Page 17 of Dare To Kiss You
Winter has hit Vancouver Island hard this year, and another heavy snowfall started in the last hour. The dark sky is full of the white stuff, making it hard to see, well, anything. There’s easily half an inch of snow covering the ground, soft and fluffy.
“No kidding. Damn, this is gonna make shit interesting tomorrow,” Steve replies. “You’re lucky you’re off, Callaghan.”
I give him a grin. “Yep, you have fun, Larabee. I’ll be making snow angels while you’re digging out abandoned cars.”
He lets out a groan. “You could always volunteer for overtime.”
“Not happening. I’m gonna drink hot chocolate, eat cookies, and watch the snow.”
Steve chuckles. “You’re something else, Callaghan. Drive safe tonight.”
He walks over to his car as I stand at my own, brushing the snow off, and fighting to not take his offhand comment as anything more than just that. Logically, I’m sure he didn’t mean it to be an insult, but after a lifetime of feeling different from everyone else — feelingless thaneveryone else — I’m sensitive.
Too fucking sensitive.
Thankfully, the snowstorm means I need to put all my attention on driving home safely. I take it slow, grateful the town has a dedicated snowplow. Thankfully, I don’t come across anyone that needs any help, and I make it home in one piece. As I pull into my driveway, I have to grudgingly admit it was a good call to get up extra early and salt everything this morning.
I gather up all my stuff, then dash to my front door as quickly as I can. But when I open my front door, the warmth I’m expecting isn’t there.
“What the fuck.” I say into the cold quiet of my house. The lights come on, and I can see lights on in other houses on the street. I drop my gear down on the couch; for once in my career, my priority is not locking up my weapons, it’s figuring out why my heat isn’t on.
I make my way to the back of the kitchen where the furnace and hot water heater are in a small closet. When I rented this house from Ethan Monroe, he told me the furnace was new, some fancy high efficiency thing. But something tells me it isn’t working all that efficiently right now.
Sure enough, the sophisticated furnace is cold. Flipping the circuit does nothing. And that’s the extent of my knowledge when it comes to home maintenance.
I get out my phone to text Ethan, then pause. It’s late, dark, and the roads are covered in snow. It would be dangerous for anyone to head out in this. I’ll head back to the station, crash there for the night, then call Ethan tomorrow.
As quickly as I can, I go to my bedroom and pull together a change of clothes and some toiletries. Once that’s all in a bag, I turn the faucets on to a trickle in the bathroom and the kitchen, then lock up once again. By now my car is covered in snow, and my tire tracks are invisible.
“Fuck,” I swear under my breath, shivering as I do. All I wanted was to go to bed in my warm house. But unless I want to wear six sweaters and pile all my blankets on top of myself and still risk freezing, I’ve got a night on the rock-hard couch at the station to look forward to.
I’m almost to my car when, in the silence only a heavy snowfall can bring, I hear a voice, crystal clear.
“Hunter? Is everything okay?”
I look over to see Kat huddled on her porch, some big blanket thing wrapped around her shoulders. Shit, what if her furnace is broken, too?
“Is your furnace working?” I ask, trying to hide the worry.
She nods and tugs the blanket tighter around her. “Yes, it’s fine. Why?”
I sag in relief. “Good. That’s good.” I start to brush off my car, silently telling my heart to slow the fuck down. “Go inside, Kitty Kat. It’s too cold to be out here.”
“Then tell me why you’re out here.”
Stubborn woman. I can’t avoid the small smile at her saucy reply. “I’m heading back to the station for the night. Furnace is broken and I don’t want Ethan or a repair guy coming out.”
Kat moves to step down off her porch, then stops; I’m guessing because she’s not wearing boots. “That’s crazy Hunter. You shouldn’t drive in this, either.”
“Kat,” I start, but then stop. What am I meant to say? I just told her I don’t want anyone driving in the storm, but I’m going to?
“Come in and sleep here.”
My hand freezes, the snow brush halfway across my windshield. “What?”
She stamps her feet a few times. “Come on, it’s freezing. Get over here.”
If I thought my heart was racing before, that’s nothing compared to what it’s doing now. Except this time, it’s a very misplaced anticipation. She’s offering me a warm place to sleep. That’s it.
