Page 35 of Snowed In with You

‘I’ll be fine,’ smiled Lucy. ‘Just don’t trip over me when you come back up.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Nate with a weak smile. He paused for a second, then tilted his head. ‘I definitely can’t tempt you?’

Oh God, you definitely could, thought Lucy. Nate’s face was half in shadow with his hair flopping over one eye, making his cheekbones look like razors. His hands were on his hips, highlighting the definition in his arms. He was unquestionably hot and she was starting to understand him better, but the thing he had going on with Sasha loomed large. Lucy had worked hard to get her life under control and keep things simple and uncomplicated, so why blow it all on a one-night stand with Nate Lambert?

‘I’m OK here, thanks.’

Nate took the hint and headed down the creaky stairs, leaving Lucy to organise the bedding, then lie on her back in the milky torchlight. It was warm and peaceful up here, the chatter and laughter from the bar distant and reassuring, and she took a moment to take some deep breaths and enjoy being alone for the first time since she’d woken up that morning. She wondered fleetingly if Chantal was cosied up next to Nate in what she already thought of as their booth, and then asked herself why she cared. Maybe if she slept, things would feel clearer in the morning.

When Lucy woke, three things immediately occurred to her.

Firstly, that Nate wasn’t on the airbed next to her – it was still neatly made with a smooth duvet and pillow. She glanced at her phone to see the time, but the remaining battery was long gone. So instead she looked at her smart watch, which was also entirely dead and useless. Apparently nobody in the ‘what’s the bare minimum acceptable battery life?’ team at Apple had considered the impact of being stranded on a mountain during a power cut.

Secondly, that in her keenness to shut everything out she’d forgotten to clean her teeth or wash her clothes, so her mouth felt like the inside of a charity shop handbag and she was facing the unappealing prospect of putting dirty underwear back on in the morning.

And thirdly, that somebody downstairs was, for some inexplicable reason, listening to Ed Sheeran.

She lay in bed for a few minutes, processing all these new facts. Without knowing the time, it was impossible to know if she’d been asleep for twenty minutes or three hours, although it definitely felt like more than a nap. The clothes situation made her feel itchy; she hated not feeling clean, or wearing unwashed clothes. But clearly Ed Sheeran meant that some people downstairs were still awake.

Her thoughts drifted to Chantal, and an imagined scenario where she and Nate were the only ones left in the bar, having a nightcap in the glow of the dying fire embers, Ed Sheeran singing a smushy love song as they edged closer together . . .

Time to do some laundry, thought Lucy, hurriedly rearranging Monica’s pyjamas where they’d twisted and bunched up in various places. She stretched a head torch over her bed hair and gathered up her clothes, then tiptoed down the stairs to the bathroom, which also contained the washing machine. She pressed the power button, hoping the generator might have magically repaired itself, but nothing happened. So instead she ran some hot water into the bath and threw her clothes in with some detergent.

Once everything was clean, she drained the bath and rinsed each item out under the tap, then wrung everything out over the empty bath until it was no longer dripping. By the time she’d finished, Ed Sheeran was singing the mawkishly sentimental ‘Thinking Out Loud’. The idea of Chantal taking Nate into her loving arms made Lucy feel even more itchy, so she gathered up her wet clothes and padded through the corridor to the door that connected Gunther and Monica’s house to the bar.

Lucy turned off her head torch and silently opened the door, praying she wasn’t about to get a prime view of Nate orally servicing Chantal by candlelight, then froze in stunned silence as she took in the scene. Gunther and Monica were to her left behind the bar, smiling and swaying gently. Chantal was next to them, her fingers pressed together in prayer in front of her lips, and her expression nothing short of enraptured. Andrea and Felix were in one of the booths, Andrea’s head resting on Felix’s shoulder. Alex and Willem were next to them, Alex holding up his phone and apparently filming a video. Lucy looked around the corner to see where his phone was pointed – Nate was sitting on a bar stool, playing Andrea’s guitar and . . . singing.

Fuck, thought Lucy, as realisation dawned. It’s not an Ed Sheeran track, it’s Nate. She could only see his shadowy profile, but his eyes were closed and he was singing with such intensity that she actually gasped. His voice was uncannily like Ed Sheeran’s, but somehow it was so much more than Stars In Their Eyes-style karaoke – there was a raw authenticity to it, a heartfelt, gut-punching realness.

Lucy watched in awe, entirely breathless and lost for words. Moving wasn’t an option, because then Nate would notice her and the spell would be broken. Maybe it was Jäger, exhaustion and the uniquely stressful circumstances of this particular gig, but a song that had historically made Lucy want to puke was now making her want to cry.

Nate stretched out the final notes, then hung his head as applause broke out from every corner of the room. He held his hand up in thanks, then turned to look at Lucy like he’d known she was there all along. The smile he gave her set off a cage of butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t help but smile back, no longer caring that she was standing in a doorway in floral pyjamas and a head torch, clutching a bundle of wet clothes.

Shit, thought Lucy. The moody guy from my office is doing a candlelit Ed Sheeran tribute act, and apparently I now fancy the pants off him. This is very, very bad.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘Lucy!’ yelled Chantal, a little too enthusiastically for it to seem genuine. ‘Are you OK? You look a little . . .’

‘A little what?’ asked Lucy, quickly pulling off the head torch and attempting to flatten her hair. Marco had once told her that she was one of those people who never looked truly bad – even when she was hung-over, her hair needed a wash, and she had period spots. But right now Lucy suspected she was testing that theory to the limit.

‘Come and have a drink,’ said Monica, extracting the bundle of wet clothes from her arms and ushering her to the empty booth she and Nate had made their own earlier. ‘I’ll hang these up for you.’

‘Thank you,’ mumbled Lucy, sliding into the corner. She felt a tiny buzz of pleasure when Nate shuffled in to join her, immediately pouring her a glass of wine. Her head felt fuzzy and hung-over and she definitely didn’t need any more booze, but right now she was a little caught off guard by the whole Ed Sheeran thing and it seemed like the only way forward. The others all bustled over, filling up the remaining seats around the table, clearly keen to hear more from Nate and not let the moment end.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

Lucy drained half the glass, nodding vaguely in his direction. ‘You never told me you were a singer.’ She didn’t mean for it to sound quite so accusatory, but after he’d made such an effort to big up her writing skills earlier, he might at least have mentioned this pretty interesting talent.

‘I’m not,’ said Nate quickly, and even in the dim light Lucy could see he looked mortified. ‘I mean, I’ve always wanted to be, obviously, and I sing in the car and the shower. But that’s it.’ Lucy could see Felix leaning forward, getting ready to share his professional wisdom, until Andrea gently placed a hand on his arm and he changed his mind.

‘Have you ever sung for an audience before?’ asked Alex, and Lucy couldn’t help but notice that he looked a little sour that Nate was hogging the Guntherhütte spotlight. Or maybe being the kind of person who engineered moments like this specifically for social media engagement, he was cynical about Nate’s genuine surprise and sincerity.

‘No,’ said Nate. ‘That was definitely a one-off.’

‘You mean I almost missed your one and only gig?’ asked Lucy, giving him a playful prod. ‘Wow.’

‘Don’t,’ said Nate. He looked nauseous, like he’d already boarded the regret bus and it was only going one way.