He’d be gone soon.
I returned to the living room, plopped on the couch, and watched Gordon Ramsay yell at someone. I didn’t care who and for what because all my head would register was the image of a ginger-haired twink’s smile falling when I’d told him to go.
With a grumble, I shuffled to the kitchen, pulled out the pot of my lemon chicken soup from the fridge and heated two mugs of it. I downed one and grabbed the other.
“I’m gonna regret this,” I muttered and opened the door.
The guy stopped pacing, although he was still on the phone, this time typing furiously. Snowflakes landed on his orange hair, the shade of sunset. He was shivering now, standing in the snow that had reached his ankles. Even his suitcase had an inch of white fluff on it.
“You look cold.” I took a step forward.
He noticed me then and flinched, nearly dropping his phone again. “I am.”
He reminded me of a scared cat someone kicked outside into the blizzard. That would be me. Mr. Scrooge.
I handed him the mug. “Here.”
He eyed the steam. “What is this?”
“Soup.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is it poisoned?”
I scoffed. “No, of course not.”
“Well, you don’t seem to like me very much. I get it.” He shrugged and hit send on whatever he’d been typing.
“Drink. It will warm you up.” I crossed my arms and stood back.
“So you feel sorry for me.” He thrust his chin up.
I pursed my lips. No one had ever spoken to me like that. At 6' 4" and with four tentacles on display, I hardly ever got any cheeky comments. Let alone from a tiny stranger.
“Do you want the soup or not?” I didn’t have time for this. Oh wait, I did. I had three weeks filled with important plans of relaxing and cooking.
“I do. Thank you.” He wrapped his shaking fingers around the mug, took a sip, and directed his wide eyes at me. “This is so good.”
“Thanks.” I guess the soup had a warming effect on me too.
“You made this?” He slurped unapologetically.
I couldn’t hold the smile off my face. “Yes. So how’s the hunt for a place going?”
“All hotels, motels, apartments, and anything with a bed are already booked for this week. Most of them until the end of the year, actually. So I looked into flying home or somewhere else, but the planes are grounded.” He shook the snow off his boots, then stepped back into more of it. “Apparently there’s a snowstorm warning.” His shoulders sagged. “I better go.”
I took a deep breath.
“Wait.” I reached out with my tentacles but snatched them away. “Come inside. You can figure out what’s next when you’re not freezing.”
His ears perked up. “But you said—”
“I changed my mind. Get warm and we’ll sort something out.”
“Okay.” Mug in hand, he hauled his huge suitcase toward the house. I reached for it, but he batted my tentacle aside. The touch of his finger over my sucker lasted a fraction of a second before he jerked away as if it stung him.
I stifled a gasp. His hand was cold, but sent a sliver of warmth through my tentacle. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, but the blush that spread on his pale, freckled face was absolutely adorable.
“I can do it myself. If you hold this.” He thrust the mug at me.
