I snort. “It’s not to impress -”
“Nate.”
The tone stops me cold. Not angry. Not annoyed.
Worried.
“For once,” she says gently, “let it rest. You can’t fight a blizzard.”
I exhale, defeated by her logicandher lovely, gentle, sarcastic voice. “Fine. But if it dies, we’re using firelight until morning.”
She nods. “Sure. I can live with that.”
Another gust attacks the cabin, banging the shutters. Inside, the fire pops loudly enough to make her jump, and she mutters something that sounds like “goddamn wilderness bullshit.”
Something inside me unclenches at the sound.
She’s here. She’s pissed off. She’s cursing like a grumpy sailor. It’s enjoyably familiar. Almost comforting.
“Right,” I say, tapping my hands against my thighs. “Next crisis: food.”
Her eyes widen again. “Please tell me Mac didn’t leave this place stocked with nothing but whiskey and beef jerky.”
I give her a look.
She collapses into the couch. “Oh my god.”
“I bought groceries,” I offer. “Not a ton, but enough. Fallon yelled at me about vitamin intake before I left.”
“She always did care more about our diet than Mac.”
“She cares more abouteverythingthan Mac.”
We share a look. A rare, old, easy look of total agreement. One I haven’t seen on her face in… too long. “OK,” she sighs. “I brought ramen, Doritos, and guac. And cookies. What else are we working with?”
I get up, head to the kitchen, and start pulling bags out from where I stashed them behind the counter.
“Let’s see…” I unload items onto the table. “Rice. Beans. Eggs. Two loaves of bread. Some canned soups. Fresh veg. And… uh… coffee.”
Ally stands and peers at the spread. “This looks like the pantry of a college student who just discovered budgeting.”
“It was a quick trip. I didn’t think I’d be hosting anyone.”
She picks up a head of broccoli. “This is unusually wholesome. Who are you and what have you done with Nate?”
“Funny.”
The air shifts subtly; less brittle, more warm. The edges of her hurt are still there, but dulled by exhaustion and survival mode.
“Right,” she says, scrubbing her hands over her face. “We have enough food to manage. What’s the sleeping arrangement again?”
“You take the bed,” I say firmly. “Non-negotiable.”
“Nate, I was gonna take the couch anyway -”
“Ally, stop. I’m not having you sleep on the floor after driving through a storm.”
She frowns at me. “Are you sure?”
