I spin so fast I nearly drop the bottle.
Callum stands in the doorway to the living room, backlit by the dying fire. He's changed out of his earlier clothes into loose gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest in ways that make my mouth go dry again immediately.
"Storm's loud."
"It'll pass by morning." He moves into the kitchen, and I'm reminded again of how big he is. How much space he takes up. "The roads will be bad for a day or two though. County doesn't prioritize this far up the mountain."
"A day or two?" I set down the water bottle. "The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night."
"I know."
"And you're just now mentioning that we might be snowed in?"
"I'm mentioning it now because I just checked the weather report." He pulls out his phone and shows me the screen. A wall of red and purple covers the entire region, with warnings about dangerous conditions and travel advisories. "Storm shifted. It was supposed to track south of us, but it turned. We're looking at eighteen to twenty four inches before it's done."
"Eighteen to twenty four inches." I stare at the screen, processing. "Callum, I have to be at the rehearsal dinner. I'm the maid of honor. Yasmine will literally murder me if I don't show up."
"Then we'll figure it out." His voice is calm, steady. Annoying in its reasonableness. "I have a plow on my truck. Once the worstpasses, I can clear the driveway and get us down to the main road. From there it depends on how fast the county crews move."
"And if they don't move fast enough?"
"Then we improvise."
I want to argue. Want to pace and panic and call my sister and explain that I'm trapped on a mountain with a man I met six hours ago. But Callum's composure is doing something to my nervous system, slowing the spiral before it can fully form.
"This is insane," I say instead.
"Little bit."
"I'm stuck in a cabin with a stranger during a blizzard. This is literally the plot of every true crime documentary."
"If it helps, you're also stuck with central heating, a fully stocked kitchen, and a backup generator." He opens a cabinet and pulls out a glass. "Plus I have excellent taste in whiskey."
"I noticed."
He pours two fingers and slides it across the counter toward me. I take it without protesting, because apparently I've abandoned all my usual boundaries along with my career and my dignity.
"Since we're both awake," Callum says, pouring his own glass, "we might as well use the time productively. The convincing couple act is going to require some background information."
"Like what?"
"Basics. Where you grew up. What you studied. Whether you have any embarrassing family secrets that might come up over dinner."
I snort. "How much time do you have?"
"All night, apparently."
We migrate to the living room, where the fire has burned down to glowing embers. Callum adds more logs while I curl into the corner of a massive leather sofa that smells like wood smokeand something distinctly masculine. The whiskey warms my chest as I watch him work, efficient and sure in his movements.
"Detroit," I start when he settles into the opposite end of the sofa. "Born and raised. My parents split when I was fourteen and Yasmine was ten. Mom moved us to Chicago, Dad stayed in Michigan with his new girlfriend. I saw him every other weekend until I turned sixteen and decided I was too busy for court mandated visitation."
"You and your father don't get along?"
"We get along fine now. Surface level fine. Talk about the weather and pretend we don't have fifteen years of unresolved resentment between us." I take another sip of whiskey. "He's bringing his girlfriend to the wedding. Third one since the divorce. This one's only five years older than me."
"That bothers you."
"Everything about my father bothers me." The words come out sharper than intended. "Sorry. Family stuff. You probably don't want to hear all this."
