I throw a few logs on the fire and make my way to the shower before stripping down and stepping inside. I feel like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders lately. Between my businesses, the restaurant with the Slade brothers, and the rumors around town that Justine has been spotted again, the tension in my back and shoulders is at an all-time high.
By the time I get out of the shower and look outside, everything is covered in a thick white blanket of snow. The wind is howling and the lights in my bedroom flicker. It’s not uncommon to lose power in a storm like this, especially up in the mountains. Thankfully, I have a backup generator. I finish drying off before pulling on my flannel pajamas and a long-sleeve T-shirt.
I make my way to the living room and pour myself a glass of whiskey before settling down in the chair in front of the fire. I glance over at the empty chair next to me, where Justine used to sit. When she first left, I almost threw the damn thing down the mountain, then thought better of it before I acted on it. Now I don’t feel anything when I look at it.
I know people think I’m jaded and bitter, but the truth is, I’m just wiser. I don’t believe love is all you need or that it’s even worth it. Fully trusting someone and giving them your heart only to have them rip it out for no fucking reason is pure evil, and I refuse to go through that pain again. Lesson learned.
I finish the glass and start to nod off when I hear a soft knock on the front door. I sit up but think I must have been dreaming, but then I hear it again.
“What the hell?” I walk to the door and pull it open to find Quinn wrapped in a blanket and shivering.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” she says softly. I pull her inside and shut the door. “The power went out downstairs.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. The bottom level is on a different electrical service for business reasons, so the power can go out on the lower level and not my level. “You stay here and I’ll go check it out.”
She stands there shivering, wearing her furry boots with the damn blanket wrapped around her.
“Here, sit by the fire and get warm.” I guide her over to the chair and she takes a seat. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I go to my room, throw on a pair of jeans, and grab my coat and boots. Just what I need: Quinn Prescott sitting in my living room and probably sleeping in the room next to me.
After failing to get the power up and running again, I give up and head back upstairs. When I walk in, she’s still sitting in the chair, and her cheeks now have a rosy glow.
“I’ll have to call an electrician tomorrow to come out. I have a spare bedroom you can stay in down the hall.”
“Oh.” Her face looks surprised. I glance at the clock and see it’s only 9 p.m. I’m tempted to go straight to bed right now so I don’t have to deal with this temptation, but then she says, “Got any more of that whiskey?”
After I hand her a glass, she perks up and keeps talking. “You know, I really like it here. Everyone is so nice and the lake is beautiful. I feel like I’m living in a calendar. You must be so used to it.” She talks so fast it’s like she’s not even taking a breath. I can’t tell if it’s a nervous thing or if this is just . . . Quinn.
“Guess so.”
“When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell me about Colorado. It was her favorite place to visit, and she had some crazy camping stories with her friends.” She trails off as she watches the flames in the fireplace dance. I can’t tell if she realizes she’s stopped talking or if that’s the end of her story, but the silence doesn’t last long.
“Do you like to go camping?” She takes another swig of the whiskey and I see her choke it down. It makes me smile a little, like she’s drinking it to fit it in, but not used to the burn of the liquor.
“Sure, I guess so.” I lean back in my chair and cross one leg over the other, letting the spirits calm me. I close my eyes and listen to the crackling of the fire.
“So, you like to fish and you like camping. Do you like to ski and hike? I know those are huge pastimes here in the Rocky Mountains.”
Goddamn this woman likes to talk. “It’s okay to be silent sometimes.” I crack an eye open to look at her and instantly regret saying the words. I meant them as a joke, but I can see the hurt settling over her face. Maybe I’m being too hard on her. It’s gotta be lonely up here for someone who doesn’t know anyone and is now snowed in.
“Quinn, I’m sorry. I was kidding.” That at least earns me a faint smile.
“I know I talk a lot, I’m sorry. My mom—” she trails off and I don’t want her to share something she doesn’t want me to know.
“It’s okay, really.”
Silence falls between us as we both stare at the fire before she speaks again.
“My mom passed away a few months ago.” I don’t let on that I already know since I heard her talk about it earlier. I just let her talk. “She was diagnosed with cancer several years ago and I became her caretaker. It was right after I graduated college, so I never really got to do the whole get a job and start your career thing. My mom is—was—my best friend, so it was okay that I spent so much time with her. We always talked about everything.” She falls silent and I see her frantically wiping at her eyes. I don’t know what to say. I know the pain she’s feeling missing her mom. I miss my dad every damn day. It felt like a piece of me died the day he did. But her pain is recent, raw.
“She was quite the storyteller,” she laughs. “She’d always embellish the hell out of them, but it was okay, because it made them so fantastical and hilarious. I guess I got that from her.” She turns to face me and the pain and hurt in her eyes feel like a thousand-pound elephant on my chest. I have the uncontrollable urge to pull her to me and hold her—to let her cry and tell her that it’s going to be okay—but I don’t.
“I’m sorry you lost your mom. I know—” I don’t know what I want to say, so I just stop. I’m not ready to share about my own loss of both my parents. I’m not ready to be vulnerable with her . . . or anyone.
“Thank you. That’s why I’m here.” She lifts her hands and gestures around the room. “I studied English lit and creative writing in school, and my dream was always to put my mom’s stories into a book. I think it’s too soon though, so I’m looking for that spark of inspiration before I start writing my novel.”
“What kind of spark?” I ask, because I’m truly interested.
“I don’t really know. I feel like when it hits me, I’ll just know. Ya know?”
I nod. She starts talking about the town again: how she wants to go explore the mountains and try skiing. I’m listening, or at least I’m trying to listen to her, but I’m lost in her mannerisms—the way her delicate neck moves when she swallows down the whiskey, the way her tongue darts out and licks the rim of the glass. Fuck me. I can feel my dick twitch as I grip the edge of the chair like I’m riding a roller coaster.
“I’m too hot now.” She sets her drink down on the table between our chairs and proceeds to pull her hoodie over her head. Oh, goddamn. She arches her back as she lifts her arms, exposing her stomach as the shirt underneath rides up. All I can picture is running my tongue along the soft curves of her stomach before burying myself inside her. She realizes her undershirt is inching up and quickly grabs it and pulls it back down. I avert my eyes before she catches me.