy with leather seats and seat warmers doing the Lord’s work on my frosty buns, blessed heat roaring from the vents.
He opens the back door on the extended cab long enough to set my belongings inside then shuts it tight and climbs into the cab faster than I’d expect a man his age to move.
“Thanks for coming, Mr. Brower,” I say. “I didn’t want to be a popsicle.”
“Call me Grampa Jim,” he says. “And I’m sure glad Josh sent me over. Let’s get you warm and fed.”
An hour later, we’re in a sprawling hacienda-style ranch house, and I’ve warmed to normal human temperatures, but I stay near Grampa Jim’s fireplace with the bowl of chili he served me, letting my phone charge.
“Doing all right now, girl?”
“Yeah. But I’m fairly sure there’s a part of my lizard brain that will never forget that I almost froze to death, and it’s going to panic every time the temperature drops below freezing now.”
Grampa Jim chuckles. “Lizard brain. Funny. Josh said he sent you up here on a retreat. Hope staying here won’t cramp your style.”
“No way,” I say. “You’re way better than being frozen to death.”
He cackles at that, and I love it. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to cackle when I laugh. “Glad I’m good for something. You got anyone else worried about you?”
“Probably not,” but I reach for my phone to turn it on, just to be sure. “I’m sure Josh caught my roommates up on your rescue mission, so everything should be fine.” But when my phone vibrates to life, it keeps buzzing with incoming messages. I wake it up and scroll. “Oh no. My mom and grandma have been calling. My mom’s power went out so she went to my grandma’s house to stay with her, and they’re freaking out that they can’t get hold of me.”
I start to dial before I remember that there’s no service out here. “Shoot.” I set my chili down for faster texting so I can reassure them.
“I got a landline,” Grampa Jim says, rising as he speaks. “Too far out for cell service, but the power outage usually doesn’t affect phone service. Hang on.”
He returns shortly with a cordless phone. “It’s still charged. Do I need to explain to you how to use it?” His eyes twinkle as he asks. This is a favorite way for my residents at Sunnyside to tease me, poking fun at what my generation doesn’t know about older technology, but we have office phones, so I’m fine.
I demonstrate by dialing my mom’s number, and Grampa Jim gives me a nod before he disappears in the direction of the kitchen.
“Hello?” my mom says, sounding suspicious. Of course. She wouldn’t recognize the number.
“It’s me, Mom.”
“Sami, honey, are you okay? We kept trying to get hold of you, then your roommates said you’d left for a few days, and they couldn’t get hold of you either.”
“I’m fine, Mom. A friend loaned me his cabin to get some music written, and I lost power, but his grandfather brought me to the main house, and he’s got a generator and water and everything.”
“Oh, thank goodness. She’s fine, Ma,” she calls over her shoulder. “She’s on the phone.”
