Page 274 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

“Well, don’t you? Want to go?”

Please say yes.

Please say no.

Please say something.

My head is such a mess right now. I want to be stuck in the cabin with him, and I don’t want to be stuck in the cabin with him.

“If you want to drive to Nisha’s now, we’ll drive there,” he says as he marches on to the main bathroom, and turns the faucet there on a drip, opening cabinets too, then spinning around.

We nearly bump into each other in the bedroom doorway. I stop in my tracks. He stops too. I stretch my arms out to each side, blockading the door.

Owen heaves a sigh. “Can I get through?”

“No. Why are you irritated with me?” I ask, pushing again, waiting for an answer.

His eyes are hard, like steel. “It’s snowing outside. There are already three inches on the ground, and you want to go,” he says plainly. “We don’t need to stand around and argue.”

I should drop my arms from the doorway. But I don’t. Something about being in this room with him, the bed behind me, is rattling my brain, knocking rules and pacts out of order. “Don’t you want to leave? You don’t want to be stuck here, do you?”

Owen’s face is stony. He doesn’t answer me, just presses his fingers to either side of his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“Is your headache back?” My voice dips to a gentler tone as I step closer, like I’m a nurse and I’ll take care of him.

He shakes his head. Holds up a hand. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Owen lifts his face. “Yes,” he says, irritation thick in his tone.

Letting go of the doorframe, I back up, holding my hands in surrender. In a heartbeat, he pushes past me, then heads down the stairs, puts on his shoes, grabs my keys, and pushes out the door.

What the hell?

Grabbing my shoes, I follow him into the cold, standing on the porch. Wind kicks up and snow swirls in the air.

He unlocks my car, stretches into the back seat, grabs the bags, and trudges back to the steps before I can head down.

“I’ve got everything for his mom,” Owen says curtly. “Let’s just put it away, and we can get out of here.”

“Fine,” I say, but then I stifle a laugh when I get an eyeful of him. Instinct takes over, and I lift a hand, pet his hair.

He flinches, shirking away. “What’s that for?”

“Snow. You’re covered in snow,” I say gently. “I was just trying to brush it off your hair.”

“Yes, there’s snow in my hair because it’s snowing,” he bites out, then goes back inside. After he takes off his shoes again, we put some food in the fridge and other items on the counter.

I move next to him, helping him silently. Popcorn, chips, champagne, the cocoa tin.

When we’ve emptied the goods for the cabin, he dusts one hand against the other. “Want to go?” Owen’s voice is edged with annoyance.

My chest twists with frustration. My mind spins with questions. “Why are you so pissed?”

“River,” he says sharply, “be fucking realistic.” Owen marches to the front door, swings it open, then shows me the outdoors. “Do you see what I see?”

It’s a veritable winter wonderland. The yard is covered in snow. The driveway too. The car boasts an inch of the white stuff on the hood.