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“I take photos of people all the time at the park. And I knew your photo would turn out good.”
I was thrown by his soft tone, feeling once again like the silly teenage version of me with a crush.
“We should figure out sleeping,” I said, desperately needing to change the topic from me. “Will we share or?—”
“I’ll sleep in front of the fire on the floor. You take the couch.” He said it so fast that I got the idea he didn’t want me to finish my sentence.
“A-are you sure? The floor seems uncomfortable.”
“I don’t mind, and I highly doubt you’d want me to sleep on that tiny pullout couch mattress with you.”
“A-absolutely not.” I tried to sound convincing. But now my entire body was warm. As a teenager, I imagined what it would feel like for Alden’s arms to be wrapped around me. I thought the closest I’d ever get was having him on top of me in the back of his truck.
“Thought so. There should be enough blankets to go around.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
When I wokeup only two hours later, I was shivering. The already near-zero temperature outside had dropped, and the living room felt like an icebox, somehow worse than the bedrooms were hours ago.
For a second, I thought about suffering and trying to force myself back to sleep, but then my cold hands reminded me that I literally couldn’t.
“Alden,” I whispered.
He didn’t move at first and panic settled in.
What if he was dead? What the fuck would I do then?
“Alden!” I threw a pillow at him and he jerked awake.
He shot up faster than humanly possible.
“What?” he muttered in his low, rough sleep voice. My stomach flipped. I’d heard him like this when he’d stayed the night at our house, but the roughness of his voice had gotten lower with age. It did unfair things to my body.
And to make matters worse, his hair was adorably disoriented from sleep.
“Stella?” he urged, his voice growing worried. I shook myself out of my stupor.
“I think the fire went out.”
He turned to the stove. “Fuck.” He opened the door. It wasn’t out, but it wasn’t as warm as earlier. He cursed and poked it with a stick—something I didn’t understand, and slowly, it came back to life.
But the cold had permeated the room. And it had to be even worse on the floor.
I knew the second that the thought crossed my mind that I would regret my next sentence.
But I was too cold to care.
“Get up here,” I said.
“What?”
“This room is freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have to be cold down there.”
“I’m really not.”