Page 111 of Snowed In
“In the next few hours, this close to Christmas?”
My head is really starting to pound now, the dull pain from this morning increasing tenfold, but I can’t let Andrew bring Molly here with the place like this.
“Okay,” I say, pinching the space between my brows as though trying to force the pain away. “Okay, I just need to— What are you doing?”
Megan dumps her coat on the stairs and starts rolling up her sleeves. “What do you mean? We need to clean up.”
“You don’t have to help,” I tell her. “I can—”
“Of course, I’ll help,” she says, sounding insulted. “I just need to pee first. Are there supplies here?”
Something warm flares in my chest until it becomes almost painful to look at her.
And that’s it.
Her standing there in snow-soaked jeans pushing all her anger and hurt to the side to help me. Her with her hands on her hips and her smudged mascara from rubbing her eyes in the car.
Something changes in that moment, and all of a sudden I wish I’d never thought of this plan. I wish I could go back to her apartment that first night and sit on her couch and kiss her like she should always be kissed. Like how she should be right now. And there’d be no pretending about it.
“Christian,” she says when I don’t answer, and I clear my throat.
“Yeah. Should be. Not much, but—”
“We’ll make do,” she says, and takes one look around the room before disappearing down the hall. A second later, I hear a door snap shut.
I sigh and strip off my own coat, ignoring how my skin now aches with every brush of my clothes, and head back outside for the rest of the food.
* * *
It takes us three hours.
Three long hours.
Once I get past the initial shock, I realize the place isn’t that bad. But we don’t know our way around or where anything is, so it takes time to go through everything.
We tidy up all the trash first and then open the windows and doors despite the cold to try and air the cabin out. I clear the fireplace while Megan removes any cushions with stains on them. She catalogs each one without me even asking, taking pictures to aid in all my paperwork later. Upstairs is in better order. They must not have been doing much sleeping as one of the bedrooms is untouched, and the other just needs the bed to be stripped. Leftover toiletries are discarded, and we wipe the (thankfully) mostly clean bathrooms down before setting all the furniture back in place.
And all the while, my skin grows tighter, and my brain grows fuzzier, and despite the odd answer to a question or to tell her what to do, Megan doesn’t say a word to me, lost in her own head.
But she does help. Diligently and without a word of complaint, she helps me put everything back in order, so that by the time darkness falls, it looks just like it should.
It’s late by the time I put the final load of washed and dried towels into the cupboard upstairs, and when I head back down, it’s to find Megan standing by the window in the front room, gazing out at the falling snow. She’s put on one of her knitted sweaters, a giant dark green thing that dwarfs her, but that she must love judging by how worn it looks. She might as well be back in the ball gown for all I care. I could still look at her all night. And that’s what I’m doing for a good minute before I realize I am, and I make a point of being extra loud as I come down the final few steps.
“It’s really coming down out there,” she says when I approach. “Probably too late to use the hot tub, huh?”
“You can try it, but if you blow away, I’m not running after you.” I join her at the window, and she turns to face me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “About earlier. You’re right. I overstepped, and it wasn’t my place.”
“Christian…” She sighs, looking miserable. “You don’t need to apologize. I was just upset.Ishould apologize for snapping at you.”
“Yeah, you really hurt my feelings.”
Her eyes shoot to mine, concerned for a second before she sees I’m joking. When she does, some of the tightness leaves her expression. Not much. But some. “You’re trying to make me feel better again.”
“I can’t help it.”
“It had nothing to do with you,” she continues. “You know that, right? I’ll be grand by tomorrow. I promise.”
“You mean for dinner?” I shake my head. “I’m not worried about that.”
