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He sighed. “Well, like I said, we can’t do anything about it now. As for the boiler… we can go and take a look and see if we can kickstart it, but we might freeze to death while we try.”
“I—” I looked at him. “What do we do in the meantime? I’m going to freeze to death up there regardless.
He glanced at the sofa.
“Oh. Oh, no. This was not part of the deal.”
“Mother Nature didn’t care about that.” He nodded toward the window.
“Don’t mention her. There are other things she can do to make my life hell and I don’t have clean underwear.”
He held up his hands. “Look, it’s fine. We’ll move the coffee table, stoke the fire, and make beds with the cushions, okay? It’s the only room with heat, and we’re stuck here for now.”
“I’m calling the farm first thing in the morning.”
“I agree. We can’t do much until it’s light, so let’s make the best of what we’ve got. Thankfully Oscar brought a fuck ton of firewood, so we won’t run out of heat at least.”
Thank goodness for small mercies.
I finally shed my duvet cape—I was getting a little warm in it—and we set about making a makeshift bed on the floor. Between the sofa and the armchairs we managed to get some strung together, and it wasn’t so bad after Nicholas fetched a couple of sheets.
At least we still had power.
We made two hot chocolates to warm us—me—through, and after he saw to the fire, we settled down on the sofa cushion beds we’d fashioned.
The crackling and popping of the fire drowned out the sound of the heavy snow lashing against the windows, but it was reminiscent of white noise and quite calming.
If, you know. I didn’t think I was stuck here with Nicholas with no clean clothes or anything else like that. If the pipes were frozen, I couldn’t even wash my panties in the sink.
See?
Nightmare.
The longer it went on, the more I knew I should have listened to my gut last night and had Michael come and get me.
“You all right?” Nicholas whispered, breaking our personal silence.
“Yeah. I think so.” I poked my foot out of the bottom of the covers. “Do you think the snow will stop soon?”
“I’m sure it will.”
“You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”
“Would you prefer I told you the truth?”
“No.” I paused. “I’m worried about the grotto. Who will run it if we can’t get there?”
“One thing at a time, Quinn. Let’s focus on getting some sleep and keeping the fire burning, then tomorrow, we’ll handle getting out, then we’ll think about the grotto.”
“Of course.” I swallowed. “That makes sense.”
“You’re not coping with this, are you?”
“Not really, no. This feels like it’s the most stressful holiday season ever.”
“Hang on.” He got up out of the bed, and I rolled over to see what he was doing. The fire was bright enough that I could watch him push his cushions up against mine.
“What are you doing?”
He got back under the cover and scooted to the middle. “Come here.”
“What?”
“Come here.” He patted the area next to him. “I’m just going to cuddle you. I promise. No funny business.”
I blinked at him. “Nicholas—”
“Quinn.”
“Fine.” A thrill ran through me at the idea of having my body pressed against his, but I suppressed it as I shuffled over. There was a mini fight with the covers as he threw his blanket off and we had to move mine, but he was true to his word.
He pulled me against him, putting one arm stretched out under my neck and another draped over my waist—on top of the covers, that time.
His body was hard and firm against mine, but our legs curved in together, and I tucked against him.
I fit against his body like he was a puzzle, and I was the missing piece.
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. His exhales fluttered against my hair and tickled my skin, and each one was like a warm, invisible caress over my cheek.
A traitorous part of me wanted to roll over and kiss him. To hell with my assertion that nothing would happen. He wanted to be friends with benefits, he’d admitted as much only hours ago, and right now, as I was curled up against him, those benefits were feeling pretty damn tempting.
I shifted, inadvertently pressing my body closer to him, and I froze.
Oh, no.
I hadn’t meant to do that.
Nicholas hugged me a little tighter but didn’t say a word.
I relaxed again, slowly loosening the tension in my muscles.
Friends.
We were friends.
Friends did this, right?
This was what friends did.
Had sleepovers and cuddled.
No, Quinn. This was not what friends did.
And I knew it, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I hear ya, Quinn,” Michael said down the phone. “As soon as we’ve got the farm cleared to make sure we can get Verity out in case she goes into labor, we’ll get over to you and clear the track up to Nicholas’s place.”
