Sometime before the end of the movie, I went to sleep. Several hours later, I woke up spooned next to him, with my back against his chest and heat rushing through my body like I had fire in my veins. The television screen showed the main DVD menu again, and a tiny night-light in the hallway didn’t do much to get rid of the darkness.
I shook Jackson awake and whispered, “Time to wake up and take Cinderella home before your truck turns into a pumpkin.”
He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Some date I am, falling asleep and leaving you to watch the movie alone. And look at the time.” He pointed to the clock on the microwave. “It’s already past midnight. So my truck is definitely now a pumpkin.”
I slipped my feet into my shoes and picked up my coat. “Not to worry. I’m not Cinderella, so I’m sure your truck ...” I glanced out the window and saw nothing but white snow. At first I thought it was the reflection of the television screen, but then I realized that the blizzard had snuck up on us while we were sleeping.
Jackson must have realized the same thing, because he was on his feet in an instant and heading for the door. He slung it open, and a hard wind blew snow all over him. He slammed it shut and groaned. “We aren’t going anywhere until the storm passes. The snow is coming down so hard that I can’t even see my truck or Ada Lou’s trailer, and it’s only a few yards away.”
“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” I groaned. “Rosie and Scarlett will have to run the café alone.”
“I’m sure the roads are closed, so there will be no buses or people out,” Jackson said. “If the snowplows could get out in this kind of weather—which they can’t—it would be a useless job. The roads would be covered again before they could go a hundred feet. You are stuck with me until the storm passes on through.”
“Well, then I guess you better make some popcorn, because I’m hungry. Do you have hot chocolate to go with it?” I said with a sigh.
“Does that long sigh mean that you would rather be anywhere else?”
“No, it does not,” I answered. “I’m already dreading all the questions that Rosie and Scarlett will ask. Friends are great until they get all up in my business.”
“You can add family to that,” Jackson chuckled. “With four nosy sisters and a meddling mother, I can relate to what you are saying. Is Rosie going to be mad at me when you don’t come home for a couple of days, at the least?” He opened the cabinet above the stove and brought out a package of microwave popcorn and a box of hot chocolate mix.
“She would be more upset if you tried to drive in this mess,” I assured him. “We can have a snack, and then you can take me home in the morning. I’ll send Rosie and Scarlett a text telling them that I’ll stay here until tomorrow.” I dug around in my purse and found my phone.
There were two texts, both sent at midnight. One from Rosalie:If you are inside a place, stay there. No one should be on the roads in this weather.
The other was from Scarlett:I will expect details when you come home.
I sent one back to each of them saying that I was at Jackson’s trailer and would be home as soon as the weather cleared up. Rosie couldn’t fuss too loudly, since she’d told me to stay wherever I was. Scarlett could possibly get some details, but depending on what happened, the story might not be unabridged.
“I’ll make the chocolate,” I said to take my mind off what could happen in the next couple of days.
He nodded toward the teakettle on the back burner. “Water will be hot when it whistles. I’ll get the mugs. You’re too short to reach them.” Stretching his hand to the top shelf was nothing for a tall man like Jackson.
I opened the box of chocolate and glanced at the size of the mugs. “Those are too big for one package.”
“And you said you couldn’t cook,” he teased.
“I can make a mean cup of coffee, hot chocolate—but not from scratch—and a bologna sandwich to die for,” I told him.
Jackson removed the bag of popcorn from the microwave. “That’s a start. Your first lesson beyond that might be scrambling eggs.”
“Sounds complicated.” I tore the tops off two packets of mix and dumped the contents into a mug, then repeated the process.
He chuckled. “You are right. Maybe we should start with a ham and cheese sandwich.”
“You are a funny man, Jackson Armstrong.”
His green eyes twinkled. “The tip jar is on the bar.”
“There is no bar.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Whoops! I guess I left it in the bedroom.”
“No tips for you tonight, then,” I said. “But I would like to steal one of your pillows, since I won’t have your arm to prop my head on.”
The humor left his eyes. “You can have the bed, and I’ll take the sofa.”
“Nonsense! I’m short. The sofa is fine. Just toss a pillow out here, and all will be good.” I wondered if that could be considered an argument. If so, could we have makeup sex, then fall asleep together in his bed? I frowned and mentally scolded myself for entertaining such an idea. This could be a real relationship, and jumping into bed too fast could ruin it forever.
