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Snow covered the courtyard in a thick mantle of white. Knee-deep drifts between the bistro and hotel hid the path, and beneath the snow was ice.
Sleet stung my eyes and burned my cheeks as the wind whipped at my hair.
“Whiteout.” He draped his arm around my shoulders and guided me through the wet, driving snow.
I side-glanced. His lashes were so long, they caught snowflakes. “Somehow, the courtyard didn’t seem as wide walking here as going back.”
“Almost home.”
“I’m almost home, but what about you?” I stared into the frenetic white. “I can barely see my feet. You can’t drive in this storm.”
“That’s why they invented windshield wipers.” He turned toward me with a grin.
Blaming myself, I drew a deep breath. “Seriously—”
“Seriously, here we are.”
As he opened the door, the warm, dry heat of the hotel’s cheery fireplace surrounded me. Inviting armchairs faced the open, stone hearth. “Why don’t we sit by the fire until the storm passes?”
He glanced at the crackling fire, peeked out the door’s window, and a slow smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “You talked me into it—just until the snow lets up—but first…” His dark eyes twinkling, he held up his index finger. “Back in a sec.”
Where’s he going? I peered through the window as he disappeared into the white.
Two minutes later, he returned with a bottle.
“Where’d you get that wine?”
“Never know when I’ll have to make a delivery, so I keep a case in my pickup.” The label facing me, he held up a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.
“Always prepared, huh?” I chuckled.
“Not really…no wine opener.” Grinning, he turned to the desk clerk. “Do you have a corkscrew we could borrow?”
“Sure.” The night clerk dug behind the desk and produced an opener and two plastic cups. Then he offered a napkin-lined basket of cookies. “Help yourselves.”
“Thanks.” His hands full, Luke’s dark eyes appealed for help.
Responding to his body language, I snatched two cookies with a napkin and set them on a tea table between overstuffed chairs in front of the fire. What a cozy setting. I dropped my guard, unwinding for the first time in months…years. “All the comforts of home.”
“Home away from home.” The wine cork came out with a pop.
While Luke poured, I got an idea. “Be right back.”
I rushed to my room, grabbed the most dilapidated diary from the box, and caught my windblown reflection in the mirror. Yikes. After exchanging my puffy vest for a silky, merino-wool wrap, I ran a brush through my hair and added a touch of lipstick.
Five minutes later, I returned with a water-stained, antique composition book.
His gaze embraced me from head to toe as he rose to his feet.
Butterflies tickled the pit of my stomach, and I squirmed beneath his stare. “Thought you might like to page through one of Marianna’s journals.”
“I would, but first, a toast to new friends.” He handed me a plastic glass as he raised his.
I tapped my glass against his with a nonmusical thud, then sipped the cabernet, rolling it over my tongue and letting it linger. “This cab’s even better than the tempranillo.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That’s what I like to hear.” He gestured to the armchairs. “Have a seat.”
“I haven’t sorted through the diaries yet, but this one looks the oldest.”
