" What are you doing here?”
“My dad called and--what the hell is that?”
He pointed to the cleaver.
I angled my chin. “I was in the middle of cutting my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
“With a meat cleaver?”
“It’s quick and makes a perfectly straight cut.”
He grinned. “Yeah, right. You’ve obviously watched too many movies. Who’d you think I was? Freddy Krueger?”
“What are you doing here?” I repeated, not in the mood for his sarcasm or teasing. Plus I was feeling a little silly holding my weapon of choice.
“Like I said, my dad called. The ferry shut down before they could get back. I decided to check to make sure that you were okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“The storms here can get pretty intense, and if you’ve never been through one”--he dropped his gaze back to the cleaver--“I just thought you might get freaked if you were all alone.”
It was nice of him to worry about me but totally unnecessary.
I sighed. “I’m fine, thanks. You can go back home now.”
“You’re kidding, right? Did you not look out there?”
“It’s snowing.”
“It’s a blizzard. I’m not going back out.”
“You’re not staying here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “This is an inn.”
“Not yet. We’re not officially open for business.”
“Tough. It’s easy to get disoriented out there. Last year a guy froze to death three feet from his front porch.”
“Call a taxi.”
The other eyebrow shot up. “Is this any way to thank me for showing concern?”
“You know, I think you probably came over here because you were afraid to be alone.”
“I really did want to make sure you were okay.”
“You could have called.”
“It’s not the same.”
I didn’t want to admit to him that a little part of me was glad not to be alone anymore. Because the wind was loud and now that it was right, it was scary.
“Oh, all right.” Besides, if the ferry wasn’t running, the taxi probably wasn’t either. “Come on. I’ll split my sandwich with you.”
“I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich, and I’m really in the mood for something warm. "

― Rachel Hawthorne , Snowed In