CHAPTER 07 — SNOWED IN
1423 Words
The storm arrived without warning.
Elara noticed it first when the lodge went unnaturally quiet—no laughter
from the hallway, no clinking glasses, no music drifting through the
walls. Just the low howl of wind outside, pressing against the windows
like it wanted in.
She sat up in bed, heart tightening.
“Jace?”
He was already standing.
Fully dressed. Jacket on. Phone in hand.
“The road’s gone,” he said after a moment. “Snowed over. Power lines
might follow.”
As if on cue, the lights flickered once.
Then twice.
Then died.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Elara sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re kidding.”
Jace moved instantly, calm cutting through the dark. A soft click sounded
as a flashlight turned on, bathing the room in low white light.
“I don’t joke about weather,” he said. “Especially not mountains.”
A knock echoed down the hall, followed by voices.
“Everyone stay inside!” someone shouted. “Road’s closed until morning!”
Snowed in.
The words settled heavy in Elara’s chest.
Jace turned toward her, expression unreadable. “Looks like we’re not
going anywhere.”
Her pulse jumped. “This is temporary. Just one night.”
“Maybe two,” he said evenly. “Depends on the storm.”
The lodge generator hummed weakly, then caught. Dim lights returned,
casting long shadows across the room.
The space felt smaller now.
Closer.
Elara wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. “I’m not scared,” she
said quickly.
Jace’s gaze softened—but didn’t tease. “I know.”
He moved to the window, checking the snowfall, shoulders tense in a way
that told her he was calculating every possible outcome.
“You do this a lot,” she said quietly.
“Do what?”
“Prepare,” she replied. “Like something bad is always coming.”
He paused. “Because it usually is.”
That answer chilled her more than the storm.
Dinner that night was simple—cold cuts, soup heated on a gas stove,
candles flickering along the long table. Everyone tried to keep spirits
light, but tension crept in with the cold.
Jace stayed close. Always close.
When someone joked about sharing body heat, Elara felt his hand tighten at
her waist—not possessive, just… grounding.
Later, the group dispersed early, the storm pressing fatigue into their
bones.
Back in the room, Elara stood near the bed, unsure what to do with her
hands, her thoughts, the awareness of Jace filling the space.
“We should talk,” she said.
He nodded. “We should.”
She took a breath. “About the rules.”
He leaned against the dresser, arms crossing slowly. “Which one worries
you?”
“All of them.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Fair.”
“This storm,” she continued, “changes things. We’re stuck. People will
watch us more closely. Expect more.”
Jace studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Then we adjust.”
“How?”
“We add one rule.”
Her brow furrowed. “Another one?”
“Yes,” he said. “No mixed signals. If we touch, it’s intentional. If we
don’t, we keep distance.”
Her chest tightened. “That doesn’t make this easier.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “It makes it honest.”
Silence stretched.
The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. The room creaked in
response.
Elara hugged herself. “It’s cold.”
Jace moved before she finished the sentence, grabbing an extra blanket
from the chair. He hesitated—just a beat—then draped it around her
shoulders, careful not to trap her.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The closeness did something dangerous to her breathing.
“Jace…”
“Say it.”
She swallowed. “Do you ever worry this will go too far?”
His eyes met hers, steady and serious. “Every minute.”
“And you’re still here.”
“Yes.”
The honesty in that answer hit harder than any flirtation.
A sudden crack of thunder rolled over the mountain, followed by a heavy
thud somewhere outside—tree branch or ice, she wasn’t sure.
Elara startled, instinctively stepping closer.
Jace caught her—hands firm on her arms, grounding her instantly.
“It’s okay,” he said low. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t pull away.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
His hands were warm. Solid. Real.
She became painfully aware of the way her body fit into the space he
offered, how easily it would be to lean in, to close the distance, to
forget every rule they’d made.
Jace felt it too.
She could see it in the tension of his jaw, the careful stillness of his
hands.
Slowly—deliberately—he loosened his grip.
“Sit,” he said gently, guiding her to the bed before stepping back.
She obeyed, heart racing.
He took the chair again, distance restored.
But the air between them stayed charged.
“Try to sleep,” he said. “Storm should ease by morning.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
His gaze held hers. “Then we handle it.”
Simple. Certain.
Elara lay back, listening to the wind, the lodge settling around them.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
Sleep didn’t come.
“Jace?” she whispered into the dark.
“Yes.”
“Thank you… for staying awake.”
A pause.
“Always,” he replied.
Outside, the storm raged on.
Inside, Elara realized something quietly terrifying:
Being snowed in with Jace Wolfe wasn’t dangerous because of the storm.
It was dangerous because every hour they stayed trapped together made it
harder to remember why this was supposed to be temporary.
The night stretched.
Not endlessly—but long enough to feel intentional.
Elara lay still, counting the spaces between the wind’s gusts, the lodge answering back with soft groans and creaks. Somewhere down the hall, someone coughed. A door closed. Life continued, contained by snow.
She turned slightly.
Jace hadn’t moved.
Still in the chair.
Still alert.
Still pretending the distance cost him nothing.
“You don’t have to stay awake,” she murmured.
“Yes,” he said evenly. “I do.”
That answer carried weight.
“Because of the storm?” she asked.
“Because of you.”
Her chest tightened.
Silence followed—thick, careful.
Then, quietly, “Tomorrow won’t be subtle.”
She swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“People get bored when they’re trapped,” he said. “They start watching closer. Asking sharper questions.”
“And my family?” she asked.
“Your family already decided something,” he replied. “They just haven’t said it out loud yet.”
That sent a chill through her ribs.
“What?”
“That this isn’t just about holidays anymore,” he said. “It’s about whether you’re willing to be seen choosing me.”
The words settled hard.
“And if I don’t?” she asked.
Jace didn’t answer right away.
When he did, his voice was lower. “Then I step back.”
Her breath caught. “You said you wouldn’t disappear.”
“I won’t,” he corrected. “But I won’t stand where I don’t belong.”
For the first time, Elara heard the cost in his restraint.
She sat up slowly, the blanket sliding down her arms. “You think I’m going to push you away.”
“I think you’re used to surviving alone,” he said. “And people like that… hesitate right before they choose.”
She met his gaze across the dim room.
“Then don’t rescue me tomorrow,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “Elara—”
“Let me answer,” she continued, steadier now. “Let me handle the questions. If I reach for you—” Her voice softened. “—it’s because I want to. Not because I’m cornered.”
A long beat passed.
Then Jace nodded once.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll trust you.”
The word *trust* shifted something fundamental between them.
Outside, the wind began to ease—just slightly, like the mountain exhaling.
Elara lay back down, pulse still racing, but steadier now.
Tomorrow wouldn’t be about weather.
It would be about choice.
And for the first time since this started, she knew exactly where she intended to stand.
- Writer
