I shook my head once more. “No. My parents are having dinner with their friends. Larry has plans. Will’s off with Becca the tourist.”
“No date tonight?”
His question was casual, but something about it made me want to search his face for a hidden meaning.
“Not unless you count that bottle of wine I had waiting on me at home.”
Brady didn’t reply to that, but he did pluck an electric lantern off the shelf in front of him and switch it on, lighting up the dim space. We probably had an hour or so until the sun went down, and then we’d lose all the light bleeding in around the edges of the shed.
Once he had the lantern, Brady got real nosy. He poked through all the shelving and cabinets while I stood there trying to think of some way out of this—this mess where we were forced to spend an entire night together, practically outdoors. All my frustration and annoyance were brought on by Brady’s presence and nearness. This was all his damn fault. And, honestly, I was starting to panic over the forced proximity. Intrusive kissing-related thoughts swam in the forefront of my mind. I did my best to control my breathing.
The shed contained mostly extras and supplies we didn’t use regularly. All the good tools were in the barn, but I saw Brady pull out an extension cord, some twine we used for Christmas decorations, three rolls of fishing line, and a first aid kit that hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time. There were some old moving blankets, the leftover supplies from when we’d had beehives on the property, and a storage tote of string lights that we’d bust out in two weeks for the Christmas tree lot.
Brady examined some old stakes and tomato cages in the corner behind the wheelbarrows.
Finally, I snapped out, “What are you going to do, MacGyver our way out of here?”
“No,” he said while fiddling with an old combination lock. “But that is an excellent new nickname for you. I’m disappointed I didn’t think of it sooner.”
He flashed me a quick grin, and I scowled.
“I’m just seeing what we’ve got to work with,” Brady added. “Those moving blankets are rough, but they’re thick, and they’ll keep us warm when the temperature drops tonight.”
The sinking weight of reality had me releasing a heavy breath. This was really happening. We were trapped. We’d be spending the night in this twelve-by-twelve-foot shed with its dusty floors and metal walls. What if there was a rat? What if I needed to pee?
“Hey! A pack of cards,” Brady announced excitedly.
I blinked.
“We can play War or Egyptian Ratscrew. Spoons will be a little harder with only two of us, but we could?—”
“Did you do this on purpose?” I interrupted.
Brady frowned. “Do what?”
“Get us locked in here together.”
It was his turn to blink. “How would I do that? I didn’t know y’all locked up your wheelbarrows like it was Fort Knox.”
My gaze narrowed, scrutinizing. “You just seem too”—I gestured broadly—“okay about this whole thing.”
He emptied the deck of red-and-black cards into one palm. “I’m making the best of it. We have something to keep us entertained. We have a way to keep warm. And we have light. Only thing we’re missing is pizza and a six-pack.”
Despite his annoying ability to put a positive spin on nearly anything, I guess it would be pretty farfetched to think Brady had actually locked us in a storage shed on purpose. We’d only added the keypad recently. Last month, I’d stumbled upon a family of tourists making use of the shed to hide and disrobe. They’d wanted to create a ridiculous photo op with pumpkins from our patch. Why that involved putting a baby inside a pumpkin and then everyone taking their clothes off and holding squash in front of their private parts, I still didn’t know. But I’dcaught them, and we’d banned them from ever visiting Grandpappy’s again. Will had also thought it would be a good idea to keep the shed locked to prevent folks from poking around in places they didn’t belong.
I’d been stupid to walk in without propping the door again or disarming the lock fully. But, I’d been distracted by the puffy-vest-wearing idiot.
With a sigh, I made my way over to the shelf closest to the door. Shifting aside a sack of birdfeed, I retrieved a cellophane bag and held it out. “There. We won’t starve.”
Brady’s eyes brightened. “Look at you. Champion hunter-gatherer right there.”
Larry kept a stash of candy out here for when she had to work the tree farm. Luckily, Twizzlers didn’t go bad for a long-ass time, and this bag hadn’t been opened.
Brady ripped into it and stuck the end of a red licorice rope in his mouth, grinning around it. “You don’t have a secret stockpile of orange Tic Tacs, do you? Those are my favorites.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I screamed internally. Oh, I knew they were his favorites. There were a dozen memories in the background of my brain where Brady at various ages popped those little orange candies into his mouth.
Then there was the fact that I remembered the saccharine-sweet citrus flavor on his tongue.
