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“I suspected you might.”
Claire let her fingers relax against Erin’s blouse. “Does this mean your rule has changed?”
“No.” Erin’s expression softened. “Kissing you when you’re sober and asking me to is one thing. Anything more waits until the road opens, and you can choose whether to leave.”
The answer disappointed nearly every part of Claire except the one that understood exactly why Erin had given it.
“I respect that,” she said. “I don’t especially like it, but I respect it.”
“That makes two of us.”
A shiver ran through Claire when cold air slipped beneath the edge of the blankets.
Erin noticed. “We need to get the fire going. I’d like both of us to retain feeling in our extremities.” Erin kissed her once more, far too briefly, then pushed the blankets aside.
Cold air rushed over them. Claire grabbed the nearest blanket and pulled it up to her chin.
Erin laughed as she climbed carefully to her feet. She pressed a hand to her lower back, then offered the other to Claire. “Come help me make coffee, counselor.”
Claire took it and let Erin pull her up. “Now that sounds like a perfect Christmas morning.”
Erin crouched beside the wood stove and arranged kindling over the embers while Claire surveyed the kitchenette. They had two packets of instant oatmeal, a sleeve of shortbread cookies, three packets of instant coffee, a bruised apple, and the same tin of smoked oysters they had wisely avoided the night before.
Claire picked up the tin, considered it, and put it back. No amount of Christmas spirit could redeem smoked oysters at eight in the morning.
Claire filled the small saucepan they had used the night before and carried it to the wood stove just as the kindling caught. Erin added two pieces of split wood, then set the saucepan on the flat iron top to heat.
While they waited for the water, Claire halved the apple on a cutting board. The slices were uneven, and the bruised side turned brown almost immediately. She arranged them in a fan beside the shortbread anyway, because presentation was not optional simply because the ingredients were tragic.
Several minutes later, steam rose from the saucepan. Erin used a folded dish towel to lift it from the stove, then poured the hot water into two mugs and the mismatched bowls Claire had found behind a stack of napkins. Claire added instant coffee to the mugs and stirred oatmeal into the bowls.
She carried everything to the seating area on the wooden cutting board, which had become their only serving tray. Erin sat cross-legged on the rumpled blankets, feeding a split log into the growing flames. She looked up and smiled.
“You made emergency supplies look like a Christmas breakfast.”
“That was the goal.” Claire set the board between them and handed Erin a mug.
“It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“I considered adding the smoked oysters.”
Erin glanced toward the kitchenette. “What stopped you?”
“I remembered we’d survived a blizzard and an avalanche. It seemed foolish to let a slimy oyster that’s been trapped in a tin for God knows how long finish us off.”
Erin laughed and picked up a shortbread cookie. “A wise decision.” She dunked the cookie into her coffee without hesitation and held it there long enough for the crisp edge to soften. A few crumbs broke free when she lifted it.
Claire watched her commit an act of pastry and coffee violence without a shred of remorse. “That cookie was placed beside your oatmeal deliberately,” Claire said. “It was meant to be eaten whole.”
“And now it’s in my coffee deliberately.”
“You realize it’s going to leave crumbs in your coffee, right?”
“I do.” Erin ate the softened end. “That’s my favorite part.”
Claire considered this new information, then bit into an apple slice. There certainly were worse incompatibilities.
Beyond the windows, the parking lot lay beneath a smooth white expanse. Snow reached nearly to the door handles of both vehicles. The sky had turned from grey to washed-blue. Trees along the far edge of the lot stood heavy and still beneath their snow. It was beautiful and yet still thoroughly impassable.
