Page 31 of Snow Much Trouble
She's right about that.
“I guess I should call Chance and see if he has a plow service that will come and clear the driveway.”
“That’s a fantastic idea. That seems logical, right?”
“Then I guess I’ll go outside.” I hesitate, again struck by the fact that I don’t want to waste a single minute with Lauren.
But she just sails past me to her bedroom, giving me a wave. “See you in a bit! Go forth and conquer the driveway for us.”
The door to her room shuts firmly.
I no longer think I might be in trouble.
I know I am.
Because if there’s such a thing as love-after-twenty-four-hours I think I’ve been hit with it.
When I step out onto the front porch and pull the front door, it causes snow on the roof to slide. Right onto my head. Again.
The cold on my head is a nice jolt.
Maybe if enough snow lands on me I’ll snap out of it.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter to no one and nothing in particular.
Lauren
The hot shower was exactly what I needed, but it didn't do a damn thing to cool down my thoughts about Dylan.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in a towel, staring at my flushed face. My hair is damp and wavy, and I'm debating whether to put actual effort into my appearance or just embrace the cozy cabin vibe.
Who am I kidding? I want to look good for him.
I settle on my favorite burgundy sweater and a pair of dark jeans that make my ass look great, if I do say so myself. A little mascara, some tinted lip balm, and I'm done. Casual but intentional.
When I emerge from my bedroom, the cabin smells amazing. Dylan's in the kitchen, and I can hear something sizzling on the stove.
"What are you making?" I ask, padding over in my fuzzy socks.
He turns, and the smile that spreads across his face when he sees me makes my stomach flip.
"Grilled cheese," he says. "It won’t be as good as yours, I realize that, given you are the self-proclaimed queen of grilled cheese. But it’s edible."
I move closer to peer at the pan. He's got thick slices of sourdough bread buttering up nicely, and I can see at least three different types of cheese waiting on the counter.
"Three cheeses? I sense a little faux modesty. You're actually playing dirty."
Dylan grins at me and shrugs. "Maybe a little. I told you, I'm competitive about everything." He flips the sandwich with practiced ease. "How was your shower?"
"Hot. Amazing. Life-affirming." I hop up onto the counter, swinging my legs. "Did you get the branch situation figured out?"
"Called Chance. He's got a plow service coming tomorrow morning, weather permitting. We should be able to get out by afternoon."
Tomorrow afternoon. Less than twenty-four hours left of this weird, wonderful bubble.
The thought makes my chest tight.
"That's good," I say, not meaning it at all.
