Page 49 of Blocked Shot
“Kind of like driving in a blizzard?” Natalie asks dryly. She flicks on the hazard lights and squints through the windshield. Even with the wipers working overtime, the snow comes down in thick, blinding sheets. The cars ahead of her flicker in and out of sight, swallowed by the whiteout as soon as they’re more than a few feet away.
“Yeah, like that. Can’t control the storm. Only how you react to it.”
“Right.”
A sinking sensation settles in Natalie’s stomach. “Jake, I don’t think I can drive us back to Hartford tonight.”
Jake exhales slowly. “That’s part of the book, actually. Recognizing when it’s too much.”
She can see him looking at her stricken, terrified face. His words are gentle, reassuring. “It’s okay, Nat. Get off here and we’ll find a hotel.”
She hesitates. She’s really overstepping now. “We can go to my place. It’s only a few more highway exits.”
Jake turns to her, studying her again. If he has any reservations, he doesn’t voice them. “Alright,” he finally says.
The drive to her house is tense, but once they arrive, Natalie breathes easier. At least they aren’t stranded on the highway. Still, her pulse thrums with anticipation as she unlocks the door and steps inside, flicking on the lights.
The house is warm, but the chill of nervous energy still runs through her.
Jake shrugs off his jacket and removes his snowy trainers, his eyes wandering past the entryway to the living room. It’s cozy, with soft, worn-down couches, shelves lined with books, and a river rock fireplace, tarnished black from decades of use. But what catches Jake’s attention is the row of framed photos on the mantel.
He steps into the room, studying them. One photo stands out: a younger Natalie, about ten or eleven, standing beside a sandy-haired toddler who must be Jesse. They’re grinning, with Natalie’s arms draped over her little brother’s shoulders. Jesse’s face is smeared with what looks like chocolate. Next to it is a framed photo of two adults—a man and a woman, smiling at the camera with the same warm eyes Natalie has.
Natalie follows his gaze and exhales softly. “Yeah,” she says, crossing her arms. “Guess I should probably update the decor.”
Jake glances at her, recognizing the deflection for what it is. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he nods toward the picture of her and Jesse. “You guys look like trouble.”
A small, genuine smile tugs at her lips. “Jesse was. I was the responsible one. Always making the right choices.”
For a second, the air between them is thick with something unspoken. When the moment stretches into something painful, Jake moves on, exploring the wooden bookshelves flanking each side of the fireplace, running his fingers along the spines of the books and knick knacks collected there. She knows the titles there by heart—classic literature with cracked spines and well-worn pages from being passed between her and her mother. Her eyes follow him as he pauses between the shelves, his gaze landing on childhood favorites—The Secret Garden,Anne of Green Gables—remnants of the girl who once spent hours in this room, lost in faraway worlds. And then, near the bottom shelf, she watches him smirk as he pulls something out.
Oh dammit.
“Aha!” he says, plucking a well-loved romance novel, its spine creased from being opened again and again. He grins as he holds it up, taking in the dramatic cover—a muscled, bare-chested hero with windswept hair, pulling a breathless woman into his arms, her flowinggown barely clinging to her curves. With a teasing glint in his eyes, he turns the book toward Natalie.
“You know, someone very wise once told me the best way to get to know someone is by looking at their bookshelf.”
Natalie’s cheeks flush as she snatches the book from him. “They make for good escapism,” she murmurs, tucking it back into the shelf. She’s very careful with it.
Straightening, Natalie claps her hands together. “Alright enough of that. You’re probably starving.”
Jake settles into the couch. “Famished. What are my options?”
Natalie pulls out her phone. “I can order us something.” She scrolls through the delivery apps, her brows furrowing. “Except... apparently, I can’t. No one’s delivering in the storm.”
Jake raises an eyebrow. “So I’m injured, stranded, and starving? What’s a man need to do to catch a break around here?”
“Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll cook.”
Jake chuckles, shifting to sit up a little straighter. “You don’t have to do that.”
Natalie crosses her arms. “It’s pasta, Jake. Not a five-course meal.”
His smirk softens. “Still, you don’t have to fuss over me.”
“Who says I’m fussing?” She’s already making her way toward the kitchen. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to see the infamous Jake MacDonald get hangry.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
