Snowed In (7 page)

“The fudge arrived and omigod!” she exclaimed. I could hear her eating. “It’s amazing.” I laughed. “I figured you’d like it. The street is lined with fudge shops, but since Nathalie works in one, I’m not sure how I can try out the others without being disloyal.”

“Wear a disguise, because you are
obligated
to try every one. It’s, like, the law or something.” 73

“Or something. You just want more fudge.”

“You bet. So how are things up there?” she asked.

“Cold.”

“Are you going to say that every time we talk?” she asked.

“Well, it’s
really
cold right now, because I’m half naked.” I yanked a pair of sweats free from the pile and managed to pull them on, while holding the phone between my head and shoulder.

“Are you just now getting up?”

Unlike me, Tara’s a morning person. She loves dawn. Go figure.

“No, I ran into some wet paint.”

“Huh?”

I explained about Mom’s renovations, how I came to have paint on my clothes, and that Josh was coming up so I really needed to cover up the old birthday suit.

“So is he hot?” Tara asked.

“It’s too cold for anyone up here to be hot,” I said, digging out a shirt.

She groaned.

“Hold on.” I set down the phone and pulled on my shirt, just as a knock sounded. I picked up the phone, opened the door, waved Josh in, and went back to talking. “I’m back.”

74

“Is he there now?”

“Yes.”

I’d never had a guy in my bedroom. My heart started thundering again, but it had to be the situation, not the actual guy.

“So why are you still on the phone?” Tara asked.

“Because—”

“Shouldn’t you be trying to hook up with him?”

Him
was walking around my room, looking at my various candles. I had one that sounded like a crackling fire when it burned. It was my favorite. I also had lots of little fuzzy toy mice and china figurines of cute rodents.

Josh was looking at things like he thought the assortment was odd. Maybe he’d never been in a girl’s room before.

“I mean, that’s your usual modus operandi—

date, date, date.”

Tara still didn’t get my whole no-boyfriend-until-I’m-older attitude. Which was fine. I still didn’t get her whole hooking-up-with-Shaun-of-the-Dead thing, so that made us even.

“Yeah, I need to go.” Even if I wasn’t exactly sure if I should be flirting with Josh.

I snapped my phone closed. “My friend Tara.”

“Can’t be a very close friend if she doesn’t 75

know you well enough not to call before noon.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

He grinned, still glancing around. “You like mice?”

“You say that like it’s weird.”

“I just picture most girls screaming and squeal-ing whenever they see a mouse.”

“I’m not most girls.”

“I guess not.” He seemed to think about that for a while, or maybe he was thinking about the room, because he suddenly said, “I see what you mean about the shape. This is kinda wasted space.” He went to the rear of the room, where the roof slanted down. From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a small notebook and pen. He held them toward me. “You write down the measurements.” Using a rolled metal measuring tape, he began calling out numbers. When he was done, the tape snapped back into the roll with a loud
thwap
.

He duckwalked out until he could stand up straight. He was quite a bit taller than me. I had to look up at him when he took the notepad back. He wrote some things down on it.

“What color?” he asked.

“What?”

He looked up. “What color do you want the shelves?”

76

“Uh . . .” I shrugged. “White? Brown? I really don’t care. You don’t even have to paint them—”

“Wynter Warranty. Everything done to your satisfaction.”

“How much are these going to cost?”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about the color, either. I’ll take care of it.”

“I wasn’t
worried
exactly.” We stood there, looking at each other like there should be something else to say. Having a guy in my bedroom made it seem so much smaller.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Guess I’d better get back to painting. Sure you don’t want to help?”

“Actually,” I said, surprising myself with the words that followed, “I do.”

“Know anything about stenciling?” he asked when we got back to the guestroom.

I remembered that Mom had mentioned putting borders along the walls near the ceilings in some rooms. “I know what it is, but I’ve never done it.”

“I’ll bet you’re a natural.”

