Page 59 of Deck the Hauls

Emily shrieked.

Goddamnit.

“Stay where you are!” I called. “I’ll grab the flashlight and come get you.”

The gas flame under the frying pan was the only source of light. Using that to ground me, I crept to the back door, feeling around until my hands hit my heavy-duty flashlight. I turned it on, strode to the stove and switched it off, then raced into the living room.

Emily stood on the wooden floor, illuminated by my flashlight, dressed in my sweatpants and hoodie, her hair cascading down in damp waves. Damn.

What would it be like to kiss her again, now that we were both warm and comfortable? Probably even better. Stop gawking and say something.

“The storm must have taken down some lines. I don’t have a backup generator, but I have candles and a fireplace. We can set up in the living room until the power comes back on.” Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long for the power to kick back in. I shuddered at the memory of my parents’ farm being without power for two days in the Thanksgiving snowstorm of 2014.

Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I opened the linen closet and pulled out two large candles.

“Do you mind holding these?” I asked.

“Load me up.” Emily held out her arms.

Once the candles were set out around the living room, I lit their wicks. Before long, the room was dimly lit by the flames. Not well enough to read a book, but enough that we could at least see where we were going without the flashlight. The effect was actually a little romantic.

I swallowed. That was the last thing we needed after the kiss…

I stepped over to the hearth. “I should get the fire started so we can eat before the food is cold.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Emily asked, perched on the edge of the couch as I collected logs and kindling from the basket.

I shook my head. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

The fire took hold faster than I’d expected. Damn, I loved an open fire. I didn’t use it very often these days due to the environmental effects. In fact, the last time I’d used it was when Emily had come over to practice her lines. But I loved the smell, the look of the flames as they licked the air, the uneven warmth it imparted. Jake and I had spent hours lounging in front of my parents’ fire as kids, curled up reading with our family’s Weimaraners. And then later, Bowie had loved lying next to it while I read in the armchair. I stared into the fire as a familiar ache tugged at my heart.

“I’ll just go grab the food.”

In the kitchen, I poked the omelet with a finger. It was still warm. I flipped it onto a plate and cut it in half.

My eyes fell on the toaster. Damn. The untoasted bread poked out the top. I grabbed metal tongs, knives and forks and piled the bread onto another plate along with a chunk of butter.

In the living room, I handed Emily her plate. “Feel free to start digging in before it gets cold. I’m just going to toast some bread over the fire. Dad used to do this on camping trips. If my memory serves me well, it’s vastly superior to your standard toaster-cooked toast.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. “This looks amazing.” She smiled over at me, the soft glow of the fire somehow making her even more attractive.

Goddamnit. I really wanted to kiss her again. While that was not advisable, we should probably at least discuss it—acknowledge it happened and then agree to move on? Perhaps after dinner.

I flipped the toast, dropped it on my plate and smeared it with butter. I handed one slice to Emily and then took a seat at the other end of the couch from her.

“Mmmm. This is delicious,” Emily mumbled through a mouthful before swallowing. “You’re right. The toast has this smoky, wood-scented quality to it. And the omelet is incredible too.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I took a bite of the omelet. Not bad. “Hopefully the snow will ease soon and I’ll be able to grab the truck and get you back home.”

Emily glanced out the front window. It was pitch black. It was impossible to tell how much snow was falling, but the sound of the wind whistling overhead indicated that the storm was very much still ongoing.

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow, for Thanksgiving?” Emily asked before taking another mouthful of omelet.

“No. I’m staying put.”

Emily’s forehead creased as she stared at me, her face almost comically stricken.

“I might go over to Roz and Olivia’s for dinner,” I added. It was unlikely. “You’re heading back to your parents’ house?”