Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Be nice, Ive, and work it out.” Silas was right about my dad energy, I mused as I gave a similar spiel to Chase.
I casually circled the living area to check on my guest while I talked. Silas hadn’t moved much. He sat with his legs outstretched, covered from the waist down by the blanket, his eyes at half-mast and fixed on the fire. I slipped my cell into my pocket and kneeled beside him.
“I’m okay,” he rasped. “Just sort of numb all over. Especially my f-feet.”
“Mind if I take a peek?”
“Go for it. B-but if they’re blue, don’t tell me.”
I hiked the blanket to his calves and rolled one sock off. His foot wasn’t blue, but he was only a shade off cadaver white. I cupped his heel, unthinking, and rubbed his instep and his toes. “You’re still cold.”
“Yeah, but that feels good.”
And now I was giving foot massages. Wow. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been seriously odd.
“Did you try the tea?” I asked, inclining my chin toward the thermos. “Drinking something warm will help. Or are you hungry? I could make—”
“Soup.” Silas sat taller.
“You want soup?” I rubbed my jaw. “I can do that. I think I have the ingredients to make chicken noodle—”
“No, from the grocery store. I bought soup. Did I leave the bags somewhere?” He furrowed his brow, adding, “I can’t remember.”
“They’re in my truck. Glad you reminded me. I’ll grab them now.”
“Thanks. Tomato soup. It’s canned, but it’s the good kind…like organic and sh-shit. Happy to sh-share,” he sputtered, lifting the blanket over his chest.
“Sounds good.” I gave my best stern dad glare and pointed at his chest for good measure. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Ha. Ha.”
I rescued the groceries from the back seat of my truck and cleared a shelf in the fridge for his perishables—eggs, milk, butter, veggies, and some chicken breasts. I left the rest on the counter, setting a can of organic tomato soup aside. I figured it would be easier to heat it on the stove and while we waited, I could whip up a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches.
The fire roared pleasantly, throwing shadows on the opposite end of the great room. Falling snow painted the landscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and yes…it was cozy and quiet. The perfect afternoon for cuddling up with a book or an old movie and a cup of something warm. Like grilled cheese and soup.
With a stranger.
I poured soup into a bowl, plated two grilled cheeses, and carried everything into the living area like a seasoned waiter.
“How you doin’?”
Silas held up a trembling hand. “This is starting to freak me out.”
Me too.
“You need to warm your insides. The soup will help…and I made grilled cheese.” I sat next to him and took a bite of my sandwich, complete with a yummy sound. Christ, you’d think I was coaxing one of my kids to eat. “I used cheddar. It’s good.”
Silas reached for a sandwich square, shaky but determined, and took a bite. “Sss good.”
His bite was more of a nibble. Better than nothing, though this wasn’t doing much for his body temp.
“How about the soup? I can…feed it to you,” I suggested awkwardly.
“Fuck, this is weird.”
“I know. Trust me…I know. But you gotta get warm.” I picked up the bowl and brought a spoonful of tomato soup to his lips.
“If you make a choo-choo noise, I’m going to clock y-you.”
A grin split my face in half. “Chugga-chugga…”
“Fuck you.” He snorted without heat.
I snickered. “C’mon. Open up, tough guy.”
Silas rolled his eyes as he leaned and took a sip. “Still weird, but it’s good.”
I spooned another bite for him. “Years from now, you’ll forget about this. You won’t remember my name or if you were ever in Vermont in the first place. Unless you end up with a real case of hypothermia and wind up in the hospital.”
“Whoa. Is this coercion?”
“It might be,” I teased. “Another? Chugga-chugga…”
Silas glared but opened his mouth and within ten minutes or so, the soup was nearly gone.
He thanked me and returned to nibbling his grilled cheese, his eyes trained on the fire. “So…are you from here? Vermont?”
“Yeah. Born in Fallbrook. It’s one of the Four Forest towns—about twenty minutes to half an hour away, depending on a logging delivery. My family moved to Wood Hollow when I was a teenager, though. I went to junior high here and got a job at the mill…worked my way through the ranks, I ’spose.”
He slanted a curious sideways glance at me. “Really? You’ve never lived anywhere else?”
The incredulous tone probably wasn’t meant as an insult, but I had no doubt that Silas the football hero had judged this area—and most likely me—as provincial. Quaint, cute, not somewhere you’d want to be stuck for…well, a lifetime.
“I went to college in Upstate New York,” I replied, chowing on my sandwich. “Got a degree in forestry. Lived in Ithaca for a few years. I always missed home, though. I talked my wife into moving here before Ivy was born. We’re divorced, so that might not be a ringing endorsement, but I swear they all love it. My kids split their time in Fallbrook with their mom and Wood Hollow with me. That part sucks, but we make it work.”