Four-hundred miles in bad weather doesn’t feel so bad when I flip open the lid on a thick-ass cheesecake that looks like a cloud covered in cranberry stuff.
It’s been waiting for me, stored in a glass dish labeled,welcome night dessert.
Welcome indeed.Welcome to my mouth.
A little voice in my head reminds me,I’m not in the field, I’m also not batching it out at my cabin where eating the entirety of anything isn’t out of the question.
“Shit. I hate guilt,” I mutter as I carry the container over to a massive counter that runs the length of the commercial kitchen.
Don’t eat the whole cheesecake.
That would be bad form.
Searching the drawers, I find a knife and insert it into the thick, creamy temptation, taking a responsible-size slice. I even deposit it onto a gold and red glass plate.
Fancy.Too bad the cheesecake will be gone in two-point-four seconds.
“Here’s to mental fortitude,” I say, toasting the air with a forkful.
I’m gonna fucking need it to stay a respectable distance from Liberty. Especially if she’s wearing something fuzzy and feminine.
My personal weakness.
On top of cheesecake.
Oh, fuck! What happens when she eats cheesecake in a fuzzy winter sweater?
I’m dead.
Unfortunately, my fork is only halfway to my mouth when my phone goes nuclear in my pocket.
Cheesecake and Liberty fantasies, or being a responsible adult?
Taking a big bite, I pull out my phone.
The device comes free from my pocket, screen glowing with the group chat that's been active for weeks planning this gathering. The whole time I was vague.
Undecided,I had said.
Every single member of the team is texting rapid-fire.
…Delayed.
…Can't make it due to the weather.
…Minor but important problem at the house.
…Something came up, I’ll be late.
…Snowstorm!
None of them are coming in the next 48 hours.
No.No fucking way.
ME: Damn, and I showed up and none of you are coming? Guess I’ll just have all this food to myself.
MARSHALL: Spence, you’re at the resort?
