Page 22 of Snow Much Trouble
When I wake up, the sun is streaming in the large windows and the room is crisp, my nose cold. I’m a little stiff but not too bad considering I slept on the floor.
Unexpectedly, I’m not a frozen popsicle either. I thought for sure I was going out like Jack on the Titanic, but I’m actually pretty cozy in our blanket bed. Initially when the heat went off, it did feel like an adventure. But then I started to contemplate life without my fingers and I got a little freaked out.
Dylan was a good port in a storm, though. He kept me distracted.
And dang, that nudge in my backside…the man is no slouch.
Speaking of…
A glance behind me shows Dylan is asleep, his lips parted on a soft snore.
Then I glance at the fireplace, realizing there are still a couple of logs burning, though the flames have died down to embers.
Dylan must have stayed up most of the night tending the fire.
Either he was worried we would freeze to death or he was worried I would worry and not get any rest. I decide I’m going to choose to believe he did it for me.
Because if he is that sweet of a guy with his fire-tending and his grandma’s scarf, then I really am in trouble. Dylan lives in Kentucky and I live in Nashville and I can’t do long-distance again. That was a disaster.
I’m sure it works for some people but it doesn’t for me. I want a guy who can meet me after work for a dinner date or hang out on Broadway listening to music on a Saturday night. Who is there when I roll over in bed and who I look at over my first steaming cup of coffee of the day.
I’m not opposed to snuggling up with Dylan this weekend but I can’t allow my heart to get involved in any way.
Save the emotion for the songwriting, I tell myself firmly, even as I go to extreme measures to ease out from under the blankets carefully so I don’t disturb Dylan.
Poor guy must be exhausted.
Once I’m out and standing up, I carefully add another log to the fire before creeping over to the windows to check on the snow situation. It’s no longer coming down and the world is a still and sparkling blanket of white fluffy wonder. It’s beautiful but there does seem to be a lot of it. The driveway is buried.
Plus, there seems to be a tree branch right where we need to drive.
But I’m optimistic that if it’s stopped, the road crews can get to work, and the power company is probably up a pole as we speak, working their electrical magic.
I retreat to my bedroom to use the bathroom and splash water on my face. Without the heat the water is ice cold.
“Ahh!” I say, jumping up and down from the shock of it. “Think of it as a health benefit, Lauren. People do this every day by choice.”
I’m reluctant to change my clothes because right now I’m pretty damn toasty in them. Only the tips of my fingers and my nose are actually cold so the idea of peeling off these warm layerssounds horrifying. I decide to be an outfit-repeater and just stay as I am for now.
I don’t need to impress Dylan. Though I do brush my hair and my teeth and swipe on deodorant. Okay, and use a tinted lip balm. And swipe on mascara. But that’s it.
Humming a melody, I roll my wrists and massage my fingers as I head back into the living room. I want to try a couple of notes before Dylan wakes up. My fingers are a little stiff but there’s no better way to warm them up than to play some chords.
Dylan is sitting up in front of the fire. He looks adorably disheveled, hair sticking up and expression blank. He’s so cute I don’t even mind that I won’t get to play.
“Good morning!” I say cheerfully, pulling out two bottles of water from the cooler Dylan brought. “Water?”
“You’re a morning person?” Dylan asks. “That figures.” He lays back down and pulls the blanket up to his chin. “If you don’t have a mug of hot coffee I don’t want it.”
I would love a cup of coffee too but I’m not going to die without it.
Dylan looks like he might die.
“There’s leftover hot chocolate if you want that.”
“You can’t call it hot chocolate anymore if it’s not hot. It’s just chocolate milk now.” He yawns. “Maybe. I need a minute. How are you not hungover, by the way? You said you don’t normally drink that much.”
“I never get hungover.” I sip my water and shrug. “I’m a physiological wonder, what can I say?”
