I wasn’t expecting to laugh. But I guess the surrealness of the situation has finally hit me. I have a complete stranger in my cabin, and he can’t leave. He’s wealthy, handsome, and exhibits all the traits of the last man who broke my heart—the last man who will ever get the chance to. And he doesn’t understand snow.
I put my hand over my mouth to try to hold in the giggles, but they’re unstoppable. And without a clear route from my mouth, they snort out of my nose. I bet that’s super attractive. Not that it matters. Even if I did want a man to find me attractive, which I don’t, I would not want it to be another moneybags asshole.
“It’s not funny,” he says. “If the potential investor is coming, I have to be there.” He looks down again. “And if I don’t show up at my aunt and uncle’s place tonight, and they don’t hear from me, everyone will think I’ve had an accident or something. I don’t want to worry them.”
The kettle whistles. I turn off the heat, and the screech fades to a whisper.
“Well, there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. The phone and internet will be back when they’re back. You can’t control it. You’re going to have to try to let it go.”
I grab a clean mug from the cupboard and set it down next to mine. I sense him watching me.
“I always prefer to solve a problem than sit back and wait for it to be fixed,” he says softly.
I spoon hot chocolate powder into both mugs. It’s a struggle to keep it on the spoon as my hand shakes a little from the heat of his eyes on me.
“Well. you are not going to solve your way out of this one. You might have met your match.” I pour the hot water and give both mugs a good stir. “Just thank your lucky stars you have somewhere safe to stay.”
I glance at him over my shoulder and point at the mug. “Do you want me to leave the spoon in?”
“What?”
“For stirring. To stop the chocolaty bits settling to the bottom.”
“I meant the bit before that. Are you saying I have to stay here?”
I pass him a mug. “Have it with the spoon. It gets too chocolaty at the end if you don’t stir it every now and then.”
As he takes it from me, his fingers brush against mine. A shiver rises from my fingers, up my arm, and into my chest. The skin around my waist tingles as it remembers his touch when he caught me as I wobbled off the step stool.
“What do you think I’m going to do? Send you out there to die in your thin sweater, city sneakers, and two-wheel-drive hatchback? Of course you’ll have to stay here.”
He sets down his drink and stirs. “Well, I’d much rather go. But since you put it like that. I mean, if you have a guest room, that would be very kind of you.”
“I have a guestsofa.” I nod toward the living room. “The second bedroom is my work studio.”
“And where does that sleep?” He points at Elsa.
“Her name is Elsa.”
He laughs. “Yeah, you said. Like inFrozen.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Elsa is the main character in the movie.”
“Oh, no. She’s named after Elsa Schiaparelli.”
“Who?”
“A knitwear designer from the 1920s.”
He takes a sip of hot chocolate and looks at me over the mug. “That’s different.”
I shrug. “Not to me. I knit.”
“You make those socks?” A dimple appears as he lifts one corner of his mouth and points at the rumpled heaps around my ankles.
I nod.
