1
MEGHAN
Iwas going to freeze to death in someone else’s house.
The thought kept circling through my mind as I pulled Mrs. Norris’s afghan tighter around my shoulders. The power had flickered twice before going out completely about an hour ago, taking the heat with it.
Now the temperature inside the house was dropping fast, and the snow piled against the doors made it impossible to dig my way out. I’d already tried. I’d shoved my shoulder against the back door until it bruised, but the drift on the other side wasn’t budging.
The front door was even worse. Through the window, I could see my car buried under what looked like two feet of snow, and it was still coming down hard.
This was supposed to be easy money. Mrs. Norris had gone on a cruise with her sister, and all I had to do was water her plants, bring in her mail, and make sure the pipes didn’t freeze. She’d even said I could use her Wi-Fi to work on my online classes while I was here.
Instead, I was huddled on her couch in the dark, watching my breath form little clouds in the air.
I called the fire station about twenty minutes ago. The man who answered—Conner, he’d said his name was—had been reassuring. Someone was on the way. Help was coming. But as the minutes ticked by and the house grew colder, I started to wonder if anyone could actually get through this mess.
My phone buzzed, and I fumbled for it with numb fingers. A text from my roommate Teddie.
You okay over there? Heard the power’s out all over.
I typed back quickly.Firefighter supposedly on the way. Freezing my butt off.
Keep me posted. Love you.
Love you too.
I set the phone down and pulled my knees to my chest, trying to conserve body heat. Teddie and I had been best friends since kindergarten, and when we’d finally gotten our own place together last year, it had felt like the start of something. Independence. Adulthood. All those things we’d been dreaming about since we were kids, making plans in her treehouse.
But our little cabin didn’t pay for itself, and neither did my online classes. So when Mrs. Norris offered me two hundred dollars to house-sit for a week, I jumped at the chance. I could study here just as easily as at home, and the extra money would cover my textbooks for next semester.
Now I was regretting every decision that had led me to this frozen living room.
Headlights cut through the white outside, and I scrambled off the couch so fast I nearly tripped over the afghan. A massive truck was pushing through the drifts in the driveway, its engine growling like some kind of beast fighting its way through the storm.
I pressed my face to the window, my breath fogging the glass. The truck stopped, and a figure climbed out. Even through the swirling snow, I could tell he was big. Really big. Broadshoulders, heavy coat, and a beard that made him look like he’d stepped out of some old photograph of frontier settlers.
He didn’t head for the front door. Instead, he trudged around the side of the house, disappearing from view. I stood there, confused, until I heard something banging against the back of the house.
The back door. He was clearing the snow from the back door.
I rushed through the dark house, nearly running into the kitchen table in my haste. By the time I reached the door, I could hear him on the other side, the scrape of a shovel against concrete. A few minutes later, the door pushed open, and there he was.
He was even bigger up close. Tall enough that he had to duck slightly to step inside, with dark hair dusted with snow and a beard that covered most of his jaw. His eyes swept over me once—assessing, not leering—before moving past me to scan the kitchen.
“Power’s out,” he said.
His voice was deep, a low rumble that matched the rest of him.
“Yes. And the heat.” I pulled the afghan tighter, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous I must look. “Thank you for coming. I’m Meghan.”
He gave a short nod but didn’t offer his name. Instead, he moved past me into the house, his boots leaving wet prints on Mrs. Norris’s linoleum.
I followed him, not sure what else to do. He walked through the kitchen and into the living room, then stopped in front of the fireplace. It was one of those old stone ones—the kind that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Mrs. Norris had a decorative screen in front of it and some dried flowers arranged on the hearth.
“Does this work?” he asked, gesturing at it.
“I think so. I mean, I assume so. I’m just house sitting. I don’t actually live here.”
