The next morning, Janelle rolled to Van’s side of the bed and buried her face in the warm linens. “Van?” She called over the sound of heavy wind and icy rain pelting the window. The storm worsened overnight. It would be a miracle if Debra and Ben arrived before dark, if at all. When her calls went unanswered, Janelle slithered from bed, completed her morning bathroom rituals. She brushed her teeth and rather than pulling her hair away from her face, flipped her curls around, and let them fall naturally. She smiled and growled at her reflection – Van was right.

She spotted a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon on the kitchen counter. “He made breakfast, she thought aloud, setting the timer on the microwave. “That’s more than Michael would’ve done.”

Michael and Van were polar opposites. Michael was a badass; Van was dull. Michael swaggered; Van consulted his SAT NAV system before venturing out. When focused on her, Michael was an animal in bed; Van’s apathy was so dense, light bent around it. Even still, Van was a decent person, and from what little she knew, he didn’t bow to a challenge. Michael certainly wouldn’t have stood for her prior evening’s behavior. Their four year relationship was hollow - punctuated by only short stints of fidelity and the occasional display of affection followed by thundering roid-rage. Van was either a saint or a glutton for punishment. With her conduct, most men would have run the opposite direction.

Janelle took her plate to the living room and turned on the television. The weather wrecked havoc on the dish signal – most the channels were offline or snowy. Frustrated, she settled on Andy Griffin.

“Hey. You found your breakfast in the fridge, good. I caught the guy at the general store as he boarded up the place.” Van said grocery bags in hand, closing the door behind him as Janelle shoveled the last bite of eggs in her mouth. “I left my plate on the count…er?” he searched the empty void where his plate had been. “…when I ran out…”

Shit! Don’t look at him! Janelle froze in suspended animation when Van circled back in front of her, brooding. His white fitted T-shirt and blue jeans were soaked, and his short dark sandy hair pasted to his scalp, his jaw square tense. Janelle’s gaze sheepishly shifted to his mouth, to a set of lips made for slow kissing, and higher to his eyes which pinned her to the sofa.

“I didn’t know,” she mumbled pitifully, then swallow the remnants of his breakfast. “If it’s any consolation, it was really good.” she gave a did-I-just-say-that grin at Van’s deadpan expression. She realized he wasn’t going to let her off the hook without an apology which she gave sincerely. “I’ll heat your food…”

“No worries.” Van’s face softened, hinting at a devastating smile. “I have to change out of these wet clothes.” He pulled the wet shirt over his head as he strode to the bedroom. “Debra called.” he shouted. “The roads are slick and flooded but she insisted Ben risk the drive. So it’s just us until then. Luckily there’s a recreation room downstairs with flat screens, tabletop games, and fitness equipment.” He dried himself and changed into a grey sleeveless compression shirt, a darker-grey pair of shorts.

“Really?” Janelle said. Her interest in the conversation waned as she flipped through the snowy channels. Minutes later, she joined Van. “Well, that’s saves me the trouble of getting dressed.” This mistakenly implied Van wasn’t worth her remaining properly dressed. “What are you doing?” she asked Van who was sitting Indian style on the bedroom floor.

“I’m baking cookies. What does it look like I’m doing?” He peaked through one eye. “I’m meditating.”

“Sorry.” She poured the contents of her suitcase onto the bed and ignored Van’s irritation. “I don’t know why I brought these clothes.” She stripped down to her underwear. “It’s not as if we were going clubbing, shopping, or anything. Debra mentioned hiking. Hiking? I don’t hike! I rarely walk. Our elevation is what?...6,500 feet above sea level. Seriously? I mean…she’s my best friend, right?” she paused briefly as she pulled her shirt over her head. “Debra should’ve known hiking was out of the question.”

Van rose with an exasperated huff and it was five minutes before Janelle missed his presence. “How rude!” She marched downstairs to tell him off. But that plan unraveled the moment she caught sight of him reclined beneath a set of weights. As he lifted the plates, muscles across his upper body and in his legs and thighs flexed. Hot damn! Van was toned absolutely everywhere. He was at least six inches taller than she was so, naturally, his physical presence overwhelmed hers. But how had his physique gone unnoticed?

