My throat went dry as I pictured lying next to Noah, feeling the heat of his skin, listening to his breathing in the dark. The blanket suddenly felt way too warm, and I had to fight the urge to cast it off.
“I’ll take the floor,” said Noah, swiping a clump of damp hair out of his eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I gestured at the cold wooden planks. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’ve slept in worse places. Besides, Yeti makes an excellent pillow.” Yeti whined, expressing her opinion about that.
Another crack of thunder rattled the window. As if sensing we needed an independent third party to mediate, Yeti popped down in the middle of the mattress and claimed it for herself.
“At least you’ll be warm,” said Noah. “That dog puts off more heat than a blast furnace.”
The silence stretched for a long time, interrupted only by the snap of burning wood from the fireplace.
“Don’t move.” Abruptly, without another word, Noah hopped to his feet, unwound the belt latch on the front door,then dashed out into the dark, stormy night. The wooden door slammed shut with a bang.
“Did he just abandon us?”
Yeti and I looked at each other, considering the possibility.
“Was the thought of spending the night with me really that horrible?”
Yeti cocked her head. “Definitely a possibility” seemed to be her conclusion.
When Noah burst back through the front door, wind swirling and raindrops spraying, he held up the no-longer-quite-so-white LuxeLife logo’d cooler bag in one hand, triumphant. “At least Victoria is good for something,” he announced.
I joined him on the damp wooden floor as he huddled over the cooler, tugging open the zippered top. His muscles flexed as he searched, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from watching his shoulders work. The torn curtain had slipped even lower, barely hanging onto his hips.
“Bingo.” He pulled a champagne bottle out by the neck, something very expensive, judging by the fanciness of the label. Then he dug out two champagne flutes.
Also in the cooler, there were nuts, berries, crackers, and cheese.
“I could kiss you right now,” I declared.
The look in Noah’s eyes suggested he wouldn’t stop me if I did. “Wait, it gets better.” Noah pulled out a handful of foil-wrapped mounds. He peeled back the gold wrapping from one of them, revealing something dark. Something cocoa brown. Something decadent and chocolaty.
“WHAT. ARE. THOSE?”
“Looks like chocolate truffles.” He held one up to the light of the fire. “Dusted with cocoa powder.”
Noah was roughly twice my size. Infinitely stronger. Probablythe victor of several dozen fist fights over the course of his grumpy mountain man’s life. But if this had been some sort ofHunger Gamesfight-to-the-death dystopian murder contest, I would have totally kicked his ass for one of those truffles.
I wiped the puddle of drool off my chin as Noah tossed one over. As soon as I took a bite, rich chocolate flooded my mouth. Dark, complex, with hints of something smoky and a touch of sea salt.
“Well? Are they any good?”
I couldn’t answer at first because my brain was skipping down a chocolate bar paved lane alongside a chocolate milk river, through a chocolate-covered peppermint forest filled with chocolate unicorns. The flavor was so intense I couldn’t help the small moan that escaped me, a sound that would have made an adult film star blush.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Noah popped one of the truffles into his mouth too.
Working together, we spread the cooler bag feast over the included white cloth napkins, which we laid out on the floor.
“Well, this is fancy,” I said, selecting a seasoned pistachio from the nut pile. “But I’m guessing this isn’t the authentic, luxurious backdrop Victoria had in mind.”
“Too bad you don’t have your phone,” said Noah. “Can you imagine her reaction if you posted our champagne toast from here?”
“Her head would have exploded.” I placed a raspberry on my tongue. It was good … but not as good as the berries we got at the festival from Mrs. Miller.
“Speaking of champagne.” Noah popped the top off the bottle and poured us each a glass. “To unexpected adventures.” He held up his glass, hitching the curtain toga back up his hips with his other hand.
