If the power goes out, I’m ready. Take that, Dean. I shake my head at my own thoughts and carefully crumble saltine crackers into my soup. The wind picks up, blowing icy snow against the glass. I’m already dreading the drive into work tomorrow morning.
Eastwood already closed down all of the schools, but there’s no closing down the hospital. As long as the roads are open, I’m expected to go in. And even when the roads aren’t open, I’m expected to go in. Though Anne seems much more reasonable than my last unit manager.
If I were at Dean’s, my drive to the hospital would have been cut in half. Maybe I should go over there. You know…for safety reasons.
“Stop it,” I tell myself and go back to my soup and Damon Salvator. I’ve already watched the entire series in full three times now, but The Vampire Diaries is one of those shows I can watch over and over again.
Along with Charmed and True Blood. Yeah, there’s a theme going on, and I might still harbor some hurt feelings over never getting my letter to Hogwarts. Though I’m still holding out hope that I’ll move into an old Victorian house and discover my powers as a witch.
The lights start flickering an hour or so later, and I take it as my cue to go to bed. I rinse out my soup bowl and fill up an extra bowl of water for Figaro. Then I pop two melatonin pills and climb into bed. I like to sleep in the pitch black, but have to leave the hall light on, which is weird, I know.
But that’s what my sleep mask is for. I can whip it off if I think an intruder is in the house. I know…it doesn’t make sense. It’s not like being able to see the dark figure in the hall would make them run away. It’s been my routine since college, which was my first experience being away from home for a long period of time.
I crank up the electric blanket and settle down into the pillows, telling Alexa to turn on my sleep sounds app. I had a long, busy day, and I should be tired. Yet my mind drifts back to Dean and that stupid sexy smirk. I push all thoughts of him out of mind and try to trick my brain into having a wonderful dream about Henry Cavill being my boyfriend and coming home to Silver Ridge with me, showing everyone who laughed and told me I’d never find a man that I can and did find an exceptional one.
But my go-to fantasy fails me, and I’m in that half-awake, half-asleep state, twilight dreaming about going home with a hot guy on my arm. Surprise, surprise, that guy is Dean.Chapter 21DeanI hit send and then notice a typo in my email. Dammit. Oh well. It’s not the first and won’t be the last. I let out a breath and reach for the stack of papers on the table next to me. It’s early in the morning and the roads are shit, and there is a police order to stay home unless necessary. While I could argue that our job is necessary, I’m not risking anyone’s life just to get in a few hours of work.
I got up early just to start calling the guys on our crew, telling them to wait an hour or two and see how things are. The plows have been out all night, and I hear one rumble down the street in front of the house.
I’ve been up since dawn and should go back to bed, but as soon as I lie down and close my eyes, I see her face.
Hear her voice.
Taste her on my lips.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about anyone—unable to get them out of my head. Except I do, and I don’t want to admit it to myself. Because those feelings led to a proposal, a marriage, and a house.
All built on fucking lies.
I flip a page in the estimate I’m going over before sending to a client and have to read everything twice. I struggled with obsessive thoughts after the divorce, replaying everything in my mind and putting the blame on myself.
This, though…this is different. Because Rory is different, and just thinking about her looking all flustered while trying to keep her shit together makes me smile.
Which is fucking stupid.
It takes me twice as long to finish proofing the estimate. Then I plug everything into a spreadsheet to send to the client, who should be pleasantly surprised their dream house is not only within budget, but fifteen grand under what I initially quoted them.
Needing more coffee, I get up, pour myself a cup, and then go look outside. Mrs. Rogers, my neighbor across the street, is struggling to shovel her driveway by hand. We got a good six inches of snow last night, mixed with some icy rain, making the snow heavy as shit.