The supply closet is actually a bedroom, given the main office is a rehabbed cabin. Tad keeps a twin bed in there for emergencies or if he stays late.
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say. “And if it does, you are sleeping in the supply closet, not me. I can curl up on a booth or something.”
“Forget it, Bec. I’m a gentleman.”
Dominic is a gentleman. A rare breed. He’s a good thirty pounds overweight on his top half, but it only serves to make him look cuddly, not doughy. Dark hair, tall. Deep brown eyes and nice hands.
“I appreciate the chivalry, but I wouldn’t kick you out of the only bed big enough to possibly support your frame.”
“Okay, fine. But I offered.” He puts a palm on the swinging door leading to the kitchen. “Hey, let me know if you want something to eat. I’m the cook today too, since Steve couldn’t make it in.”
“Will do.”
In the office I sit at the desk and turn on the laptop. My mind wanders to last night. I think about Dax. Wonder if he woke up looking for me. Wonder if he was angry that I left. Or if he was relieved. I’d prefer no reaction at all.
No texts. No calls. No strings, worries, or attachments.
It’s easier that way. I’m capable of being responsible for myself, but being responsible for the other half of a (gulp) relationship? Yikes.
Still, as I check my email and the incoming bookings—two! score!—I find my mind returning to Dax. It wouldn’t be that bad if I saw him again.
Provided he doesn’t hate me.
Six hours later, Dominic and I are sitting at the bar eating grilled cheese sandwiches that he made.
“Pretty good for a bartender,” I comment around a bite. “But you forgot the tomato.”
“Disgusting, Bec. Pickles go with grilled cheese, not tomatoes.”
“Peasant.” I make a show of rolling my eyes. He laughs, right on cue.
We turn our attention to the television. On the screen, flood warnings dot the surrounding area, the map a swath of blue and green “flood zones.” Grand Lark is right in the center of the mayhem.
“Damn,” Dominic says, and really, what else is there to say? “Supply closet for me it is. You gonna sleep on the bar top?”
“Ha-ha.” My phone rings. It’s Tad. “What’s up, big bro?”
“Maintenance called me with an update,” he says, cutting right to it. “Cabins one through seven—”
“I know the status of our cabins. Ray called me.”
There’s a pause. “Really?”
“Yes, Tad. I’m at work. Working. Ray told me about the flooded roads, the trees that have fallen, and he mentioned that there are a few cabins where the generators aren’t working, which makes us lucky no one is in them.”
“Right.” Tad sounds surprised. Or suspicious. Funny how I can’t differentiate between the two when it comes to him. “Our only guests are the family in number twelve, the honeymooning couple in nine—”
“And Dax in thirteen,” I finish for him.
“Guess you’re caught up.”
“Just doing my job,” I remind him. I may run late most of the time, but it doesn’t mean I’m inept.
“Tell Dom to let you stay in the supply closet.” Tad’s authoritative tone is back in full force. “The main road washed out.”
“Why don’t we call it a bedroom, since that’s what it is?” I know the main road washed out. I saw it on the news. They’re guessing we’ll be trapped for a day or three depending on when the rain stops. Thankfully, I think as I polish off my sandwich, we have plenty of cheese.
“Dom can sleep standing up, like a horse,” Tad says. “I’ve seen it when we go hunting.”
I laugh. “I’m not asking Dominic to sleep standing up.”
Dom smiles. I smile back.
“What are you going to do, then?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Bec—”
“I’ll be safe. I promise.”
I end the call and stare down at my phone for a long, long time, while the news drones on in the background. To text Dax or not to text Dax? That is the question. I don’t want him to turn me down, and I don’t want to appear overly eager. But I really, really want to text him.
Hmm.
I retreat to the office and do the next best thing. I call the remaining residents (except for Dax) and make sure they have what they need. They assure me that everything is in working order, which is good news. We’re in the midst of a major emergency, but at least there aren’t a bunch of smaller emergencies to contend with.
I then call our maintenance manager, Ray, who is safely ensconced in his maintenance cabin. He tells me he has enough food to last until the apocalypse. I ask him if he means zombie apocalypse and he answers, “The nuclear fallout,” with so much sincerity, I begin to wonder if he’s also built an underground room. Best not to ask.
The restaurant is eerily quiet, the office dim. It’s just Dominic and me. And no, I’m not sleeping on the bar top. Or a booth.
I have a better idea.
Dax
A frantic knock at the front door jolts me out of the nap I was taking. I didn’t know I fell asleep. It sounds again as I jump off the couch, disoriented for a good bit. It’s dark, I’m in a house I’m not used to, and I’m sure as hell not expecting anyone.
Especially in this weather.
Unless...
My suspicions are confirmed when I open the door to find Becca on my doorstep. She’s standing on the porch, but rain comes in at an angle, further soaking her. Her blond hair is plastered to her cheeks, her teeth are chattering, and her mascara is smudged under her eyes.
“What the hell? Get in here.” Not my most charming greeting, but I’m too surprised to see her to say anything more intelligent than that.
She steps inside, shivering while I grab a blanket off the nearest chair. I wrap it around her and she sets two big bags on the floor. She shivers more.
“I had to park my c-car at the top of the d-d-driveway,” she says, shuddering. “So I hoofed it the rest of the way d-down.”
“Holy shit, Princess, that’s gotta be fifty yards.” I rub her blanket-covered arms, futilely trying to warm her up.
“Only fifty?” She beams up at me, her humor intact. She looks like a drowned rat, if a drowned rat were the cutest, most welcome sight you’ve ever seen in your life.
“What’s going on?” I have a million questions but that one seems safest, if the most generic.
She explains that the main road is flooded and adds that it’s a good thing most of the cabins are empty, since those roads are impassable too.
“Soooo,” she says after sharing the details, “I can either sleep in my car or at the restaurant with Dominic. Or try my luck on the cabins nearest you, though eleven’s driveway is a swimming pool… Or”—she shrugs—“I could stay with you. You have two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. I’m a great roommate. I’m neat. I can cook. I can—”
“Skip out on me in the middle of the night?” I finish, crossing my arms over my chest.