Van’s focus shifted to Janelle when he noted Janelle entrance. “Yes?” He continued lifting.

“Um, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” Janelle averted to eyes and hastily pulled her thoughts together. “Why’d Debra chose such an isolated area? Besides the restaurant, there’s no one for miles. And the weather. She didn’t plan ahead, did she?” It was lame but it was all she could summon.

“The weather wasn’t supposed to shift until next week, Janelle.” Van released the bar, and the plates met loudly. He collapsed flat on his back, frustrated. He forced patience in his tone. “Maybe Debra thought you could use a change of pace.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Look. I’m spit-balling.” He rose to his elbows. “I’m in no position to judge. You talk about your flashy job, your ex, your new condo, and your car. But I don’t know the real Janelle – the Janelle coming to terms with her past – the Janelle who’s worth her best friend driving up the side of a mountain through an ice storm.” Van sprang to his feet. “I’d like to meet that Janelle because frankly this…” He gestured toward her with a sour expression. “…this preening, vapid Janelle bores me.”

The wind shook the windows. Van’s gaze lifted to Janelle’s and locked there, reading her thoughts she sincerely hoped he wouldn’t. His words stripped away her barriers and self-protection mechanisms, and left her in a state of keen vulnerability the like she hadn’t felt since Michael. However, unlike Michael, Van didn’t walk away. He stood calmly and for a moment, Janelle foolishly believed he would retract his comments. Had she engaged in their prior evening’s conversation, she’d have realized Van was a man who refused to shy away the harsh truths even in the privacy of his own thoughts. He had done just that for his last girlfriend Roma, he wouldn’t do it again.

“I…” Janelle began. The lights flickered out and the wind howled. “What the hell?”

Van toggled the light switch. “We’ve lost power. Right…” He stretched the back of his head then ran upstairs to the kitchen with Janelle at his heels. “We need to fill as many pots as we can with water in case the pipes freeze. There’s a flashlight, and other supplies in the cupboard.” He rummaged through the utility drawer. “I’ll find matches and candles just in case the power doesn’t return.” He pointed to the fridge. “You’ll handle dinner. We have a gas stove so cook anything that’ll spoil. Food is easier to store cook than raw…”

“I don’t cook.” Janelle’s words were low, shaky.

“There’s salad,” He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Fortunate for you, Little Princess, salad doesn’t require cooking. Now get a move on.”

“You don’t understand!” Her shoulders tightened. “I have food issues.” She forced her words snared in her throat. If he wanted the real Janelle, he’d deal with her baggage. “My mother died of a heart attack caused by a history of anorexia three years ago. My sister, also anorexic, blew her brains out in my kitchen months later. Myself, I’m a recovering bulimic. It began when I was nine, and ended the day I buried my mom, which coincidentally coincided with my breakup. Good news is, I never knew my father so no great loss on that account; which kinda makes my food issues the least of my problems.” She stood firm while Van’s hazel eyes quarried the depths of her soul; a place frequented by few. “Not funny anymore, isn’t it?”

Van shook his head. “No.” he said quietly. “It’s not funny.” How could he have been so stupid?

Neither of them spoke for a long, tense moment. The slow trickle of silence wore on Janelle’s resolve. Surely now Van would run, Janelle wagered. But he didn’t run or even flinch.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Janelle.” Van extended his hand, and with proprietary ease, seized hers. “Please accept my humble apology. I spoke callously and I’m ashamed of myself. That’s not who I am.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Please allow me to make it up you - I’ll be your personal chef for the duration of your stay.”

“Apology accepted.” A soft smile lit Janelle’s face. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming.” Van’s large hand made hers seem fragile, and the warm touch of his bare skin on hers more intimate than she expected. “We just met, we’re tired as hell, and neither of us is at our best. Let’s forget the last twenty-four hours, start again.”

“I’d like that. We’ll start again.” Van breathed a sigh of relief and set about his task. “By the way, you’re beautiful,” he said quietly without turning to face her. “I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

Janelle blinked innocently. “Thanks.”