Ridiculous.
I have no time for anyone in my life. And we live thousands of miles apart. And I have no intention of living anywhere with weather like this. And she hates California.
There’s nothing for it but to turn away. I find safety back on the bar stool and pointlessly check my phone again. Still no connection of any variety—of course there isn’t.
Summer releases the dog from a giant hug and heads into the kitchen, her face flushed. She grabs the emergency radio and cranks the handle like her life depends on it. “Let’s see if there’s any more news on when I can get rid of you.”
“You’re such a charmer.” I try to joke, but my heart sinks. She can’t have felt the things I just did. She still thinks I’m annoying and wants me gone.
“And you don’t want to leave?” She winds faster.
I look at my hand and rub the spots where the splinters were. “Well, I do need to talk to my cousin.” But my urgency seems to have faded today.
“Exactly,” she says, eyes fixed on the radio. “Got to get that investment.”
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to spin the handle off. Or start another fire.”
“Let’s see if that’s enough.” She sets the radio on the counter and flicks it on. A piece of classical violin music I can’t quite place comes to an end.
After a suitably reverential pause, a soft female announcer’s voice says, “‘Winter’, fromThe Four Seasonsby Vivaldi.”
Summer and I shrug at each other as if to say, “Obvious choice.”
The woman continues, “A reminder that roads are still treacherous and some remain impassable. The weather center warns not to be lulled into a false sense of security by today’s lighter snow. A fresh storm is expected to move in overnight. Given that news, Overdale County officials have extended the driving ban and the stay-at-home order for another twenty-four hours. The plows there still struggle to keep up. But in better news, the cellphone tower is expected to be back in action by toni-i-i…” The unwinding handle grinds to a halt.
I tap my fingers on the counter. “Well, that’s good news.”
She stares at me like I told her the house burned down but I saved her keys. “Which part?”
“The phone part. I might get to call Elliot later.”
“Yeah,” she says. “That’s good.” The tone of her voice is anything but pleased.
“But I’m stuck here for another night.” There’s a piece of me that says a bit more time with Summer is the best news. Another piece says it’s the very, very worst.
Her eyes meet mine, and I hold her gaze for a second.
As she turns to look out of the window, a little sigh sneaks out. “You are, aren’t you.”
8
SUMMER
Itoss another snowball high in the air, Elsa chases after it and is baffled when it hits the ground and disappears.
I should have come straight out to the backyard after that hot-as-hell hug by the fire instead of retreating to my studio for the afternoon to work on a new hat design. This was the breath of icy cold air I could have done with after that near-miss kiss. Especially since it was swiftly followed by learning I have to spend another night trying to keep my hands off him.
Owenwasabout to kiss me, wasn’t he? I swear he was. I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. He tipped his head to exactly the right angle, and those ridiculously perfect lips fell open exactly the right amount.
Thank God Elsa came to the rescue and pushed us apart. I would have willingly let his mouth drop softly onto mine. And what a disaster that would have been. I can’t go kissing a stranger who’s stranded at my house. And I certainly can’t go kissing an almost-billionaire stranger who’ll leave tomorrow and who lives three thousand miles away and I’ll never see again.
What if I liked the kisses? What if they were the best kisses that were ever kissed? What if I wanted him to keep on kissing me and not be three thousand miles away? That way madness lies. Yes, thank God for Elsa saving me.
She digs in the snow, searching for the snowball. We do this over and over every day, and she never catches on. With each toss, she has fresh hope thatthistime she’ll be able to find it. Oh, the joy she gets from living in the moment and not learning from previous mistakes.
I gather up another handful and keep my aim toward the middle of the yard. The last thing I want is for my precious, wanderlust-filled dog to realize the snow has drifted so high against the six-foot fence that she could now easily leap over it.
It cost me a fortune to have the whole area enclosed. But after Elsa took off the first week I had her, and wouldn’t come back despite my chasing, treat-offering, and begging, I had to give myself some peace of mind.
