Aweek? I’m going to throw up.
“If it was me and Rhys, that would be one thing,” Luna says. “You know that. We could get close and Gavin could fetch us with a snowmobile or something. But Oliver complicates the situation. Trying to manage a baby in a hotel while we wait for roads to open sounds like a nightmare.”
“The nightmare is being stuck here with Gavin,” I hiss into the phone.
Immediately I regret it. I wouldn’t wish a weeklong hotel stay on them anyway, but especially not with a two-year-old. The concerning bit was her saying she wouldn’t set out until things cleared up.
“Why are you talking like the roads are already closed, Lu?” I ask.
“They aren’t,” she says soothingly. I can tell the moment she flips into her yoga voice. I must sound unhinged, because she’s trying to calm me down. “Hamish’s grandparents made it seem likely, that’s all. We’re going to wait for more information before setting out. See what happens overnight. The weather people don’t know everything, Cal. They’re only guessing.”
I look beyond the dark windows to where the earth is covered in a thick blanket of flawless snow. Just hours ago it was dry as a weed.
“For all we know, the storm will move, and we’ll have the thumbs-up to head out tomorrow morning,” she says brightly.
“Right. You’re right.” I inhale deeply through my nose and let it out slowly. “Call me in the morning, then?”
“Of course. Sorry, my phone’s charging, so I didn’t realize you were trying to contact me.”
“It’s fine. Love you. Hug Rhys and Oliver and Ruby and Hamish and both of their little cuties for me.”
“Even Hamish?” She laughs. The man can be kind of a Grinch.
“Hug him extra tight.”
We hang up, and I collapse on the rug in front of the roaring fire. My mom always says the best things for stress are meditation and chocolate. I’ve done the chocolate, so I might as well try the meditation. I kick off my shoes and form a basic butterfly pose, breathing in deeply as I bend my head toward my feet.
Even as I’m doing my best to breathe and relax my muscles one at a time the way my mom taught me, all I can think about is the man in the next room and how we’re stuck together for the foreseeable future.
I squeeze my feet and push my face into the back of my hands, letting out a strangled cry.
“Thought that was meant to help with the stress, not make it worse?” Gavin asks from directly above me.
I jerk back in surprise. My heart races. “It’s not magic.”
Gavin is holding two bowls and looking down at me. “Mushroom scampi?”
“I don’t know what that is.” It smells divine, whatever it is.
“Like prawn scampi, but…you know what? It’s a pasta dish with mushrooms.” He holds one bowl out.
Is the man an actual chef? He fixes toilets during the day and creates recipes at night? I climb to my feet and take the bowl. “Thanks.”
Gavin sits on the sofa, so I follow his lead. The pop and crack of the wood in the fire is the only sound as we make our way through the pasta. It’s delicious, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started to eat.
When he finishes eating, I rise, reaching for his bowl.
“Sit yourself down,” he argues, getting up.
“You cooked, I clean.”
“But you’re—” Gavin clears his throat.
My eyes narrow. “I’m what?”
He gestures. “Rattled. I can manage the dishes.”
Great. He thinks I’m fragile.
