three
Phoebe
The world has disappeared.
Nothing but white—above, below, all around. Snow stings my face like tiny needles, each gust driving it deeper into my skin. I can barely see Aiden's broad back three feet in front of me.
"Keep moving!" he shouts, voice nearly lost in the howling wind.
My legs burn. The snow is already past my ankles, my fashionable boots soaked through and frozen. I wasn't made for this. Vancouver's idea of a snowstorm is two inches followed by immediate rain.
"How much further?" I call, teeth chattering violently.
He turns back, face barely visible beneath his snow-crusted beard and the headlamp he insisted I wear.
"Quarter mile. Maybe less."
I stumble forward. Aiden's jacket swallows me, sleeves rolled up three times. It smells like him—pine and motor oil.
My phone died ten minutes ago. No help coming.
Focus, Phoebe. Keep. Moving.
My foot catches on something hidden beneath the snow. I pitch forward with a startled cry. Before I can faceplant, strong hands grab my arms, hauling me upright.
"You okay?" Aiden's face is inches from mine, concern etched in the hard lines around his eyes.
"F-fine," I stammer. My feet have gone from burning to numb—bad sign.
He looks down at my pathetic footwear. Without warning, he crouches, back to me.
"Climb on," he orders.
"What? No, I can walk—"
"Your lips are blue. Get on my back or I'll carry you like a sack of feed."
The mental image of being slung over his shoulder makes the decision for me. I awkwardly clamber onto his back. He stands in one fluid motion, hands securing my thighs.
Oh...
His body heat envelops me instantly. The man radiates warmth like a furnace. He adjusts my weight with ease, as if I weigh nothing.
"Hold tight," he says, voice rumbling through his back and into my chest.
I press my frozen face against his shoulder, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid strength of his body moving beneath mine.
Definitely not the circumstances I imagined for being this close to a man again. Especially one who looks like he stepped off the cover of "Rugged Mountain Men Monthly." ??
Wait, did I really just mentally add a fire emoji? I'm delirious from the cold.
"There," he says after what feels like forever. "Look up."
Through the curtain of white, a dark shape materializes. My cabin.
Aiden doesn't set me down until we reach the porch. My legs wobble as they take my weight. He steadies me with one hand while digging through his pack.
"Key?" he asks.
It takes three tries with frozen fingers. He unlocks the door, pushing it open against the weight of snow.
We stumble inside, bringing a swirl of snowflakes with us. The cabin is dark and somehow even colder than I remember. The door slams behind us.
For a moment, we just stand there, panting, covered in snow. Then Aiden springs into action.
"Get those wet boots off," he commands, already unlacing his own. "Socks too."
I comply, fingers fumbling. Everything is numb. My jeans are soaked to the knees.
Aiden returns with an armful of throw blankets. "Wrap up," he says, draping one around my shoulders. "I'll check the power."
He moves to the fuse box, clicking switches. Nothing happens.
"Lines are down," he pronounces. "Gas still working?"
I shrug helplessly. "I don't know. I just got here before going to your store."
He tests the stove. A blue flame flickers to life.
"Thank God for small mercies," he mutters.
That's when it hits me. We're trapped. In a powerless cabin. During a blizzard. With a stranger.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat.
"This is fine," I say, voice higher than normal. "Totally fine. Just stuck in a blizzard in April with no power, barely any supplies, and a cabin that's basically made of holes. No problem. I've got this. Totally normal Tuesday."
Aiden pauses his inspection to look at me. His expression softens marginally.
"You're going to be okay," he says, gruffness tempered. "We both are."
"We can't stay here," I protest. "The roof is leaking, the windows are broken, there's no power—"
"We can and we will," he cuts me off, not unkindly. "No choice now."
He crosses to the fireplace. "When was the last time this was used?"
"I have no idea. I told you, I barely knew my uncle."
He pokes at something inside the chimney. "Damper works. No birds' nests. That's something."
My panic recedes, replaced by my natural tendency to organize chaos.
"Let's list our assets," I say. "Shelter, technically. Supplies from your store. Food from my groceries. Fire soon, hopefully. Gas stove works. That's... something, right?"
"Water?" Aiden asks, arranging kindling.
"Pipes probably frozen. But we have snow. Infinite snow."
