Chapter Eight - Snowbound
1319 Words
Morning came quietly.
Jeremiah stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, hands busy cracking eggs into a bowl. He had been awake for hours. Sleep had barely brushed him before retreating again, leaving behind a restless ache beneath his skin. When his thoughts threatened to spiral, he cooked. It was muscle memory now. Control through routine.
The skillet warmed on the stove. Bacon sizzled softly, the sound grounding him. He whisked the eggs with deliberate focus, counting each turn of his wrist like it mattered.
Behind him, the cabin creaked faintly as it settled into the morning. The storm outside hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had deepened. Snow piled thick against the windows, pressing in, unrelenting.
Daisy sat on a stool by the counter, her chin propped on her hands, watching him with sleepy curiosity.
“Daddy?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Can I put on the radio?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her, a soft smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. “Sure. You know where it is.”
She hopped down and padded toward the small shelf by the fireplace where the old radio sat. A second later, her brows knitted together.
“It’s not working,” she said. She pressed the power button again, then shook it gently. “I think it’s broken.”
Jeremiah wiped his hands on a towel and walked over. He turned it over, checking the back. “Batteries,” he said. “They’re dead.”
“Oh.” Daisy brightened immediately. “Where are the new ones?”
“Hall closet. Top shelf. The blue box.”
She was already running before he finished speaking.
Jeremiah chuckled under his breath and turned back to the stove, sliding the eggs into the pan. He focused on the smell, the heat, the ordinary comfort of breakfast.
Anything but last night.
Anything but Michelle.
As if summoned by the thought, the soft sound of a door opening echoed down the hallway.
Jeremiah’s shoulders stiffened.
He didn’t turn right away. He knew it was her before he saw her.
Michelle stepped into the kitchen, fully dressed now, coat on, scarf looped around her neck. Her hair was slightly damp, pulled back loosely, a few strands escaping around her face.
And in her hand, her luggage.
Jeremiah turned slowly.
Their eyes met.
Silence spread between them, thick and charged, filled with everything they hadn’t said last night and everything they had. The interruption that had saved them both, or ruined something they hadn’t been ready to face.
Michelle’s expression was guarded, composed in that way she perfected when she was holding herself together by sheer will. Her chin was lifted, her shoulders squared.
She was leaving.
The realization landed heavier than he expected.
“Morning,” he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended.
“Morning.” Her gaze flicked briefly to the stove, to the food, then back to him. “I was just—”
Her stomach betrayed her.
A low, unmistakable rumble cut through the quiet kitchen.
Michelle froze.
Jeremiah blinked once, then another, before he could stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.
Color rushed to her cheeks. “Ignore that.”
“I don’t think I can,” he said mildly. “It was pretty convincing.”
She shot him a glare that would have been more effective if it wasn’t undermined by embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
“Your stomach disagrees.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He turned back to the stove, deliberately giving her an out. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“I’m not staying,” she said quickly, as if saying it fast enough would make it true. “I just came to thank you for letting me spend the night.”
His hand paused on the spatula.
“Michelle,” he said carefully, “you haven’t even looked outside.”
“I don’t need to.”
He turned then, fully facing her. “At least eat before you go.”
“No.”
Pride. Ego. Fear. All wrapped up in a single syllable.
She shifted the bag in her hand. “I appreciate your help. Truly. But I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“And you’re stubborn,” he countered gently. “That hasn’t changed either.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t get to comment on what has or hasn’t changed about me.”
He held her gaze, unflinching. “Then don’t comment on my intentions.”
They stood there, locked in a quiet standoff that felt far too intimate for eight in the morning.
The tension shattered as Daisy came barreling back into the kitchen, clutching a pack of batteries triumphantly.
“Found them!” she announced. She skidded to a stop by the radio, popped open the compartment, and slid them in with all the seriousness of a mission-critical task.
The radio crackled to life.
Static filled the room.
Daisy turned the knob enthusiastically, the volume climbing before Jeremiah could stop her.
“Daisy...” he started.
The static cleared.
“…and in other news,” a cheerful but ominously serious voice boomed from the speakers, “meteorologists are advising residents to prepare for a significant snowfall this morning. We’re expecting upwards of three feet in some areas—yes, you heard that right—three feet.”
Michelle’s grip tightened on her luggage.
“A travel advisory is now in effect until further notice,” the reporter continued. “Roads are currently impassable, and authorities are urging everyone to remain indoors. Looks like we’re in for a white Christmas, folks.”
The words hung in the air.
Michelle slowly turned toward the window.
The snow outside had intensified, falling thick and fast, erasing the world beyond the glass. The driveway was completely buried. Her car, if she could even see it, was nothing more than a vague shape beneath white.
She exhaled slowly.
Jeremiah didn’t say a word.
He didn’t need to.
She turned back to him.
Their eyes met again.
This time, there was no defiance in her gaze. Just resignation. And something else, something like reluctant acceptance.
“I’m not staying because I want to,” she said quietly.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replied just as softly.
“But it looks like I don’t have a choice.”
“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”
Daisy looked between them, blissfully unaware of the emotional minefield she’d just detonated. “Does that mean she’s staying?” she asked, hopeful.
Michelle hesitated.
Jeremiah answered, “Looks like it.”
Daisy grinned. “Good! Then you can have breakfast with us.”
Michelle opened her mouth to protest.
Her stomach growled again.
Traitorous.
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow.
She sighed, shoulders slumping just a fraction. “Fine,” she muttered. “Breakfast.”
His smile this time was small, restrained, but real.
He slid a plate onto the table and gestured toward a chair. “Sit before you pass out from hunger.”
She rolled her eyes but obeyed, setting her luggage down by the wall. As she sat, the weight of the situation settled in.
Snowed in.
Together.
Again.
Jeremiah placed a plate in front of her. Eggs, bacon, and toast—the aroma was so captivating it made her head swim.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
They ate in silence, Daisy humming softly along to the radio as Christmas music filtered through the cabin.
One night had turned into two.
Michelle gripped her fork, her knuckles white. Another night under the same roof. Another night with his scent in the halls and his voice in her head. She may have survived the storm outside, but she wasn't sure she could survive the one growing inside this cabin.
- Writer
