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Theo
I meet Aria at the back entrance of Shorty’s, and as she steps out in the wind and snow, I cover her head with an industrial strength umbrella. There’s no way I’m going to let her get pelted with ice as she walks to my car, but I fight with the umbrella. The wind is crazy.
She’s in long underwear and UGG boots, which I got to see before she yanked on her coat as we left. Why does this woman torture me like this? The thin fabric hugs her every curve, and her thick dark hair is piled high atop her head in a messy bun. Which is sexy, especially because I can better see her face.
Before I open the passenger side door, I prop the umbrella above us to protect us from the storm, then lean in for a kiss. She parts her lips, and we linger there, our foreheads pressed together, warm in the cold air.
Once in the car, I drive, and Aria helps me navigate through the thick snowfall to get to Barrie Mansion. The powder is relentless, but the real culprit is the wind. The drifts are blowing across the road, making visibility low.
Finally, we make it.
I ease the Beemer to a stop in the parking lot across the street from the mansion.
“Oh my—” Aria slaps her hands over her cheeks as she surveys the damage. A large branch from an old oak, the giant that has graced the property for several decades, has torn away from the tree and crashed through the roof. The top section of an upper floor wall has been ripped away, as well. Emergency crews, bundled up from head to toe to protect them from the elements, are on the scene with a backhoe and a tractor. The house is dark.
We approach the open front doors and are stopped by a guy in an orange reflective vest over his snow gear. “This area is closed now,” he says, holding up a hand.
Aria and I glance at each other.
“Is it unsafe inside?” I ask him.
“No. We just don’t want the general public—” He stops and steps closer to us, seeing us in the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. “Oh. You’re Aria and Theo.”
I nod as Aria says, “Yes. We needed to assess the damage ahead of tomorrow’s closing day.”
“Of course. I didn’t realize who you were.” His voice is apologetic. He gestures to the grand staircase in the main lobby. “They’re asking everyone to stay out of the top floor, but you’re welcome to have a look around the main floor. And be careful. The fire marshal is around here somewhere. I’m sure he can answer any questions you might have.”
The three of us step inside and I point to the chandelier above us. “The power is out, huh?”
He frowns. “The tree branch crashed through a powerline. It’s going to be a while until we can get the electrical up and running.”
“A while? As in several hours?” Aria asks, lines creasing her forehead.
“I’d say a couple of days, minimum.”
Aria’s expression clouds, but we thank him and walk further in, using our flashlights to help us make our way through the rows of booths.
“That was kind of a trip. Sometimes it’s advantageous to be the co-hosts,” I say to her as I guide her so we can maneuver around a corner.
She doesn’t say anything as I shine a light on the ceiling directly below where the tree damage is.
“Doesn’t seem to be leaking anywhere,” I say.
We make our way through the booths in the main living area—the most prime of the festival real estate where booth owners have paid a premium for their spot—and into the grand ballroom, where the bulk of the booths are.
“It’s like we’re in a bad dream,” Aria says, shining her flashlight on darkened corners and rows of quiet merchandise. “Tomorrow’s the last day. Even though it’s shorter since it ends at two o’clock, it’s usually one of the most profitable in revenue.”
She slows her step, sucking in a breath.
I squint to read the sign she’s looking at. “The candied almond stand?” The booth’s roll top is closed, but the scent in the air is unmistakable.
“Grandpa and I never got any this year. We meant to, but his basket was so full when he was here that we decided to wait. We were going to tomorrow.” One corner of her mouth perks up, but then she frowns again. “It’s not a big deal, but I’ll be sad if we don’t get the chance.”
I fight to know what to say, settling for a soft, “I’m sorry,” as I drape my arm around her shoulders.
“Maybe we should break in and grab a couple bags of the honey vanilla kind,” she jokes. “We could leave some money for them.”
She offers a laugh, but it ends in a choking sob. She covers her face with her hands. “This is silly of me,” she says, her words muffled by her hands. After a moment, she raises her head. “At least the festival happened. At times, we weren’t sure it even would. Still, I’ll be sad if closing day has to be cancelled.”
