Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
What the hell?
Grabbing my shoes, I follow him into the cold, standing on the porch. Wind kicks up and snow swirls in the air.
He unlocks my car, stretches into the back seat, grabs the bags, and trudges back to the steps before I can head down.
“I’ve got everything for his mom,” Owen says curtly. “Let’s just put it away, and we can get out of here.”
“Fine,” I say, but then I stifle a laugh when I get an eyeful of him. Instinct takes over, and I lift a hand, pet his hair.
He flinches, shirking away. “What’s that for?”
“Snow. You’re covered in snow,” I say gently. “I was just trying to brush it off your hair.”
“Yes, there’s snow in my hair because it’s snowing,” he bites out, then goes back inside. After he takes off his shoes again, we put some food in the fridge and other items on the counter.
I move next to him, helping him silently. Popcorn, chips, champagne, the cocoa tin.
When we’ve emptied the goods for the cabin, he dusts one hand against the other. “Want to go?” Owen’s voice is edged with annoyance.
My chest twists with frustration. My mind spins with questions. “Why are you so pissed?”
“River,” he says sharply, “be fucking realistic.” Owen marches to the front door, swings it open, then shows me the outdoors. “Do you see what I see?”
It’s a veritable winter wonderland. The yard is covered in snow. The driveway too. The car boasts an inch of the white stuff on the hood.
But the cabin is too dangerous. I don’t trust myself. “Yes, I see it’s snowing, and I also see you’re acting like a dick,” I say.
He scoffs. “I’m a dick? Fuck you. It’s snowing like crazy,” he says, his voice rising, flinging his hand at the door. “We’re not going anywhere. You hate driving in this shit and the roads are dangerous, and you’re clinging to this false idea that we’re going to Nisha’s and having wine and charcuterie. Sorry. Hate to break it to you. You’re stuck here with me, and you’re acting like it’s a death sentence. And now, I definitely have a headache, so I’m going to lie the fuck down.”
My best friend, the man I have developed a wild crush of inconvenient feelings for, makes his way to the couch, takes off his glasses, and flops on the cushions.
Because . . . I’m a dick.
For being so pushy about hitting the road.
For acting like I can’t handle being here with him.
And, mostly, for making him feel like shit.
As he closes his eyes and turns the other way, I do the same. Walk away from him.
Then, I turn on the heat. Hit the switch for the fireplace. And I head outside to unload the car.
We’re not going anywhere, and that’s scaring the hell out of me.
10
OWEN
That settles that. Being alone with me is worse than spinning out on a snowy road. Message received. Loud and clear. So loud, in fact, my head is throbbing. Stretching my arm up, I reach for the throw blanket on the back of the couch, pull it down, and turn the other way.
A rush of warmth fills the room.
Yup, we’re stuck here, and I’m so damn glad I never said a word to River about how I feel.
I rustle, flipping around in my bed. Blinking, I try to orient myself. Is it Monday? Am I late for work?
Shit, I need to get up now.
My eyes fly open.
Wait.
This isn’t my bed.
This isn’t my home.
Ohhhh.
Right.
My shoulders sag, and my chest squeezes with a pang of heartache.
I breathe out hard, scoot up on the couch, sitting now. How long did I sleep? Grabbing my phone from my front pocket, I rub my eyes, peering at the time.
It’s seven.
A text from TJ flashes on the screen.
TJ: You guys coming tonight still? Nisha was asking about you. She’s seriously worried. And she really wants you here.
I tap out a reply.
Owen: Shit. Sorry. Tell her I didn’t mean to freak her out. But we’re stuck here in Markleeville, waiting out the snow. Tell her we’ll try to be there first thing tomorrow, and I have some awesome farm veggies she’ll dig.
TJ: Ohhhhhhhh.
He adds a winking emoji.
Owen: Trust me. There is no ohhhhh happening.
TJ: I have hope, man. Enough hope for both of us. You can do it. Also, Nisha says have fun. I’ll echo that, but there are air quotes around my have fun. And I’m not talking about the vegetables. Maybe your eggplant though.
I send him back a middle finger emoji.
Shutting the message app, I glance around the cabin, my gaze landing on the windows overlooking the hill. A white blanket shines like sugary crystals.
I reach for my glasses on the coffee table and yawn.
Peering at the kitchen, I don’t see River there. Or here in the living room.