Page 14 of Snow Much Trouble
As if to back me up, the lights flicker again, and this time they stay off for a full three seconds before coming back on.
Lauren raises her mug. "To unexpected cabin mates and winter storms."
"To not freezing to death," I counter, touching my mug to hers.
"Always the optimist."
Outside, the storm continues to build, and I think that getting snowed in with Lauren Scott might be the best thing that's happened to me in months.
Even if she does think bourbon tastes like poor decisions.
Lauren
The power flickers again, longer this time, and then cuts off entirely.
It’s not unexpected, but I still jump. “I can’t see anything.”
“Just sit still for a second, your eyes will adjust.”
I pride myself on my independence but yet again I can’t help but be grateful I’m not alone right now. Dylan sounds very calm. His phone lights up with his flashlight.
"The gas fireplace will work without electricity, right?" I realize I don’t know anything about how anything works. I just trust in the magic of modern conveniences. I glance back to see the small fireplace still merrily flickering away. It helps cut through the darkness but that thing is there just to be cute and atmospheric. It can’t possibly heat more than a couple of feet surrounding it.
“Looks like it. But good thing we brought in all that wood. We’re going to need a decent sized blaze."
Dylan stands up and heads toward the big stone fireplace. Using his flashlight, he starts building a sophisticated pyre of logs.
“You look like you know what you’re doing.”
“Went camping a lot as a kid.”
Dylan uses a long lighter from the basket next to the fireplace and the paper catches. Within a minute, a fire is blazing, casting shadows across the great room. The whole cabin takes on a cozy, intimate glow and it instantly calms any nerves I had about our survival alone in the woods.
A glance at my phone shows I have plenty of battery and the WiFi is still working. We’re not completely cut off from civilization. I can relax and just enjoy the evening.
Dylan feeds a few more logs onto it and stand ups. "Storm's really picking up," he observes, glancing toward the windows where snow is now coming down in thick, heavy flakes.
I shiver, even though I’m not actually cold. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it? It looks so quiet out there.” I’m a little in awe of how serene the landscape looks out the window. I actually feel grateful. Like nature has decided I need to just take a big deep breath and exhale.
I should be annoyed. This weekend was supposed to be about focus, about writing the songs that will finally prove I belong in Nashville's competitive music scene. Instead, I'm trapped in a cabin with a bourbon snob who probably irons his T-shirts and has strong opinions about, well, everything.
And yet, I'm...excited.
Maybe it's the adrenaline from the storm, or the way the firelight makes everything feel magical and separate from the real world. Maybe it's the bourbon. Or maybe it's the way Dylan keeps looking at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention, like he's trying to figure me out.
Whatever it is, I have the sense that maybe in order to write something incredible, I need to stop stressing about it and just be in the moment.
Enjoy myself.
And enjoy this weird, sparkly tension between me and a man who thinks marshmallows are ridiculous and coffee belongs in a separate category from breakfast foods.
I’m starting to think that I’m trying to find reasons not to like Dylan because he’s actually pretty damn charming.
And hot. I can’t see him right now in the dark but the man is seriously gorgeous.
"We should probably make sure we have everything we need," I say, trying to sound practical instead of breathless. “In case the power is out all night.”
Dylan immediately goes to a closet in the kitchen and opens it. "Flashlights, candles, extra batteries," he lists, pulling items down from a shelf. “Told you I’ve stayed here before.”
