Before she can finish, a loud whump rattles the house. The wind slams against the windows, the lights flicker once, twice, then everything goes dark.
“God damn it,” Heaven mutters, already moving.
She grabs her phone, the flashlight slicing through the dark as she heads for the hallway. I follow close behind, my own beam bouncing off the walls as we make our way toward the basement.
“What happened?” I ask, nearly tripping down the last step.
“I think someone hit the power line or something,” she says, walking fast. “I need to find the generator.”
“Are we supposed to only use that for the lights?”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “Do you want to sleep in the dark or…”
I huff. “I was just asking a question.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she says dryly, crouching to open a metal closet door.
The smell of dust and cold air hits my nose as she flips a lever. The generator groans, then hums to life, and the light above us flickers weakly.
“Okay,” she says, standing and brushing her hands on her sweatpants. “Generator works. The problem is we cannot turn it on for the full house. We need to save power.”
“How much do we have?” I ask, squinting at the little screen she is studying.
She sighs. “Sixty percent. That is enough to keep the kitchen, living room, and downstairs bedroom going for a while. No Christmas light shows or heated bubble baths, got it?”
I grin. “Damn. There goes my Friday night plan.”
“Tragic,” she mutters, but there is the faintest twitch of a smile.
We head back upstairs, the air colder and quieter now. Every shadow stretches longer without the full power on. When we reach the living room, I walk straight to the window and press my hand against the glass.
“I cannot see anything.” Outside, it is pitch black, the snow swirling so thick. “It is so dark out there.”
“Yeah,” Heaven says, scrolling through her phone. The blue light glows across her face as she types. “The neighborhood group chat.” After a second, she groans. “Everyone’s lights are out. Whole block.” She rolls her eyes and sinks onto the couch. “Perfect. Merry freakin Christmas.”
I smile despite myself, clutching the plate with the cinnamon roll. “Could be worse.”
She looks up, one brow arched. “Oh yeah? How?”
I shrug. “We could have lost power before the cinnamon rolls.”
Her lips curve slightly. “God forbid we go without something sweet while we are sitting in complete darkness.”
“And you are welcome,” I say, taking a seat across from her and biting into the roll.
A moan escapes me before I can stop it. The frosting melts perfectly against the warm dough. Comfort, nostalgia, and sugar all in one bite. I have made this recipe a hundred times and it still hits every single time.
Heaven clears her throat.
My eyes fly open. She is staring at me, her gaze sharp and amused.
“What?” I ask, still chewing.
“I thought you were giving that to me.”
“Oh.” I swallow quickly. “You said no. Why would I waste it? There is more in the kitchen if you want one.”
She shakes her head, lips twitching. “Unbelievable.”
