He winces. “Can’t blame Austin this time. The building’s Smart lock system defaults to secure when the power fluctuates, locking segments of the complex. This place is built differently than the old firehouse.”
“So we’re locked in?”
“We can get outside, but—” He peers through the glass. “Do you really want to?”
He tries his radio. Static. Pulls out his phone. No signal.
The first aid room is small—barely ten by ten—and somewhat warm. There’s a cot, a first aid kit, and not enough space for two people who are trying very hard to maintain professional boundaries, especially one trapped in the mascot costume, which is now not just uncomfortable but actively torturous as my stress rises.
“I need to get this thing off.” I flail, trying to shed the costume like a snake abandoning its skin.
Patton chuckles.
“This isn’t funny.”
“All things considered, it’s pretty funny.”
Scowling, I mutter, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” The corner of his lip hitches as he tugs me close to him.
And the scary thing is, he’s right.
The laughter fades as we both realize we’re alone in a tiny room, stuck together for who knows how long.
He examines the zipper on the back of the costume. His fingers lightly slide across my neck and I shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.
“Hold still.”
“I am still.”
“You’re fidgeting.”
“I’m sweating. This thing weighs twenty pounds!”
He works the zipper carefully, his breath pleasant against my skin. Finally, blessedly, it gives. I peel off the costume, feeling free and—Patton’s gaze drifts from my head, to my rumpled clothes, to my toes. Never mind the chill, I’m now blazing all over. I smooth my shirt, pull my hair from my neck, fan my face.
Our eyes lock.
The generator hums. Wind howls against the windows. Pipes creak as the building settles from the cold. But all of that is secondary to us.
Patton draws me to the cot we opened for the kids—the only seating … and sleeping … option. That’s a problem for later. Right now, we share the emergency supplies, which consist of stale granola bars and lukewarm water from bottles left in the cabinet. He cracks a pair of handwarmers for me and I tuck them in my shoes.
He stares at the wall over my shoulder. “The dorm with bunks and warm blankets is so close yet so far away.”
“There’s no way to get in there?”
“Not until the power stabilizes and the system resets.” He exhales a long breath as he raps lightly on the wall with his knuckles. “At least I got a shower, but this isn’t exactly the victory dinner I’d planned. The mess hall with warm, baked beans and bacon is right there.” He gestures over his shoulder.
“We could eat leftover brownies right now if we could get into the community room.”
“For the record, your grandmother’s brownies are better.”
“Don’t ever let Judy hear you say that. I think their brownie battle keeps them entertained.”
Silence falls, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just … intimate. Like we’ve crossed some invisible threshold and there’s no going back.
“Can I ask you something?” His voice is quiet in the near darkness.
