The living room goes quiet except for the wind outside and the soft crackle from the fireplace.
I sit there for a bit, staring at my half-finished dinner. My appetite’s gone.
Eventually I get up and carry my plate to the kitchen, rinse it half-heartedly, leave it in the sink. On the way back to our hallway, I stop to look at hers.
The thin line of light under her door is still there… and the plate I left earlier is gone.
“Good,” I murmur to myself. “At least you’re eating.”
Chapter eight
Naomi
The water is exactly what I needed.
Hot, steady pressure hits my shoulders and runs down my back, loosening my muscles. I stand there for a while, just breathing, letting the sound of the spray drown out the wind and the faint creaks of the house.
Hours in this room already. First pacing. Then watching snow build up against the glass. Then staring at my phone with no signal. Then eating the food Felix left outside my door.
Hah.That was sweet of him, actually.
Anyway, now, hot shower. Reset attempt.
I reach for the soap. Pine and cedar. Simple, clean. I work it into my hands and scrub methodically, the familiar motions grounding me.
I tilt my head back, letting the water cascade through my hair, trying to rinse away both the memory of my panic attack and the gnawing anxiety about all the work piling up.
Stop thinking about this Naomi.
I can’t make the storm stop. I can’t teleport out of here.
But I can decide how I handle myself.
That, I know how to do. Assess the situation. Find the angle. Adjust the strategy. Keep going.
I’ve dealt with CEOs threatening to pull eight-figure deals if they didn’t get their way. I've navigated merger negotiations with executives who'd step over their own mothers for a better deal. So what's a snowstorm and being stuck with three alphas?
Okay, that does top the list…But hey, optimism.
I stand under the spray a moment longer, then twist the handle off and step out into the steam.
The towel on the rack surprises me. Thick and soft, not the scratchy kind most guest bathrooms get. I wrap it around myself and feel it caress my shoulders.
The vanity drawers are stocked, too. A neat row of unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, little bottles of shampoo and lotion all lined up.
“Thanks, mystery house manager,” I murmur, tearing open a toothbrush.
Teeth brushed, face washed, I grab a second towel and squeeze the water from my hair, twisting it up. The mirror is fogged, so I wipe a small circle clear.
My reflection looks better than it did a few hours ago. And no more shaking.
Progress.
I pad back into the bedroom, bare feet sinking into the rug. The air is cooler in here, but not cold. The little thermostat on the wall glows at a comfortable number. At least I don't need to worry about freezing to death.
I open the top dresser drawer.
Leggings. Sweatshirts. T-shirts. All soft, and of all colors. I pull out black leggings and a gray sweatshirt.
