“I passed a couple stopped cars down the road. I don’t think we’re the only ones caught in the storm.” The words came out of his mouth as more breath than sound, and she realized that he’d been frightened when driving, far more frightened than she had realized by just looking at him.
What else happened in his mind that his placid, friendly face covered up? A lot, she guessed. He looked on the geeky side, what with ears and nose and brows all too big for his face. But geeky looks and intelligence didn’t translate into creating and selling multimillion-dollar technology. That kind of work took tenacity, dedication, and force of will. A person didn’t stumble over that kind of success overnight.
If she wanted to understand him better, she’d have to watch him more carefully. And, she considered as she switched her gaze from his face to the weather outside and back to his face, she wanted to watch him more carefully.
“So what should we do now?” she asked. “Is there a town close enough that we can turn back?”
“I’m not sure.” Marc turned the car off. “I’m sorry. I put our lives at risk because I had a destination, and I was determined to push us until we got there rather than stop for the night when the storm kicked up. I would never have been able to forgive myself if something had happened to you.”
“Babe would hunt you down,” she said. Her mom would be sad, too. Selina wasn’t so disappointed in her mom that she didn’t know the woman cared for her.
Being farther away—even just a two-or three-hour drive—from her mom and Gary, the sadness that had had her crying at the diner had lessened like the sky brightening after a heavy rain. The clouds were still oppressive, but there was enough sun trying to bust through that she could see shadows.
Plus, she had Babe. And many trapped people didn’t even have a Babe.
“So I guess we’re spending the night in the car?” She’d known they would be in the car together for long periods of time, but overnight hadn’t occurred to her.
He frowned. “If neither of us are comfortable driving in this, I don’t have a better idea.”
The car’s engine was still hot so the snow was melting and sliding off the front of the car, but the side mirrors had gotten cold quickly and the white was starting to accumulate on the dark metal. Being closed in the car all night would be tight and cold, but being outside in a tent—which they didn’t have anyway—would be worse.
“How are we going to keep warm?” She was sure he had a plan—he seemed like the kind of guy who had plans—but hearing him say the words would be reassuring.
“I’ve got my ski clothes, which should be plenty warm, and a couple emergency blankets in the back. Um . . .”
She knew immediately by the side-glance he gave her what he was going to say, and that she wouldn’t like it.
“People, uh, also cuddle for warmth. Wait—” he waved a frantic pause “—huddle is the word I want. Huddle is better.”
She pursed her lips at him, amused and half pretending not to be. “Was that slip on purpose?”
“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up a hand in a three-finger salute. Even the dark, snowy night wasn’t able to hide the twinkle in his eyes. “I promised, and I keep my promises.”
She believed him instantly. In the conflict rushing through his eyes like waves through a narrow channel, she saw the same conflict she was feeling. She disliked the idea of huddling with Marc in the backseat of the SUV much less than she had expected.
Instead of trying to figure out how they could be close and warm without risking hands accidently brushing hands and crotches, she wondered how his arms would feel wrapped around her and if he used any cologne that might be lingering on his skin.
“Huddle,” she confirmed, trying to push those thoughts out of her mind. “Yes. Okay. I have some warm clothes, too, and a pair of wool socks. Maybe we can stuff a bag for a pillow?”
“That’s a good idea.” He was speaking as slowly as she was, as if he was also trying to wrap his mind around the reality of the tight space and close bodies without seeming like he was actually interested in it.
“Should we get out and get the stuff?” she asked, gesturing toward the back of the car with her head.
“No. I don’t want to open the door and let the warmth out any more than we have to. Think you can crawl over the center console? We can reach the luggage from the backseat. The bench seat will be more comfortable for sleeping anyway.”
“Mmhmm.” She nodded. Their conversation felt more like a dance than a chat. And not a fun dance but like passing an ex you still have feelings for in a tight aisle in the grocery store. Heart rushing, throat a little tight, but taking careful steps—and even more careful words—so you don’t end up stepping as close to them as you want to or risk giving away your interest.