Snowed In Part 1
Snowed In
“What the hell do you want?” Jeffery barks as if oblivious to the howling wind and swirling snow behind me.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself to be humble. Then, I force the words I was rehearsing the entire walk over. “A truce,” I say, and shove the fruitcake I baked the night before in his face.
“I don’t eat sweets,” he says, but before he can slam the door, I thrust my foot forward and wedge it open.
“Listen.” I swallow my saliva and fight the urge to scream above the blizzard. “I know we haven’t been the best of friends—”
“Call it what it is, Sarah. We’re enemies. You hate me. I hate you. That’s how it’s been since you flew in on your broomstick last year.”
Obnoxious prick.
I grind my teeth, straighten my posture, and force a slight curve to my lips. “Okay, fine. Even though we despise each other, we’re in the middle of a storm. My power is out, and I notice that you have a generator. So…I’m wondering if I can stay at your place until my power is back on.”
Jeffrey props his hand against the door frame and lowers his head to me. He’s so close now that his breath, heavy with the scent of coffee, warms my face. “And what’s in it for me?”
This close, it’s hard to ignore how his chest strains against the fabric of his sweater. Jeffrey’s built like a lumberjack. A bronzed, spice-infused, dark-haired, sharp-jawed, steaming lumberjack. However, since I moved to Cold Spring, he’s been a thorn in my side. Within a week, he turned my peaceful small-town dream into a nightmare.
His dog enters my yard to do its business, and when I inform Jeffrey about it, his response is always a crude reference to his pet’s bathroom habits. On top of that, he plays despicable country music at supersonic levels, but it gets even louder if I reiterate that I work from home. My only peace comes when he’s at his bartending job on the bustling main street.
If there is love at first sight, our relationship’s the opposite.
My hands go limp, and I’m plagued with the desire to stomp away from this heartless brute, but I don’t. Our nearest neighbor is a mile down the road. So, it’s literally between seeking refuge from Jeffrey or freezing to death. “That’s what the cake is for.”
“Well, I don’t want you or your crusty-ass cake in my house, so get lost.”
The door slam cuts through the murderous wind and drains my energy. I turn, the weight of my feet dragging me to my two-story home, as my coat’s hood fails, and my dark brown hair, now unbound, whips around my face. I’m busy trying to remove it from my line of sight just as I hear Jeffrey’s deep rumble, which sounds more like a strangled cry. “You can come in. I won’t be able to live with myself if you turn into an icicle.”
I spin around in time to witness his eyes’ soft gaze before he shields them. Then he vanishes into the house, his shoulders slumped. I breathe deeply and prepare for the hours to come as I follow.
“Wait here,” the man says, then diverts into the kitchen.
Jeffrey’s living room isn’t what I expect of a barbarian. Despite its simple, rugged appearance, it has some unexpected features, such as the window-side nook and bookshelf stocked with John Grisham novels. I note the absence of a television, which seems to be replaced by a tank of ten colorful fish. There are paintings on the wall, none of any significance except the one hanging above the lifeless fireplace. It reveals a family: a man with silver hair, a small woman sporting a pleasant smile, and a younger version of the brute himself.
I stare at the boy with the overachieving grin and bright eyes full of mischief, and I wonder what could have turned him into such an asshole. I’m mulling over the attitude shift when a loud bark followed by a growl shatters the quiet.
How could I forget about him?
The athletically built dog approaches, crouching, with drool dripping from between its teeth. My heart races, and my body shakes so violently that the cake slides right out of my grasp and splatters onto the hardwood floor.
“Ace, leave it.” Jefferey reenters, a tall glass of golden liquid with a lemon wedge in his hand. He stands next to his pet, and with his free hand, strokes the dog’s head as it leans back and wags its tail. The man looks at me, amusement on his lips, and says, “You don’t want that. It would rot your teeth.”
Is he talking about me or the cake?
Jeffrey offers me the glass, which I accept, then gestures toward the leather chair. “Why don’t you have a seat before you make a mess of this, too?”
I mumble a thank you and do as he says, watching as he tosses the crumbled cake into the trash, smiling to reveal dimples.
Less than five minutes in this man’s home, and it feels like I’ve been here for days. I’m desperate to leave. However, outside the wind rages, so I put the glass to my lips and take three gulps, ignoring the sting in my throat.
I expect Jeffrey to ignore me for the time I am here, so I settle onto the couch, but he surprises me as the couch sinks under his weight. “Go easy on that,” he says, and my initial reaction is to glare at him. However, his voice is soft with tenderness until he continues, “I don’t want to deal with you sober, much less drunk.”
