How can I not appreciate this man? He seriously needs to go before I do something stupid. Because he’s freaking adorable right now. “Is it food?” I ask.
“It’ll give us calories when your food runs out.”
When your food runs out.
Oh, no.
Oh, no no no. We’re not doingfood running outat the holidays.
Been there, done that, and I amnotsigning up for it again. Even if there are no decorations, no music, noA Christmas Storyon repeat on the television for days, no yelling about how someone needs to turn off that goddamn annoying movie, no pity cookies dropped off from the neighbors, I’ll still know it’s the holidays.
“Cash?”
The man refuses to look me in the eye while his face does a thing that I loosely translate to meanI don’t want to tell you more bad news.
“How long will we be stuck here?”
He mumbles something.
“Cash.”
He answers the ceiling instead of me. “Given how remote it is here, it could be a week before we can get plowed out. Partially depends on whatever arrangements the cabin owners have for the driveway.”
“I’ll email them again.”
He gives me another look.
“What?”
“It was a couple hours ago that I had enough WiFi to get the weather. Haven’t been able to get it to work since. Cell signal is nonexistent. I’ve been trying to get a message out to my assistant to get help up here sooner since I checked the weather, and it won’t go. I’ll go get the extra food.”
I grab my phone and pull up my email, which takes forever to connect, then sputters out immediately. I trail him out to the living room. “I’ll help get the food.”
He puts a foot into one boot. “You have a warm coat?”
“It’s just ten feet.”
“Snow boots?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again as I eyeball the boots he’s also eyeballing next to his.
Mine are ankle-high purple suede with a heel.
While his boots are also ankle-high, they look like hiking boots. Not like something that would bring all of the fashionable squirrels to the yard.
“Might take me a couple trips,” he says. “Stay at the door. You can take everything inside while I go back out for more.”
It would be quicker and more efficient if both of us went out to the cars, but my version of being prepared for a snowy mountain Christmas was to not have to go anywhere, and I packed accordingly. Plus, it’s not like I have a full winter wardrobe.
“Can you grab a thing or two out of my car too?”
“Yep. Keys?”
I fish them out of my bag and hand them to him. “There’s a gallon of water and a backpack with some books. Be careful.”
“It’s not war, Mabel. It’s the future of the entire planet,” he replies.
And I laugh.
