DELANEY WAS COLD. COLD, COLD, cold. She’d gotten up during the night and laid clothes on top of the blankets, and even felt her way into the bathroom to grab a few bath towels, but the frigid air cut right through the fabric. This polar vortex business was not for sissies. With numb fingers she reached out and snatched her phone from the nightstand to check the time. Seven o’clock in the morning and still dark as midnight outside her windows.
She heard a muffled thunk and a clunk. Either Grant was putting wood on the fire or a frozen raccoon had just fallen off the roof. A scrape of the fireplace screen told her no raccoons were in danger at the moment, but she might be—in danger of going into the other room and apologizing for leaving the way she had last night. What was with her and running away lately? All he’d done was very politely invite her to go to a wedding, and she’d panicked.
She slid from under the covers and picked up the red plastic flashlight next to her bed. Flipping it on, she checked her reflection in the mirror on her wall. Not good. She looked like a ghoul in the harsh lighting, with her dark hair hanging down and her breath lingering around her face like she was exhaling poison. One look at her like this and Grant would retract that invitation anyway.
She pulled the top blanket off her bed, letting all the clothes and towels fall to the floor, and wrapped herself up like a blue fleece mummy. Then she waddled like a penguin into the other room. She was all kinds of gorgeous right now.
Grant was back lying on the couch, taking up the entire length of it, but moved when he saw her.
“Oh, don’t get up. You’re fine.” She sat down on the brown rug with her back against the old, tweedy couch and her feet reaching out toward the brick fireplace. “How’d you sleep?”
He stretched back out. “Not bad. This sofa is pretty miserable but I’ve slept on worse. You?”
“Not great. According to the weather on my phone it’s twelve below zero outside, but it feels like forty below in my room.”
“You could’ve had the couch.” The implication was in his tone. You could have had the couch if you’d stuck around.
“Thanks, but since it’s technically your house, I thought you should have the warmest spot to sleep. When do you think the power might come back on?”
“No telling.”
They watched the fire for a few minutes, not talking, just listening to the wood hiss and crackle. The smoke was rough and hurt Delaney’s nose, but at least this spot was warm. She reached her hands toward it, trying to thaw out her fingers.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot last night,” he finally said quietly. “I only invited you because I thought you might want a break from whatever it is you’re doing with those knitting needles. And honestly, I thought you might provide a nice buffer between me and my family.”
She looked back at him. “A buffer?”
He nodded and scratched at his chin where new whiskers had created a shadow. His eyes were dark in this dim light. “Yeah, a buffer since everyone is mad at me for doing such a crappy job at keeping in touch. I should have known they’d miss me because I’m pretty awesome, but I figured if you were there, maybe they’d go easier on me.” He lifted his brows optimistically, silently asking again.
Delaney felt a smile rise from down deep. This kind of emotional manipulation was familiar. Her mother would like him. Not that she’d ever meet him. “So you were planning to use me as a human shield?” Delaney asked.
His own smile was sheepish, and adorable. “Sort of. I could have explained that better to you last night but you pulled a Houdini act and disappeared.”
So maybe she’d been imagining his romantic interest last night, or maybe, like her, things felt a little different in the light of day—even when the light of day was still dark out. Either way, she’d had some time to think about things while lying in her meat locker of a bedroom listening to the shower drip. Whatever his intent, she couldn’t stay holed up in this house for six months. She’d go cuckoo and end up scribbling frantic little notes to herself and muttering at imaginary lint balls in the corners. She did need to get out, and getting out meant seeing people, conversing with them, and establishing her cover. This wedding could be the perfect venue. If she could convince his family that she was Elaine Masters from Miami, pretty soon she’d have everyone else convinced too, and that would make her life in Bell Harbor much, much simpler.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You’re not afraid to scale Mount McKinley or swim in shark-infested waters, but you’re scared of getting another scolding from your mother?”
“Maybe. I know that sounds kind of . . .”
“Pathetic? Childish? Cowardly? Sad?”