And there it is.
I frown and rest the glass on the nearby table. “How about some coffee instead?”
“Feel free to go home for it.”
“You don’t have any?”
“I drank the last of it not too long ago. Didn’t know I was having a guest.” He spits out the last word as if it scalded his tongue.
“Oh” is all I say, and avert my attention to the wall.
Jeffrey’s closeness has me fidgeting and combing my hair with my fingers. I’m doing my best to avoid him, but my body betrays me, and as soon as I turn, pale green eyes unravel my composure. “Is something wrong?”
“Aren’t you hot?” He watches me with his head tilted.
Sweat is dripping down my back, but my clothing feels like an extra layer of protection. There’s no way I can remain in this for the hours to come, so after another sip, I peel off my layers. I’m left wearing a snug-fitting jogger and the matching sweatshirt that says, ‘You are too good for him.’ Jeffrey’s pupils widen, and I instantly regret my choice in clothing.
Did he think this was about him?
The outfit was given to me by my best friend, Maggie, following my divorce two years ago, and is the warmest and most comfortable in my closet.
“It was a gift.”
“I didn’t ask,” he says, but his deep stare is exploring. It makes my skin heat, so I drink again and rub my hands on my pant leg as I settle in the spot.
Jeffrey squirms in his seat and forces himself to look at the wall. “Too bad I don’t have a television. That would, at least, make the time go by faster.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, the slight heat of the alcohol tingling my throat. “The wind is picking up out there.”
He sighs as the rumbling of debris grows more intense, but we’re both silent when my thoughts pull me away.
The last time I’d weathered a storm this fierce, Mark and I were together. He chided me for jumping at every rumble of thunder and for flinching as lightning split the sky. Then again, Mark berated me for almost everything I did.
We were different, but I believed our contrasting personalities would create perfect harmony. I thought he would pick up right where I left off, though the experience of marriage was unlike what I had imagined. Mark was interested in his self-worth and reminded me of my lack thereof. He criticized me, pointing out flaws in my thoughts and actions. “Why can’t you do what I do and ignore it?” he would say regarding my fears, but I guess he couldn’t do the same with my quirks. Eventually, he grew tired and left.
A yelp escapes my lips as a baseball-sized hailstone slams into the window, creating lines of cracks in a fractured pattern. This causes my fingers, acting before my brain processes their intentions, to grip Jeffrey’s shirt, my face pressed against his shoulder. I’m clutching so tight my fingers lose their color, but I dare not release him until his muscles tense underneath my touch.
As the blood rushes up to my head, my face flushes crimson. A tingle sweeps up the back of my neck, my body ignites with heat, and I wince. Putting some distance between us, I tuck my arms to my side, scolding myself.
“Sorry. I get scared easily.”
I don’t know why I admit this to my sworn enemy, to the man who makes my life here a living nightmare.
I’m expecting a snappy comment, but when I look up at him, there’s that soft look again, as if he’s soothing me with his gaze. Then he opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, so he closes it again. I glance away, grab my glass, and down the rest of the liquid.
Realizing I’d been clutching onto a man who’d rather see me dead than smiling is awkward, but before that, I felt—comforted. For a moment, I thought that ease would wash over my entire body.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Jeffrey stands and bolts to the window, but not before I notice the flush on his face. “The glass doesn’t look broken, but it’s chipped. Let’s hope it holds out for the rest of the night.”
He makes his way to the other side of the room and sprawls on the chaise lounge at his nook. Ace moves to settle next to his master’s limp hand. Jefferey places his other hand over his face, and I can’t tell if he’s asleep, but he remains like this for almost two hours.
There is a lightness in my limbs, and I relax into the quiet, occasionally drifting into a slumber, until cold seeps into my bones, and I shiver. Maybe Jeffrey feels it too, because he stirs and gets into a seated position. “It’s gotten chillier, hasn’t it? How about a blanket?” He walks towards the closed door at the back, but stops at the sound of cracks.
“I don’t think a blanket is going to do the trick,” I say through chattering teeth.
He sighs and spins around, his eyes darting about.
When he looks at me, there are creases on his forehead. “I think it’s best if we move to the bedroom.”
“The what?” I ask, too fast and too loud.
“Unless you want to freeze out here.”
“No. I mean…” I take a deep breath and steady my voice. “It makes sense.”
“Come on, Ace.” The dog does not hesitate at his master’s command and follows Jeffrey through the doorway.
I waver, though, swallowing hard.
Editor: Shannon Hensley
