6
" I dashed down the narrow steps. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I turned into the hallway and came up short.
A lumberjack was standing there.
Or at least, that’s what he looked like. A really young, really hot lumberjack. He was tall and broad, with midnight black hair that curled around his ears and across his brow, creating the perfect frame for his startling blue eyes.
He was wearing an unbuttoned red plaid flannel shirt that was so thick it was almost a jacket. Beneath that he wore a black turtleneck sweater. He was turned slightly so I couldn’t see his other hand.
Lumberjacks carried axes. I had a flashback to The Shining. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t know this guy. Who was he? And where was Mom?
He grinned. “Hey.”
“Who are you?” I snapped, jerking the sides of my robe together and tying the sash.
His eyebrows shot up. “Most people I know respond to a greeting with another greeting.”
“Well, I’m not someone you know, am I? For all I know you’re a serial killer.”
He chuckled. How could anyone chuckle in the morning?
“Do I look like a serial killer?” he asked.
I guessed not, but still…
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Your mom hired my dad to do some repairs. They’re in the kitchen discussing details.”
“So you just decided to make yourself at home?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Your mom said I could look around. I’ve never been in this house before, but it’s always interested me because of the turrets. I have this thing for turrets. I’m Josh Wynter, by the way.”
“And do you become Josh Summer in June?” I asked. "
― Rachel Hawthorne , Snowed In
9
" I’m Josh Wynter, by the way.”
“And do you become Josh Summer in June?” I asked.
Okay, it was totally lame, a stupid thing to say, but I was still reeling from the fact that a hot guy--were all the guys on this island hot?--was roaming the halls and I was…
Not at my best. Ratty robe. Fuzzy slippers. Hair tangled. Teeth unbrushed.
And have I mentioned that I am not a morning person?
“Actually,” he said at last, as though finally catching on to my not-so-witty banter, “I stay Josh Wynter all year. Do you stay unfriendly?”
“That does not deserve an answer,” I mumbled as I shoved past him as quickly as I could and went into the bathroom. I slammed the door shut.
Okay, I had been unfriendly, rude even, but he was so unexpected. And so hot. And I already had a date for Friday night. "
― Rachel Hawthorne , Snowed In
11
" Uh, Mom, do you think in the future, you could let me know when we’re going to have company in the morning?” I asked.
She finally looked at me then. Really looked at me. “Was there a problem?”
“Only running into someone I didn’t know before I was ready to be presented to the world.”
She smiled wryly. “Sorry. Mr. Wynter finished up a project earlier than expected, so he had time this morning to drop by to discuss some of the remodeling I want done. They’re going to start tomorrow.”
“They?” My stomach knotted up.
“He and his son.” She looked back out the window. “I can’t believe how pristine the snow is.”
She wanted to talk snow and I wanted to talk…
“So what do you know about his son?”
Mom shook her head. “Not a lot. His name is Josh. He goes to school here.”
Great. That was so not what I wanted to hear.
“Do you know what grade he’s in?”
“No, we didn’t really discuss personal things.” She studied me. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“He seemed nice.”
“He was. I wasn’t.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I wasn’t awake yet.”
It was a lame excuse. I knew it. Mom knew it.
“I’m sure you’ll get a chance to apologize,” she said, moving away from the counter.
That’s what worried me. Seeing him again, trying to figure out what to say. I never had a problem figuring out what to say to guys. This was so weird, so unlike me. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it had killed off some brain cells.
“I noticed it snowing last night. I guess I need to shovel the snow off the walk.”
Mom gave me another wry grin. “No. Josh already did it. See? Nice guy.”
Totally nice guy. Maybe too nice.
My instincts were sending out some sort of warning.
Too bad it was sending it out in a secret code that I couldn’t decipher. "
― Rachel Hawthorne , Snowed In
14
" The ceiling was high, like maybe a thousand feet. Okay, closer to ten, but still…The ladder was a little shaky, especially when Josh started to climb it.
“Uh…what are you doing?” I asked.
“Coming up to show you how to do it.”
And suddenly he was there, his arms coming around me as he put the plate of paint and a brush on the top step of the ladder. Or was it the top of the ladder? Would I really want to stand on the very top of the ladder with nothing to hold on to?
I was obsessing about the ladder and what its various parts were called because that was a lot safer than thinking about the fact that Josh and I were so close. He smelled really good. Not like paint, as I’d expected.
He smelled like a lumberjack, like pine. Woodsy. And even though it was winter, his skin had a brown hue, so I figured in the summer, he spent a lot of time outdoors. He looked the type.
“Are you listening?” he asked.
“Huh?” I sounded breathless. Probably because I was. Having his chest pressed to my back felt so good. I grew warm, kinda dizzy. Maybe it was the height. But I didn’t think so.
“I’ve been showing you how to prepare the brush, how to make sure you don’t have too much paint,” he said.
I nodded. “I got it.”
“You can either dab or swirl,” he said, leaning forward to show me.
Which put him even closer, close enough that it was almost an embrace. So close that my mouth went dry.
“Personally”--he cleared his throat--“I like the swirl.”
He was giving me other pointers, but I was barely listening. All I could think about was the swirl. The type of swirl that might take place if we were kissing. "
― Rachel Hawthorne , Snowed In
