Milo takes a long pull of his beer and glances out the window. “Snow’s really coming down now.”
He’s not wrong. What started as light flurries has turned into something more serious. The sky’s gone that particular shade of gray that means business.
“Should clear up in an hour or two,” I say.
Famous last words.
An hour later,we can barely see my truck in the driveway.
“Well.” Milo’s standing at the window, beer in hand, watching the white wall of snow outside. “This is not clearing up.”
I flip on the TV, already knowing what we’re going to find. Sure enough, the local news is running a storm warning across the bottom of the screen.
“—unexpected system moving through the valley. Residents are advised to stay indoors until further notice. Accumulation expected to reach twelve to fifteen inches by morning?—”
“Twelve to fifteen inches?” I stare at the screen. “It was supposed to be flurries.”
“Montana weather.” Elijah shrugs like this is perfectly normal, which, to be fair, it kind of is. “Changes fast.”
“Good thing I made you stock up on beer last week.” Milo’s grin is back, completely unbothered by the fact that we’re apparently snowed in. “And food. You do have food, right?”
“I have food.”
“Real food? Not just hot dogs and sadness?”
“I went to the store yesterday, asshole. I’m not completely helpless.”
Milo crosses to my kitchen and opens the fridge. Stares at the contents. Closes the fridge. Opens a cabinet. Turns back to me with a look of genuine surprise.
“Huh. Eggs. Bacon. Bread that isn’t just the end pieces. Actual vegetables.” He opens the freezer. “Steaks. Chicken. Ben Wilson, did you learn how to adult?”
“My mother may have given me a lecture about scurvy.”
“Marie’s a smart woman,” Elijah says. “You should listen to her more.”
“Wow, even you’re turning on me?”
He just shrugs.
“God bless Marie Wilson.” Milo shuts the freezer, satisfied. “Okay, we can survive. I also brought stuff from the bar—was going to make you dinner anyway since you’re letting me store some overflow stock in your shed.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Chili ingredients. Enough to feed an army.” He grins. “Or three alphas stuck in a blizzard.”
“Your chili’s good,” Elijah says. High praise from him.
Milo clutches his chest. “Elijah Smith, was that a compliment? Mark the calendar.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
I settle onto my couch and flip to the game. Might as well make the best of this. “You guys can stay. I’ve got blankets, the couch pulls out, and apparently enough food to survive the apocalypse.”
“Was that in question?” Milo drops into the armchair like he owns it. “I’m not driving in that. Besides, this is nice. Guy time. We never just hang out anymore.”
“We hang out,” Elijah says.
“At town events. While working. That doesn’t count.”