He almost smiles. Almost. "We'll melt it. For drinking and basic washing."
The fireplace catches with a whoosh. The immediate heat makes my eyes water with relief.
"What about your brother?" I ask. "Could he help?"
Aiden shakes his head. "Jake works search and rescue. Storm like this, he'll be handling emergency calls, not checking on his big brother."
"But we are an emergency!"
"We're inconvenienced," he corrects. "We have shelter, heat, food, water. Others won't be so lucky."
He's right, but it doesn't make our situation any less surreal.
Together, we secure the cabin. Aiden uses the tarp to cover the worst roof sections. I hold the flashlight while he staples plastic over broken windows. The wind still creeps in, but it's better.
By the time we finish, darkness has fallen completely. The temperature drops noticeably. I add another layer but can't stop shivering.
"Your temperature is still low," Aiden observes. "Body can't generate enough heat after that exposure."
"I'm f-fine," I insist, teeth chattering.
He moves around the cabin with purpose, inspecting the loft. His expression is troubled when he returns.
"What?" I ask.
"Roof leak damaged your mattress. Soaked through and moldy."
"Great. So I'll sleep on the couch?"
"Too cold. Heat rises. Need to sleep in the loft."
"On what? The floor?"
"I've got a sleeping bag," he says. "You take that. I've slept on worse than a wooden floor."
"Don't be ridiculous. You can't sleep on the floor in these temperatures." The words tumble out. "The sleeping bag is big enough for both of us."
His head snaps up, blue eyes locking with mine. Something electric passes between us.
"That's not a good idea," he says, voice rough.
"Why not? It's basic survival," I counter with false confidence. "Unless you're worried I'll attack you in your sleep?"
That almost-smile again. "Not my concern."
"Then what is?"
He doesn't answer, just studies me with those intense eyes. I refuse to look away.
"Fine," he finally says. "But it's survival only. Body heat helps prevent hypothermia."
"Of course," I agree quickly. "Just survival."
While he sets up our makeshift bed in the loft, I change into the warmest clothes I brought—fleece joggers and a thermal shirt. When I return, Aiden is adding wood to the fire.
"I'll bank it before we sleep," he explains. "Should last most of the night."
I nod, suddenly awkward. We're strangers about to share a sleeping space. Very attractive strangers. At least, he's very attractive. With his beard and flannel and those forearms that flexed when he carried me...
Stop it, Phoebe. Survival situation. Not a Hallmark movie.
Though if it were, this would definitely be the meet-cute...
"You should eat something," Aiden's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Keep your energy up."
We cobble together a meal from my groceries—crackers, cheese, apples. It's meager but satisfying with hot tea from the gas stove.
"How long will the storm last?" I ask, wrapping my hands around the mug.
"Hard to say. At least through tomorrow, by the look of it."
Tomorrow. An entire day trapped with him. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.
By the time we've cleaned up, I can see my breath even near the fire. Aiden banks the flames carefully.
"We should sleep," he says, not meeting my eyes. "Body conserves energy that way."
The sleeping arrangement looks painfully intimate—a single sleeping barely big enough for two who don't mind closeness. We’ve piled all the extra blankets to make what looks like a make-shift human-sized dog bed.
I slide in first, back to the wall. He hesitates, then joins me, his large frame making the space seem tiny.
We lie stiffly, not touching, both staring at the ceiling. The absurdity bubbles up again.
"Well," I whisper, "this isn't how I pictured my first night in my new mountain paradise."
His low chuckle surprises me. "No?"
"Shockingly, 'trapped in blizzard with taciturn mountain man' wasn't on my vision board."
"Taciturn?"
"Would you prefer 'laconic'? 'Reticent'? I have more synonyms."
"I prefer Aiden."
That makes me laugh. "Noted."
A violent gust rattles the cabin. I flinch. Without comment, Aiden shifts closer, his heat radiating like a beacon.
"Try to sleep," he murmurs. "Tomorrow we'll figure things out."
"Thank you," I whisper. "For everything today. I'd probably be a Phoebe-shaped popsicle without you."
He's quiet so long I think he's asleep. Then, softly: "You're welcome."
I close my eyes, listening to the storm and Aiden's steady breathing. Despite everything, I feel strangely safe.