Page 33
“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and he felt his heart flip a little in his chest. “For everything. I know I’m probably not the easiest guest to have during a crisis.”
“You’re fine,” he assured her. And then, because he couldn’t quite help himself, he added, “Better than fine, actually.”
Color rose in her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “I’ll just… I’ll go get ready.”
She slipped past him, heading back toward the stairs, and Christopher watched her go, unable to take his eyes off of her as she left the room.
When she disappeared from view, he let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. This was ridiculous. He barely knew her. She was a guest at his B&B, someone who’d made it abundantly clear that she had a life waiting for her in Portland. Getting attached was foolish at best and masochistic at worst.
But he couldn’t deny that he had feelings for her.
He drained the rest of his coffee in one long swallow and set the mug in the sink with more force than necessary. He couldn’t keep focusing on this. He had work to do, people who needed his help, a town to check on. He couldn’t afford to stand around mooning over a woman who was counting the hours until she could leave.
After setting out breakfast for the guests and checking to make sure they were all doing fine, Christopher pulled his winter gear back on and headed back outside. The cold hit him the second he stepped through the door, sharp and biting despite the brilliant sunshine. His breath was thickly visible in the air as he grabbed the shovel and started working on clearing a path to the truck.
The physical labor felt good. He fell into the rhythm of it, feeling his muscles warm and stretch and the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Sweat began to gather at the small of his back despite the cold. It was a good distraction from his thoughts about Layla… until he heard the back door open again.
He looked up to find Layla standing on the porch, in her charcoal gray coat, with gloves and no hat. He blew out a breath.
“I told you I’d help,” she called out. There was a defiant note in her voice, like she expected him to argue.
Christopher leaned on his shovel, taking her in. He appreciated her determination, but she needed warmer clothes.
“There’s another shovel in the mudroom,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Grab it and start on the other side of the truck. But first, grab my other parka and beanie off of the coat rack. You’re going to freeze in just that dress coat.”
Layla nodded and disappeared back inside, emerging a moment later with the second shovel and wrapped up in the warmer clothing. She made her way carefully down the steps and waded through the drifts toward him.
He couldn’t help thinking he liked seeing her enveloped in his coat, wearing his gray knit beanie. She looked adorable, and his chest warmed at the sight.
They worked in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the scrape of metal on pavement, their labored breathing, and the occasional grunt of effort. Christopher found himself stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, watching the way she attacked the snow with single-minded determination. The cold brought color to her cheeks, and every time she pushed a strand of hair out of her damp face, he wished he could reach over and do it himself.
“So,” she said after a while, pausing to catch her breath, “how bad do you think it is? In town, I mean.”
Christopher straightened, surveying the landscape around them. “Hard to say without seeing it firsthand. But with this much snow and the power out, there’ll be people who need help. Elderly folks who can’t shovel themselves out. Families who might be running low on supplies. The usual thing after a storm like this.”
“And you’re going to help them.” She looked at him curiously.
“That’s the plan.” He drove his shovel into a particularly stubborn drift. “It’s what you do in a place like this. Everyone looks out for everyone else.”
Layla nodded, looking slightly pensive. “That does sound nice,” she said finally. “Having that kind of community.”
“It is.” Christopher shoveled another scoop of snow. “It’s comforting. Secure. It feels good knowing other people care.” He paused. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure you get home on time. I just don’t know how much there is to do about it.”
“Right.” She attacked the snow with renewed vigor, her movements sharp and jerky. “Of course.”
They finished clearing around the truck in silence that felt slightly more strained than before. Christopher tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. She’d been honest from the start about her plans. It wasn’t her fault he’d gone and developed feelings for her anyway.
When the truck was finally accessible, he brushed the snow off the windshield and windows while Layla stood nearby, hugging herself against the cold despite her heavy coat. The morning sun was higher now, almost blinding as it reflected off the pristine snow, but it did nothing to warm the air. His breath came in white clouds, and he could see hers too, quick and shallow like she was trying not to shiver.
“Ready?” he asked, getting enough snow clear that she could get in. He opened the door for her as she nodded and climbed into the passenger seat, and he went around to the driver’s side. The truck’s engine turned over on the first try, and he let it idle for a moment, waiting for the heat to kick in.
The cab felt small with both of them in it. He could smell her perfume, a citrus scent that smelled like summer and felt at odds with the scenery around them.
Shaking off the feeling, he put the truck in gear and started down the driveway, moving slowly as he felt the tires slip and catch on the packed snow. The street beyond was worse, barely passable even with four-wheel drive. He had to navigate around drifts and abandoned cars, backtracking twice when the snow proved too deep to push through.
Beside him, Layla was silent, staring out the window at the transformed town. Her face was unreadable, but he could see the tension in her shoulders.
“You okay?” he asked.