He shoved a ladder over to the portion of the wall that was already painted. He found a stencil—

one that Mom had picked out, I guessed—and 77

climbed the ladder. Reaching into a huge pocket on the leg of his coveralls, he brought out a roll of masking tape and secured the stencil in place. He hopped to the floor.

“Climb on up,” he ordered, before moving to another part of the room where cans of paint were lined up like good little soldiers.

“What if I mess it up?” I asked.

“Won’t happen,” he said. He was crouched, pouring purple paint onto a small plate.

“For all you know, I have no talent at painting.”

He glanced over at me. “If you screw up, I’ll paint over it. It’s no big deal.” Not exactly what I’d wanted him to say.

Actually, I guess I was looking for some sort of praise, something like—

“Besides, I wouldn’t have offered to let you do it if I didn’t think you
could
do it,” he added.

Okay. That was more along the lines of what I wanted to hear.

Why do you care if he’s impressed, Ash? You’ve got
a date with another guy. And they’re bound to be friends.

Before moving to the island, it had been easy to have dates with different guys, because there were so many of them—and the odds were good they wouldn’t be friends. Chase and Josh had to be 78

friends. Dating both of them wouldn’t work.

So Josh Wynter wasn’t even on the menu to sample. I’d already chosen the entrée: Chase.

Still, I kicked off my fuzzies and climbed up the ladder.

The ceiling was high, like maybe a thousand feet.

Okay, closer to ten, but still . . . The ladder was a little shaky, especially when Josh started to climb it.

“Uh . . . what are you doing?” I asked.

“Coming up to show you how to do it.” And suddenly he was there, his arms coming around me as he put the plate of paint and a brush on the top step of the ladder. Or was it the top of the ladder? Would I really want to stand on the very top of the ladder with nothing to hold on to?

I was obsessing about the ladder and what its various parts were called because that was a lot safer than thinking about the fact that Josh and I were so close. He smelled really good. Not like paint, as I’d expected.

He smelled like a lumberjack, like pine.

Woodsy. And even though it was winter, his skin had a brown hue, so I figured in the summer, he spent a lot of time outdoors. He looked the type.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Huh?” I sounded breathless. Probably because I was. Having his chest pressed to my back felt so 79

good. I grew warm, kinda dizzy. Maybe it was the height. But I didn’t think so.

“I’ve been showing you how to prepare the brush, how to make sure you don’t have too much paint,” he said.

I nodded. “I got it.”

“You can either dab or swirl,” he said, leaning forward to show me.

Which put him even closer, close enough that it was almost an embrace. So close that my mouth went dry.

“Personally”—he cleared his throat—“I like the swirl.”

He was giving me other pointers, but I was barely listening. All I could think about was the swirl. The type of swirl that might take place if we were kissing.

80

7

Only, we weren’t kissing. I was amazed by how much I wished we were. I wondered if he had a girlfriend. He hadn’t mentioned one. But would he get this close to another girl if he did?

On the other hand, I hadn’t mentioned my date with Chase. But a date . . . well, dates came and went in my life.

“Want to give it a try?” he asked.

He held the brush in front of my face. I made a fist to stop my hand from shaking before I took it from him.

“It’s okay to paint over the stencil,” he said.

I nodded quickly. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No, why?”

“Because you’re shaking.”

“I’m just a little cold. Not used to the weather yet.”

Cold?
What a lie! I was practically burning up.

81

“Then I definitely don’t want you on my snow volleyball team.”

“Snow volleyball?”

“Yeah, me and the guys are gonna play later this afternoon. You could come watch us.” Was he asking me out? Should I tell him about Chase?

“You know,” he added, “meet people. Besides, studies have shown that staying indoors can lead to depression.”

“And emergency rooms have shown that staying outdoors can lead to frostbite, loss of limbs, and freezing to death.”

“Only if you’re careless.”

I shook my head. “It’s so cold out there.”

“Not once you get used to it.”

