Page 43 of Unexpected Company
“And?” I ask, locking the front door behind us.
Outside, there’s a thin blanket of snow covering the cobbled path, as well as clumps of it settled on the thicker branches of the trees surrounding the cottage.
It’s breathtakingly beautiful. I spin around and steal a glance at our temporary home. With its tiled roof dotted with snowflakes and its stone chimney, surrounded by a wintery woodland, it looks like a scene from a Christmas card.
Garrett’s breath is hot on my cheek when he steps up behind me.
“Fucking delicious,” he whispers, answering my earlier question. “You, my Supernova, are fucking delicious.”
MySupernova. My brain snags on that one tiny word.
My.
His.
Spinning around, intending to slam our lips together, I halt at the sight of a car pulling up in front of us.
An older man climbs out, and I step aside, sliding my hand down Garrett’s arm and linking our fingers together.
“Charles?”
The cab driver who dropped me at the cottage days ago, smiles and steps towards me.
“Nice to see you again, son.” He looks at Garrett, giving him a once over, before pivoting back to me. “Glad to see you’re not out here alone, after all. Though I didn’t know you were expecting company.”
I scoff. “Neither did I.”
Garrett squeezes my hand as I give Charles the short version of our unexpected meeting. The older man’s face twisting into a bright smile.
“Might I say that this is the magic of the season, hard at work?” He swings a finger between the two of us, then nods to himself. “My Mrs always says it’s the most romantic time of year.”
I sense Garrett’s eyes on my face and I look at him side on, matching his grin with one of my own. Maybe our meeting was Christmas magic. Or fate. Or destiny. Or maybe it really was just a computer glitch. Either way, I’m grateful for it.
Charles claps his gloved hands together. “Right, you ready?”
“For what?” I ask.
Garrett speaks up, nudging my shoulder as he says. “Never you mind. Get in the car, trouble.”
I slide into the backseat and Garrett follows me before Charles climbs into his seat and starts the engine. The book he was reading the last time I saw him is sitting on the front seat.
“How's your book going?” I ask, leaning between the seats to pick it up. I flip it over to scan the blurb.
DI Jack Sniper is in over his head.
Can he save the day before the clock runs out?
“Great!” he remarks. “It’s my favourite series.”
I lean my head back against the seat. “Garrett’s an author.” My eyes meet Charles’s in the rearview mirror.
“Is he now?”
It occurs to me then that I could detail every freckle or mole on this man’s body, but I don’t know much about his books or his author persona.
“What is your pen name?” I ask.
The skin above Garrett’s beard flushes and his eyes dart from the book in my hand to the scenery passing us by as Charles steers us down the narrow road.
