We eat breakfast while reviewing the day’s schedule. I appreciate that he listens to my plans instead of trying to reorganize them, offers practical suggestions when asked, but doesn’t try to take charge of my operation.
“Need to handle Jasper today,” I mention, checking my mental list. “He’s due for his thirty-minute session.”
Something flickers across Ryder’s expression—so brief I almost miss it.
“The snake,” he says carefully.
“If you prefer, I can handle it myself. I know serpents aren’t everyone’s favorite.” I take a sip of coffee. “Though if you want to learn, I’m happy to teach you. I got pretty comfortable with snakes back when I was taking care of my neighbor’s collection in high school.”
“I should probably learn. Part of the job, right?”
There’s something in his tone that suggests this isn’t as casual as he’s making it sound, but I don’t push. If he wants to work up to handling Jasper, that’s his choice.
The rest of breakfast passes comfortably, and we’re just finishing when Alexa cuts through the silence with a weather update.
“—winter storm warning in effect for the San Gabriel Mountains beginning late tomorrow. Heavy snow accumulations are expected, with winds gusting to forty miles per hour. Residents should prepare for possible power outages and road closures—”
We both stop eating, the implications sinking in.
“That’s a big storm.” The comment is unnecessary, but I need to fill the sudden silence.
“Could be stuck here for days once it hits.” Ryder’s expression grows serious. “We should make sure we’re prepared. Extra supplies, backup heating, secure anything that could blow around.”
He leans his forearms on the table, focused on the plan like it’s another emergency callout. Composed. Capable. And I can’t help but notice the way that calm sits on him—broad shoulders, steady hands—details I don’t need to be noticing.
Storm preparations. Right. Because getting snowed in with an attractive male I’ve known for two days is exactly the kind of complication my overthinking brain definitely doesn’t need. Buthey, worst-case scenario, I’ll trend on TikTok for all the wrong reasons.
The silence stretches for a long moment, and I can feel my stomach tightening with something I don’t want to name. Fear? Not of the storm, exactly, but of what it means. Being completely cut off. Just the two of us.
It’s only when I look at him that I think of whathemight need. We’ve only discussed pleasantries, though we’ve lived together for a few days. I don’t know what his responsibilities are back in the Zone. What if he has other obligations? Commitments?
“If you wanted to get back to town before the roads get bad, I’d understand. I can handle the animals alone if I need to.”
It’s only as the words leave my mouth that I realize how much I want him to stay, and not just to help with the animals. I like his… presence. But that was the right thing to say. The responsible thing. He has his own life, his own plans, and getting trapped on a mountain with a virtual stranger wasn’t part of our arrangement.
Ryder’s expression shifts, something flickering in his intelligent eyes that I can’t read. For a heartbeat, I think he might actually consider it. Then, something in his posture changes, becomes more solid, more certain.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and there’s a quiet finality to his voice that makes my chest tight for entirely different reasons. “These animals need both of us, especially if the weather getsas bad as they’re predicting. Besides,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I make a mean hot chocolate when the power goes out.”
The joke falls flat because we both know what he really just said. That he’s choosing to stay. Choosing to face whatever’s coming with me instead of taking the easy way out.
I should feel relieved. Professional gratitude that my employee is committed to the job.
Instead, I feel something much more dangerous.
Chapter Six
Ryder
The morning air bites with the kind of cold that promises serious weather, and I can feel the pressure change in my bones like an old injury. The sky’s taken on that flat, metallic quality that means business, and the animals sense it too. Napoleon’s keeping his hens closer to the coop, and even Bonnie and Clyde have abandoned their usual escape attempts in favor of huddling together near their shelter. The boarding dogs are crated in the barn’s insulated kennel bay this morning, blankets doubled, and water heated.
Laney emerges from the cabin with two steaming mugs of coffee, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that somehow makes her look both competent and vulnerable. She’s traded her usual t-shirt for warmer layers—thermal shirt under a fleece hoodie, work boots that can handle whatever the mountain throws at us.
“Weather service updated the forecast,” she says, handing me a mug. “Expecting eighteen to twenty-four inches, winds up to fifty miles per hour. They’re calling it a once-in-a-decade storm.”
I take a sip of coffee—she’s got my preferences down now, strong and black—and survey the property with fresh eyes. “We should secure anything that can blow around, make sure the animals have solid shelter, and stock up in case we lose power for a few days.”
Her gaze flicks toward mine, a quick acknowledgment of what days could mean—no roads, no signal, no help. Just the two of us, completely cut off from the outside world.
