Page 26 of Mistletoe and Mayday
Bailey shifts, trying to see over my shoulder. Her chest expands in a quick inhale.
“Oh good. We’re going to freeze to death in a cave like proper adventurers. Very Jack London of us.”
The rock wall curves inward, creating a space barely large enough for two people. Not the five-star accommodations I’m accustomed to, but it blocks the wind, and there’s no snow inside. My arms tremble as I lower her to the ground, muscles burning from exertion.
She slides off my shoulder without a sound, reaching for her pack. Her pallor alarms me, though that determined set to her jaw remains. The same look she wore during our crash landing.
Metallic crinkling fills our shelter as she unfolds what looks like a silver garbage bag. The material catches what little light remains, casting eerie shadows on the rock walls.
“Space blanket,” she explains, shaking it open. The foil-like material expands with a sound like distant thunder. “Only one because cargo pilots rarely host sleepovers.”
Her hands tremble as she clutches her ridiculous snow globe, the glitter inside swirling like the surrounding storm. The silver emergency blanket crinkles with each shiver. My teeth won’t stop chattering. I can’t feel my fingertips.
“So,” she says, voice wavering despite her attemptat casual bravado, “here’s the fun part. Two choices: share body heat and survive, or maintain personal space and freeze. I vote for survival, but you seem like the dying-with-dignity type.”
Cold bites through my wet pants. Her lips have turned an alarming shade of blue while she tries to make light of our situation. Her sharp edges dull under exhaustion and the constant tension in her body, though she still manages to insult me.
“Your survival instincts seem at war with your need to mock me at every opportunity.” The cold fractures my words into jagged pieces.
She hugs her snow globe closer. “I can mock youandsave our lives. I excel at multitasking.”
A violent shiver racks her body. Her eyes close briefly, teeth catching her lower lip. The temperature plummets another degree. We’ll freeze without immediate action.
“Fine,” I say. “How do we do this?”
She unzips the emergency bag, her fingers clumsy with cold. Even in the dim light, I see how badly her hands shake.
“Just...no funny business,” she warns, though her chattering teeth undermine the threat.
“Trust me,” I manage through trembling lips, “that is the last thing on my mind.”
She digs through her pack, pulling out more supplies. “You have dry pants in that fancy bag?”
She produces a small LED flashlight, testing it with shaking hands. The beam cuts through the darkness, throwing harsh shadows against rock walls. Something about the bouncing light makes our space feel smaller, more confined.
I nod, grateful I packed a change of clothes. Wet wool clings to my legs as I peel it off, modesty irrelevant now. Survival trumps socialniceties.
“Nice ass, Mr. CEO,” she quips through chattering teeth. “Corporate life clearly includes squat day.”
“Enjoying the view?” My numb fingers fumble with my bag’s zipper, but I extract a pair of dry slacks.
“Sorry. Just making an objective observation,” she adds, her eyes darting away. “Not like there’s anything else to look at in this five-star rock accommodation.”
She pauses. “I’m keeping the flashlight on,” she says, propping it against her snow globe, aiming the beam toward the entrance. Her voice tightens. “In case any furry visitors want shelter, too.”
I glance at the narrow opening, remembering wilderness documentaries. Bears. Wolves. Mountain lions. The beam seems inadequate against such threats, but I nod anyway. The light offers strange comfort, even as it makes shadows dance in unsettling patterns.
She crawls inside the sleeping bag, silver material rustling with each movement. A small gasp of pain escapes her as she adjusts her injured leg, knuckles whitening as she grips the bag’s edge.
Getting both of us into this emergency sleeping bag demands coordination I haven’t needed since Harvard rowing days.
“Your elbow’s in my kidney,” she hisses, squirming to adjust.
“If you’d stop moving for two seconds—” My knee bumps against her leg, and she inhales sharply.
“Do that again and I’ll ensure yours will hurt more.”
She shifts again, seeking a comfortable position. Her hair brushes my chin. Vanilla and cinnamon fill my nose, unexpectedly pleasant.
