Ice.
Heat.
Painkillers.
A massage.
From me.
While he’s naked in front of the fire.
Stop it, Aspen.
He’s staring at me as I sit wrapped in a quilt on the sectional, but if he knows what I’m thinking about his pants, he doesn’t let on.
Just nods once. “Yeah. Good idea.”
Like I haven’t said it six times already. Like it’s only justnowa good idea.
He grabs the top quilt out of the linen closet and heads to the bathroom.
Moments later, he emerges with the quilt wrapped around his waist, looking like he’s Father Christmas from ye olden days, if Father Christmas also wore tight gray shirts over his holiday robes.
His pants get laid out on the floor near the fire, which is making the room warmer—almost too warm—with every passing minute.
I’m glad we’re both safe and sound in here now. Not slipping on ice. Not worrying about wildlife. Not in blinding snow so thick you can barely see ten feet past the door.
It’s time for me to go hide in the bedroom.
Definitely time.
Yep.
This is me, going right now.
Getting up off the couch.
Walking down the short hallway.
Closing myself in?—
Okay, seriously, I’m not doing any of that. I’m tucking my feet under me and wrapping my quilt tighter around myself too. I’m still using the butterfly quilt.
I like it.
I asked before, but I need to ask again. “How long do you think we’ll actually be stuck out here?”
“Few days for sure,” he says. “Maybe not a full week. Not if the owners have someone lined up to plow and clear that tree.”
“Will your family worry?” With the internet out, neither of us has been able to reach anyone we know.
He shakes his head. Then nods. Then sighs. “They know where I was going. Is it weird to say I might get a helicopter lift once the storm blows over?”
“Yes.”
The man smiles.
So damn gorgeous.
