At least I hadn’t died.
Regardless, the romance books never covered braless nights and invisible eyebrows. They sped right to the sparks and fireworks. But this? This was crusty reality. My car and accoutrements had just plunged into an icy abyss.
Besides, the idea of anything between me and JJ was a literal dream. Not only was he nine years older, but a declared perpetual bachelor. He wouldn’t fit anywhere in my ultra-specific, very-much-happening-soon plans.
After landing my dream job at my favorite social media company, Pinnable, I would have a storybook romance, get married, and have babies. That’s when I’d settle into the sort of magical romance that Bethany and Maverick had.
The one I craved all the way to my bones.
I would have marriage and babies while armed with a college degree—because Mama never did care about education, and I’d die before I ended up like her.
But first, I’d make breakfast.
For the next ten minutes, I shuffled through cupboards and the mini fridge, tiptoeing around so I didn’t wake the Bailey boys. The open floorplan transmitted sound like an empty cave.
Finally, I settled on pancake mix made with water instead of milk and the last of a dozen eggs. No bacon, sausage, or OJ in the fridge. Some old, frostbitten breakfast sandwiches lingered at the back of a tiny freezer, but I wasn’t putting my hand back there. Only bachelors would run out of food in advance of a blizzard. I bet they only had one roll of toilet paper, too.
Pancakes were easy enough, although I really wasn’t into the food scene. But making them on a hot plate in the middle of what should have been a camp office?
Not my kind of party.
Still, I endured. Because JJ deserved a light, happy breakfast to counter the intensity of last night.
The hot plate smelled like burnt iron as it warmed, and I wafted away a few initial fumes while I stirred batter with a plastic spoon. The first two pancakes were a total flop, so I set those aside. The third came out half-decent. Just then, someone appeared from the attic.
“Lizbeth?”
JJ languorously stretched his arms above his head, eyelashes heavy against the morning light. My heart gave a little whomp at the adorable, sleepy way he smiled. Why did men always have the biggest eye fans? Mine were so light they were almost translucent. Putting on mascara changed me incalculably.
“Smells good down here.”
There it was—the rush of giddiness at the sound of his still-sleepy voice didn’t disappoint. The way his muscled arms reached overhead in taut perfection gave my heart a second reason to race. Romance books had something perfect, all right: there was definite beauty in the male form.
“Good morning,” I said, gaze averted.
He paused. His gaze dropped to the semi-chaos around me. I prayed there wasn’t batter on my face.
“Are you . . .”
“Making you breakfast. I guarantee nothing. But I . . . I wanted to do something nice for you. It’s poor thanks but . . .”
“It’s amazing.”
He blinked several times. His mouth parted as if he were about to say something, but then he stopped.
“I’m not great with a hot plate.” I grimaced. “But I think they’re edible.”
“I bet they’re the best I’ve tasted. Thank you. I can’t remember the last time someone else cooked around here. Did you sleep okay?”
“Better than in a freezing river.”
Mark’s barking laugh broke the still morning. “Good one,” he called from the attic. Footsteps thundered down the ladder.
He appeared, hand shoved through his shaggy hair, with a growl of frustration. His eyes were bright, face darkly stubbled. The usual intensity of his bright, ever-changing expression wasn’t dimmed by the early hour. Mark was quite handsome . . . if you could get him to stop moving.
“Morning,” he sang in a grating operetta.
“You look like a bear,” JJ said.
Mark threw something at him as he walked past, clad in flannel pajama pants and an old race T-shirt that said, Tough Mudder. His broad shoulders filled it out. He disappeared into the bathroom.
Concern filled JJ’s expression. “You sleep all right?” he asked me.
“Yeah. Yes. I mean, in the light of day, it’s not all quite so overwhelming. And I’m alive, right? So I’m definitely okay.”
JJ glanced outside and grimaced. “The sort-of light of day.”
He pulled back repurposed pillowcases that doubled as drapes to reveal another foot of snow. I could just make out the Zombie Mobile coated so thick with white that it almost blended into the forest. Flurries whirled around it.
“Pretty cool storm, isn’t it?” he asked.
I had other opinions about extreme winter weather. “It’s something,” I muttered.
JJ laughed and stepped behind me, setting a hand on my shoulder as he pulled a cup out of a high cupboard. Was he always so touchy? I’d take it seven days a week. My heart woke up again at the heavy heat of his hand.
“It’s supposed to last through the day,” he said, “but without as much wind. I think it’ll taper off in the night. I bet the canyon opens back up in the morning if there aren’t any avalanches. Coffee?”
“Already going.” I pointed to the Keurig across the way. “Now that is one food I can make.”
“You’re a godsend.”
He squeezed my shoulder, then turned to the machine. There was no frisson of electricity that slid between us. No unreadable frown on his face as his skin touched mine. No small gasp that I tried to hide at the unexpected fireworks of his touch. But his firm hand on a cold winter day was comfort without words.
Mark hurried upstairs to the attic, phone already to his ear, while I finished the pancakes. JJ set out some faded plates and camping utensils. When we finally settled at the table with my almost-pancakes-mostly-crepe-looking-concoctions, Mark slid back down the ladder again and into the kitchenette with a whoop.
“I am the literal master of
