Page 15 of Unexpected Pickle

HEX’S FIRE, THE THIRD

W hen I’m finally in Jeannie’s cabin, our situation starts to really take hold.

We are cut off from everyone in a storm.

We prep the room, packing towels against the base of the door and windows to stop any air leaks, filling the tub and sinks with water in case a pipe explodes, and adjusting the fire to be at a good steady level.

We don’t want to let the space get too cold, but we don’t want to burn through our wood too fast, either.

“How long do you think this might last?” Jeannie asks. She sits in front of the fire in a mound of blankets.

“Unless something’s changed, only a couple of days.”

Her gaze snaps to mine. “Really?”

“I talked to my travel agent right after I left the kitchen, trying to move up my flight. She said the storm rolling in had flights canceled right and left, but by the time my scheduled flight came, this would be long over.”

“But they emptied the retreat.”

“I have a feeling this place has a history of losing power in storms like this.”

“They should have checked our rooms to make sure we were gone.”

I nod. “They should have.”

She stares into the fire. “It might have been chaos. And there we were, watching movies, oblivious to what was going on.”

I sit next to her on the rug. The fire is nice. It’s probably getting close to midnight. “We have enough food and firewood for a few days. It’ll blow over by then.”

We’re quiet for a moment, listening to the wind howl. Then Jeannie surprises me by leaning over and resting her head on the edge of my shoulder. “If you had actually left, I might be stuck here alone.”

“Nah. You’d have been in your room when they called or came to the door.”

“Assuming they did. It might have been every man for himself, like the Titanic.”

I want to put my arm around her and draw her close. But we haven’t been like that, not yet. There’s been companionship today, and definitely a much-improved camaraderie since the retreat began.

But nothing romantic.

We sit like this a while, then I realize her breath is even. She’s fallen asleep on me.

I hold as still as possible, letting her get some rest, but slowly she begins to slide off.

I move my arm behind her back. “Jeannie, I’m going to shift you so you can sleep.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

I turn her so she’s fully in front of the fire and lay her on the rug. The pillow is cool from being behind us, so I hold it up to the flames a moment to warm it before sliding it under her head.

I cover her with two blankets, tucking them around her to keep in her body heat. Then I lie beside her, close but not touching, and cover myself with the last blanket.

I listen to her breath. So this is what it’s like to sleep next to Jeannie Young. I turn to look at her. The orange light dances across her cheeks and nose. She’s so calm and relaxed, her features softened without the toughness she uses to navigate life.

I like her hard shell, her cutting wit, but I like this, too. Gentle Jeannie.

I’d rather not sleep, knowing this might be the only time I ever get to see her like this, but as the silence lengthens, my eyes get too heavy…

I snap awake some time later when I realize my leg is pinned. I was dreaming about being in the ring, my opponent trying to trap me so I would tap out.

My body tenses, ready to throw him off, when I realize where I am. The floor. The cabin. The storm.

Jeannie.

She’s rolled over to me, her head on my arm, her thigh across mine.

Sweet mother, this is a lot. Just her nearness has me rising to the occasion. I’m wearing two pairs of sweatpants, though, so maybe it’s not noticeable.

I think of calming things. Puppies. Sunsets. Hammocks. The beach.

Jeannie makes a small noise and snuggles in closer. The blankets have fallen aside, and she’s looking for warmth.

I try to reach over her to pull up the blankets, but this startles her awake. She looks at me a moment as if trying to work out who I am.

Then she says, “Is the fire okay?”

I nod. “Your blankets slipped off.”

She looks down and realizes she’s curled against my body. “Oh!” She rolls away.

I need to add a log to the fire. It’s still dark out. I stand up and step around her to pick up a hefty piece of wood. When I’ve placed it and turned around, she’s sitting up.

“You okay?” I ask.

“A little scared, I guess. I think I dreamed that we froze into ice sculptures.”

“The fire will keep us plenty warm. People survived for centuries with only wood stoves for heat.”

She nods. “I just need to shake the feeling.”

I sit next to her. “It’s unnerving. A snack might help. Tell your body you are safe and fed.”

“Yeah. That would be good.”

I drag the duffel bag closer and pull out the granola clusters she liked earlier. We munch in companionable silence for a while, watching the fire.

Then she completely surprises me.

“Would you have kissed me earlier?” she asks.

I snap my gaze to her. “Kiss?”

“Okay, I didn’t think so.” She dusts her hands free of the granola crumbs.

“Jeannie—”

“I don’t know what I asked. I think the dream has me out of sorts.”

“Jeannie—”

“No, it’s fine. What a weird question! I shouldn’t have even asked it.” She forces a laugh.

I’m not going to play around with this topic. If she’s asking about kissing, it’s going to happen.

“Jeannie.”

She turns at my tone, her dark hair wild from sleep. “Yes, Hex?”

“I have wanted to kiss you for months.”

She draws in a breath to say something, and I know it’s going to be something harsh or self-deprecating, so I don’t allow it. I cup her chin and silence her with my mouth.

Her body tenses, then relaxes, and the moment she sinks into me, I draw her close.

Her lips are soft and her body warm. My mouth devours hers, my tongue sliding across her lips until she opens for me. She tastes of granola and honey.

Jeannie. My Jeannie. I’ve got her.

I’ve waited too long for this, wanting it, hoping for it, to do anything but take everything I want in this moment. I will kiss her for hours. For days. Until the firefighters or management or whoever is going to come bangs down our door.

Then I’ll kiss her still, as long as she will let me.

My palms cover both of her cheeks, my hands slipping into her hair. The loose knot she tied comes undone, and the silky strands fall over her shoulders.

I caress the base of her head, my thumbs on her throat. I stroke her skin in long, desperate motions. I’m lost in her. Completely and utterly gone.

She gasps against me, sucking in a breath.

I pull away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about this forever.”

“You have?”

“Every time I came to the kitchen.”

She watches me with that intense gaze. She’s so hard-shelled, but I’m inside that wall. I can feel it.

Her voice is tentative. “Would you do it again?”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I dive in again. This time, we move together, our mouths hungry. The spark has moved from me to her. I can tell when it lights up.

Her hands go to my shoulders, taking in the breadth of them, sliding down my arms.

We’re both in layers, almost nothing exposed, but I sense impatience in her.

Is it true? I don’t want to push her.

But her hands move to my waist and find the hems of all the shirts.

When her fingers brush my skin, my whole body ignites.

I’m rock hard and aching for her, desperate to move fast.

But I clamp down on all that. I don’t know what she wants. It might be curiosity. It might be a temporary loss of control.

Her hands slide up my abs, bumping along the terrain of my belly until she reaches my chest. She sighs against my mouth. She likes what she’s found.

I kiss her while she explores, moving around to my back, her fingers brushing along my spine and crossing my shoulder blades. She pulls back. “Can I see what I’m touching? Or is too cold?”

“You can do whatever you fucking want.”

She laughs. “We’re getting a little crazy, aren’t we?”

“Let’s get completely crazy.” I release her to pull all three of my sweatshirts off at once.

She looks at me, and even though I’m used to being seen, this is different. This is Jeannie, who aims kitchen knives at me and orders me out of her space. The strong one. The hard one. The one who doesn’t trust, who won’t let down her guard.

When my clothes hit the floor, she’s up on her knees, running her hands all over me. “Jesus, Hex,” she says. “It must take so much work to look like this.”

I can’t even think with her touching me. She lifts her gaze up to me, her fingers tracing their way along my skin.

I’m a fucking goner.