SNOWED IN WITH MY TEMPORARY ROOMMATE

UNEXPECTED COMPANY

The fire crackled softly in the living room, casting flickering shadows over Ethan’s modest, warmly decorated home. I shrugged off my wet coat and shivered, feeling both out of place and oddly… safe.

Ethan hovered near the kitchen, warming a mug of hot chocolate. The smell of cocoa and cinnamon wrapped around me, a silent invitation I couldn’t ignore.

“Noah! Dinner’s almost ready!” he called gently.

From somewhere behind the living room couch, a small voice piped up, “I’m coming, Dad!”

A little boy appeared, snow clinging to the tips of his mittens, hair tousled, cheeks flushed pink. Noah’s bright eyes studied me curiously. “You’re staying here… with us?”

I smiled nervously. “Just for a few days,” I said, trying to sound casual.

He grinned. “Cool! You can sit at my side of the table.”

I blinked. Side of the table? My awkwardness skyrocketed. But then I laughed, the tension easing slightly. Noah didn’t seem to notice—or care—about propriety. He was just excited.

Dinner was a quiet, cozy affair. Ethan asked questions about my trip home, and I answered cautiously, feeling the warmth of the room seep into my frozen bones. Every so often, his eyes lingered on mine—not in a way that made me uncomfortable, but in a way that made my heart race unexpectedly.

After dinner, Ethan cleared the plates while Noah busied himself with a small snow globe he’d picked up from the mantel. I sat on the couch, wrapping a blanket around myself, listening to the soft hum of the storm outside.

“This storm looks like it’s not letting up any time soon,” I said.

Ethan nodded, leaning against the counter. “Looks like you’re stuck here longer than you planned.”

I bit my lip. “I guess I am.”

There was a pause—a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy with something unspoken. My heart thumped, too loud in the quiet room. I tried to focus on the snow globe, but my eyes kept flicking to him. There was something… steady about him. Something safe.

Noah squealed suddenly. “Look! I can make it snow in the globe too!” He shook it vigorously, scattering tiny flakes inside. Ethan chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh too. The sound felt like a balm on all the stress I’d carried from the city.

As the evening went on, the storm outside seemed to soften, or maybe it was just me. There was something in the way Ethan moved around the kitchen, the gentle way he talked to his son, the quiet patience in his eyes—it made me feel… like maybe, just maybe, home wasn’t a place, but a feeling.

When it was finally late, and the storm had turned the night sky into a soft, white blur, Ethan showed me to the spare room.

“Goodnight, Aria. Sleep well,” he said.

“Thanks… Ethan,” I murmured, realizing my voice was softer than usual.

And as I lay in the unfamiliar bed, I felt a strange warmth—like the first spark of something I hadn’t expected, something I couldn’t quite name.

Being snowed in was no longer just a temporary problem. It was… the beginning of something else entirely.