"Can I pick my room?"
"There are only two guest rooms."
"So yes?"
I sigh.
"Yes."
She races away.
The sound of running footsteps follows.
Then:
"I CALL THIS ONE."
A door slams.
Another opens.
Then:
"NO WAIT. THIS ONE."
Sadie shakes her head.
"She's going to redecorate before bedtime."
"Probably."
The smile she gives me is soft.
Uncomplicated.
Dangerous.
The storm rattles softly against the windows.
For the first time all day, neither of us seems in a hurry.
No bakery.
No arena.
No town gossip.
No reporters.
Just snow.
And quiet.
And somehow that's the most dangerous thing yet.
An hour later, the kitchen smells like soup.
The snowstorm has intensified outside.
