"Morning," I say, making my way toward the kitchen and the coffee pot calling my name.
He glances over his shoulder, blue eyes assessing. "You slept."
"That's generally what people do at night."
A slight quirk of his lips. Not quite a smile, but close. "Some people. Storm kept me up."
"Me too, for a while." I pour coffee into a mug, wrapping my hands around its warmth. "How bad is it out there?"
"Three feet in some places. More where it drifted." He straightens, towering in the open space. "We're not going anywhere for at least a few days."
I take a deep breath, fighting the panic rising in my chest. "So we're really completely cut off from civilization?"
"Not completely." He leans against the counter, studying me over his mug. "I have a satellite phone for emergencies. And a snowmobile if we absolutely need to get to town."
"That's something, I suppose." I sip my coffee, grateful for its grounding bitterness. "Does this happen often?"
"Few times each winter." His gaze remains steady, watchful. "Problem?"
I straighten my spine. "Not at all. I just have work deadlines."
"Nothing you can do about them now."
The matter-of-fact statement should irritate me, but he's right. Nothing I can do except adapt. "So what does one do on a mountain when snowed in?"
"Survive." He takes another sip. "Read. Work. Wait it out."
"Sounds thrilling."
That almost smile again. "You were expecting entertainment?"
"I was expecting to at least maintain contact with my clients." I move to the large windows, taking in the breathtaking winter scene. Snow blankets everything, transforming the rugged landscape into something from a fairy tale. "It's beautiful, though. I'll give you that."
"It is." Something in his tone makes me turn. He's not looking at the view but at me, his expression unreadable.
Heat crawls up my neck. I turn back to the window, clearing my throat. "So what's on the agenda today?"
"Breakfast. Then I need to clear paths to the generator and workshop." A pause. "You any good with eggs?"
"I can manage not to burn them."
"Good enough."
While Dario dresses for outdoor work, I explore the kitchen, familiarizing myself with its contents. The pantry is impressively stocked—clearly, he takes winter preparation seriously. I find eggs, bacon, and the ingredients for pancakes.
By the time he returns, dressed in heavy boots and a thick flannel shirt, I've got breakfast well underway. The familiarity of the scene isn't lost on me. Less than forty-eight hours ago, wewere strangers signing a contract. Now I'm cooking breakfast in his kitchen while he prepares to battle the elements.
"Smells good." He grabs a plate, helping himself to a stack of pancakes and several strips of bacon.
"Basic survival skills." I flip the last pancake onto my own plate. "My dad made sure I could cook the basics before I left for college."
"Good man."
"He was." The simple past tense acknowledgment of his absence still aches. "The army made hm practical."
Dario nods, understanding without needing elaboration. We eat in companionable silence for several minutes, the only sounds the clink of cutlery and the crackling fire.
"Has your lawyer reached out about the contest paperwork?" he asks, surprisingly breaking the silence first.
