It was Russell Snow. Again. God, that guy had a knack for calling at the worst possible time.
I hung up and then sent him a message: Now is not a good time.
Once I got back in the shower, it wasn’t the same. I was still on edge and could no longer relax. I finished scrubbing off my paint-covered hands and then turned off the shower and came out.
It seemed silly to put my dirty, paint-covered clothes back on, but I didn’t have much choice. I was in the cabin of a man I barely knew in Nederland in the middle of nowhere; it was not exactly the Hilton Hotel.
When I came out, Brock was still sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. Seeing me, he rose.
“I just wanted to say sorry for before,” he stammered. “I wasn’t thinking, and…I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine,” I said, still standing in the bathroom door awkwardly, staring at the wall myself.
After a minute of this, Brock went over to the kitchen.
“I’m going to make some hot chocolate.”
At the stove, he paused, threw a glance at the snow-filled window, and then looked back at me.
“Looks like it’s going to continue overnight.”
“Yeah.”
“You can stay the night if you want.”
He turned away before my reaction could register on my face.
Though really, I didn’t know how my face looked at the moment. I already had my evidence. Would staying the night be a good idea?
A quick glance out the window confirmed that it wasn’t just a good idea; it was basically the only viable one. It was snowing even harder now. Navigating that bumpy road would be hard enough with a station wagon, let alone my little sedan.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he said.
And maybe it was just me, but it sounded like Brock was smiling as he said it. It didn’t take long for the hot chocolate to be ready. Brock handed me a cup and then a bag of marshmallows.
“Have at it.”
I laughed.
“You’re going to regret saying that.”
“No, really, you’re a guest here.”
“Okay,” I said, before proceeding to pour in as many marshmallows as would fit into my cup.
Once the tiny white things were almost spilling over the sides, I handed the bag back to Brock.
He gave a soft chuckle.
“Wow, you really like your sugar, don’t you? Though I can’t say you didn’t warn me.”
I responded by giving him a cheeky grin. He raised his cup to mine. We toasted, and he said, “To delicious cookies and terrible storms.”
After we sipped our drinks, he smiled.
“I’m really glad you made the crazy drive up here after me. I...normally don’t get along with people this well.”
“I am too,” I said.
But my answer didn’t seem to please him.
“Really, I mean it though,” he said, “There’s something about you…the art, our sense of humor; we have so much in common. I’d like to see you again after this.”
Before I could respond, his face darkened and he shook his head.
“Though I’m not staying all that much longer. Can’t.”
We sat there for a few minutes, sipping our hot chocolates and not looking at each other. By then, Brock was right beside me, his leg pressed against mine, sending warm pangs of longing up and down my body. I didn’t move away, but I didn’t move closer either. Brock was the target, nothing more, and he had to stay that way if I was going to complete this job successfully.
Gradually, more and more of Brock’s body was pressing against mine—his knee, his torso.
Then I felt his breath on my ear as he said, “Alexa.”
I turned to face him, and he stood up and looked away.
“Want to go snowshoeing?”
I stared at him for a minute, searching his face for a trace of amusement, a twinkle in his eye, a half grin, anything. But his face kept its serious expression.
“Okay,” I found myself saying.
He grinned, went over to the chest, and paused.
“Weird…”
“What is it?”
He crouched down and then shook his head.
“Nothing. It’s just that I always latch the chest closed, but last time I must’ve forgotten.”
I made a noncommittal sound of agreement, hoping it was louder than the thumping of my terrified heart. Brock slid the chest over, revealing two pairs of snowshoes behind it.
“Don’t worry. Snowshoeing is just like walking but with big feet. You shouldn’t have any problem.”