“You know, if you ever went to Texas you’d probably complain about the heat.”

“I never complain about weather. It is what it is.”

“You’d complain.” I twisted around slightly to make a point—and I’m absolutely certain it was a very valid point and would have nailed his butt—

but he was so close and his blue eyes were sparkling as if he were amused . . .

And then they weren’t.

They got totally serious. And he dipped his 82

gaze to my lips. That started them tingling. My body got hotter. How would I explain being taken to the ER with a case of heat stroke?

I wanted to laugh, but this wasn’t funny. It was, like, maybe we both realized that being up there on the ladder together, so close together, wasn’t a smart move.

Because we had nowhere to go except toward each other and then figuring out if we preferred the dab or the swirl.

And we’d barely had a conversation, but here I was, certain he was going to kiss me.

I watched as his Adam’s apple slid up and down.

“Um, so, think you’re okay with the stenciling?” he asked.

His voice sounded like he hadn’t had anything to drink in years. Dry and scratchy.

I nodded. “I think so.”

To my utter mortification, I didn’t sound much better.

“Okay, then, I’ll leave you to it.” Only, he stayed where he was, looking at me like he’d never really seen me before. Like maybe he was under a spell. I didn’t want him to go, but I didn’t want him to stay. For the first time in my 83

life, when it came to a guy, I was confused about what I wanted.

“Are
you
afraid of heights?” I asked, to jar us out of whatever was happening here.

“What?”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Right.” He shook his head, grinned. “Right.” Then he climbed down the ladder.

I took a deep breath, not realizing until that moment that I hadn’t been breathing.

It got really quiet as I worked on the stenciling.

He went back to painting the wall. It was kinda weird because I kept thinking that this would always be
our
room, even when strangers stayed in it. It was the room where we’d talked and worked together. The room where a spark between us almost got started.

But since the spark hadn’t ignited, we shared an awkward silence.

“So, this snow volleyball . . . What do you do?

Toss snowballs at each other and swat them back and forth?” I asked.

He laughed a little too loudly, like maybe he was as uncomfortable with whatever had almost happened on the ladder as I was.

“No. It’s just volleyball. You know volleyball, right?”

84

“Yeah, I know volleyball. But it’s never included the element of snow, so I’m just trying to picture how it works.”

“You know anything about beach volleyball?” I glanced over my shoulder. He was watching me instead of painting. I felt a small thrill at the realization that I had his attention.

“Yes, I know beach volleyball.”

“So imagine snow instead of sand.” I went further than that. I imagined everyone bundled up, rolling around trying to get the ball.

Athletic ability was certain to be lacking. I snickered at the thought. “I don’t see how it can be very competitive.”

“It’s entertaining, if nothing else. Come and watch us play,” he said. “We’ll be on the beach—”

“There is no beach,” I reminded him.

“There is in the summer. We use the beach volleyball nets. You’ll be able to see us from your window, but it’s better up close.” It had definitely been better with him up close on the ladder.

He suddenly seemed nervous, maybe thinking the same thing I was, and started rolling the paint over the wall very quickly, almost obsessively, like
get this done and get out of here.

“I think Mom’s planning on us practicing to 85

have a tea party this afternoon,” I said.

“Oh, that’ll be
way
more fun,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I laughed, because he was so right. And what girl in her right mind would willingly choose watercress and cheddar sandwiches over watching hot guys play volleyball, even if they’d look like the Michelin tire guy while doing it?

He turned to look at me. “I like your laugh.” Which made me stop laughing, because something in his eyes told me he liked more than just my laughter.

As though neither of us knew quite what to do with this attraction, we both returned to painting—furiously.

We’d be finished before teatime.

Thinking about watching Josh play volleyball gave me very little patience for sitting down for tea.

Afternoon tea is supposed to be calm and relaxing, but all I wanted was for it to be over with.

I stood in the kitchen, cutting crusts off the bread of our cream cheese, cheddar cheese, and watercress sandwiches.