Then my nostrils flare up, and I catch the scent of bacon, eggs… and coffee.
Thank god.
I follow the smell into the kitchen side of the living room.
Felix is at the stove, hip bumped against the counter, humming something off-key while he attacks a pan of scrambled eggs. Liam sits at the island with a mug between his hands and a thick paperback propped open. Silas stands near the wall of windows, one shoulder braced on the frame, staring out at the storm.
Felix looks back and sees me first. His smile hits full strength instantly. “Morning, New York. Slept well?”
"Better than expected, worse than I'd like," I say, surprising myself with how easy the words come out.
Silas glances over his shoulder, eyes flicking from my face down to the sweatshirt and leggings, then back up again. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Nice downgrade from the power suit,” he says. “Mountain casual suits you.”
I decide, very consciously, not to take that bait. Instead, I grab a mug from the drying rack and pour coffee, then pause, scanning the counters.
Sugar. Where—
I apparently give off “lost in a kitchen” energy, because Liam says, without looking up from his book, “Cabinet above the toaster.”
I open it. Sugar, right where he said. I spoon in one scoop.Plop.Stir.
“Breakfast is served,” Felix announces. He kills the burner and starts dividing eggs between plates. There’s a plate of bacon already resting on the back of the stove, still glistening.
My stomach makes an undignified noise.
“Looks like we’re not going anywhere today,” Felix goes on, setting a plate in front of Liam and another at an empty stool. “Maybe not tomorrow either. So congratulations, Naomi, you’ve won an all-inclusive stay at Casa Puckers.”
“My phone briefly worked earlier,” Silas mutters. “Cell tower’s iced, main road’s blocked, and the town’s talking about keeping everything closed until the plows stop crying.”
Felix rolls his eyes. “Translation: we have nowhere to be. We might as well eat.”
He holds up a third plate. “Eggs?”
“Oh. Coffee’s fine, really.” My stomach growls again.
He laughs, setting the plate down. “Seems you gotta eat. Lawyer brain takes fuel. Sit.”
Liam glances at me over the rim of his mug with a quietyou might as wellface.
I surrender and sit. “Thank you.”
I take a bite. The eggs are… decent. A little overcooked, but hot and salty and exactly what my body wants.
Silas pushes off the window frame and comes over, leaning a hip against the counter. “Enjoy,” he says, tone dry. “This is pretty much the extent of our supplies.”
“Hey,” Felix objects. “There's also pasta.”
“About that,” I say, setting my fork down for a second. “How much food do you actually have?”
Felix shrugs. “Uh… some stuff in the pantry, stuff in the freezer. I haven’t exactly done a head count.”
“Has anyone done a proper inventory?” I ask. “Or are we working off vibes?”
Silas lets out a short, bark-like laugh. “Shocking, the lawyer wants to take charge."
I do my best to ignore him. "What I mean is, do we have any idea about how long we can last?" I look at Felix, then Liam. "We should have an exact inventory of our provisions and a plan for rationing, just in case. And conserve power too. The chalet seems well-insulated, but this storm is severe."
