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The kettle clicked off, and he poured the steaming water over the coffee grounds. The rich, earthy aroma filled the kitchen, and he breathed it in deeply. One step at a time, he thought. They’d get through this like they always did.
He was pouring the coffee into his favorite mug—a handmade ceramic piece he’d bought from the Christmas market last year—when he heard soft footsteps on the stairs.
Christopher turned just as Layla appeared in the kitchen doorway, and for a moment, he forgot about the storm, the downed power lines, the town that needed help. For a moment, all he could see was her.
She’d clearly just woken up, her dark hair slightly mussed, her face free of makeup, wearing the same oversized sweater she’d had on the night before over a pair of leggings. She looked softer, more vulnerable than the polished professional who’d checked in three days ago. And she looked beautiful. He couldn’t think about anything else for a moment.
“Morning,” he managed, his voice slightly hoarse.
“Morning.” She walked over to the windows, drawn by the view, and he watched her face transform as she took in the winter wonderland outside. Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Oh my goodness.”
“Yeah,” Christopher said. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” She pressed closer to the glass, her breath fogging the pane. “It’s like a Christmas card. Like something out of a fairy tale.”
He smiled, coming over to stand next to her while he drank his coffee. “We get storms like this every few years. Usually not this early in December, though.”
They stood there together in silence for a moment, watching the morning light sparkle across the snow. He felt that spark between them again, the romance of the snowfall and the silence all around them making him think about leaning in and kissing her again.
Then Layla’s expression shifted, the wonder shifting into worry. She turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. “The power’s out, isn’t it? I noticed my phone wasn’t charging.”
“Yeah. Lines are down all over town from the looks of it.” He gestured toward the window and the sagging cables visible in the distance. “I’ve got a generator, so we’re okay here, but most people won’t be so lucky.”
Her frown deepened, and he watched her process the information. “How long until it’s fixed?”
“Hard to say. Could be a day or two. Could be longer depending on how bad the damage is.”
“A day or two.” She repeated the words slowly, and he could hear the dismay in her voice. “But I need to get back to Portland. I have a flight tomorrow afternoon.”
Christopher felt a sharp pang of disappointment. He’d known she was leaving, of course. She’d made that clear from the beginning—this was just a job, an assignment for an article. Nothing more. But after last night, after the connection he’d thought they’d formed, he’d thought…
What? he chastised himself silently. Had he thought she’d change her mind and stay because of one night eating soup by candlelight and a single kiss?
He turned away from the window, busying himself with pouring a second cup of coffee to hide his reaction. “The roads are in pretty awful condition,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “Even once they get the plows out, it’ll take time to clear the main routes. And that’s assuming your car can even make it through. The drifts are pretty deep. I doubt you’ll be able to get out of here until things have cleared up.”
“But it’s possible?” she pressed. “I mean, people will be able to get in and out of town eventually, right?”
“Eventually, sure.” He leaned back against the counter, cradling his mug between his palms. “But I wouldn’t count on it being tomorrow. Probably not the next day either.”
He could see this wasn’t the news she wanted to hear. Her jaw tightened slightly, and she looked away, chewing on her lower lip as she stared out of the window. The worry on her face was evident, and he felt a pang of guilt for the small, selfish part of him that was glad she’d be stuck here a little longer.
“My family will be worried. They’re expecting me home tomorrow. I need to let them know what’s happening,” Layla let out a frustrated breath.
“After making sure the other guests are taken care of here, I’ll be heading into town in a bit,” Christopher offered. “To check on people, see what kind of help is needed. You’re welcome to come along, see if you can get a signal somewhere.”
She looked up at him, hope flickering across her features. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug. “Although I should warn you, it’s not going to be a particularly smooth ride. The roads are a mess, and my truck’s buried pretty deep. It’ll take some work just to dig it out.”
“I can help with that,” she said quickly. “I’m not afraid of a little manual labor.”
Christopher couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. There was something endearing about her determination, the way she lifted her chin slightly as if daring him to suggest she wasn’t up to the task. “I don’t doubt it.”
She held his gaze for a moment, and he saw something flicker in her eyes. Then she looked away, back out at the drifts of snow.
“I should probably get dressed,” she said. “If we’re going into town.”
“Take your time. I need to dig out the front door and make sure breakfast is served here, and then I’ll start on the truck.” He paused, then added, “I made extra coffee.”
