Page 23 of Snow Much Trouble
Dylan gives me a wry smile. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” I sit down on the hearth to warm my back as I hand him a bottle of water. He does accept it but he doesn’t twist the cap off. He looks like he’s still half-asleep.
“I think you’re just a wonder,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine and giving me a very charming and very dirty smile.
It’s a little much, a little over the top, but who doesn’t love a compliment?
My heart skips a beat. Whether it’s from attraction to Dylan or the lack of calories, I can’t say. Well, I can say it but I don’t want to. I’m going to pretend that nothing is happening here.
“I think you need your coffee,” I say dryly. “Or more sleep. Or both.”
Dylan runs his hands through his hair. “Have you looked outside? What’s the verdict?”
“Snow has stopped falling but there’s enough on the ground that I’m a little worried we might be here until March.”
“At least we have our phones. We can call for a rescue mission if necessary. I’m starving. If I can’t have coffee, I at least need something to eat. What do we have?”
“Lots of crackers and trail mix. Snack cakes in the shape of Christmas trees. Snowmen marshmallows. Eggs we can’t cook. Bacon we can’t cook. There is bagged salad that I bought in a moment of delusion that I might try and eat healthy to fuel my brain.” I turn and put my palms in front of the fire to warm them. “Feel free to eat it because I will save that until the bitter end when it’s either eat a bag of salad or you.”
Dylan laughs. “That doesn’t sound very festive. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“It won’t. When push comes to shove I won’t be able to eat youorthe salad,” I joke.
“I feel confident the power will come back on before difficult choices need to be made.”
Then as if Dylan has a direct line of communication with the higher power known literally as the power company, the kitchenlight flicks on. We hear the hum of the furnace fire up and random beeping from various appliances and the TV.
For a second, we stare at each other, stunned.
Then Dylan leaps up and yells, “Brew the coffee!”
I stand up too, patting my pocket for my phone. “Give me your phone, I’ll charge it!”
“Fry an egg!” He tosses me his phone as he jogs to the kitchen.
I manage to catch his phone and I run to where we have a charger on the kitchen island. Dylan is already scooping coffee grounds into the machine like a man possessed. I check whose battery is lower and conclude at eighteen percent, mine has to be plugged in first. Dylan is at a respectable forty-two percent.
“We have to charge in turns,” I declare. “For safety. Mine for five minutes, then yours for five.”
In my socks, I slide over to the stove, reaching into a cabinet to grab a frying pan.
“Done,” Dylan says, punching the button to start the coffee brewing. He rushes past me to the fridge, grabbing the eggs and bacon.
By the time he’s back I have the pan warm and we’re tossing in butter and cracking eggs with the precision and coordination of a downtown restaurant. We add bacon to a second pan. As the food cooks, I finally breathe, giggling at the absurdity of it all.
“Are we forgetting anything?” I ask. “You know, for survival in case the power goes back out?”
“Reheat your chocolate milk back into hot chocolate? Put our blankets in the dryer to warm them up? Take a hot shower?” Dylan turns off the eggs. “Eggs are done at least. The bacon is struggling.”
“Geez. Survival is hard work. Even in a luxury chalet.”
“So much work.”
“Snow much trouble,” I manage to say with a straight face.
Dylan flips an egg and points the spatula at me. “That was a violation of roommate rule number three—no unauthorized puns.”
“We have roommate rules? What are one and two?” I ask as I make my way to the thermostat and nudge it up a couple of notches. It’s going to need the extra kick to get this house back to a temperature where I can exist without two shirts and two sweaters on.
