LITMIR.BIZ

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can. Everything’s shut down. During Superstorm Sandy we got a bunch of snow and it took a few days before they could get the roads cleared. They can’t really start, though, until the snow stops falling. There’s already ten inches on the ground and they’re expecting upward of another fifteen or so before it’s done. I’ve lived here twenty years and I haven’t seen it fall this hard and fast.”

      “So we’re stuck here, Rick?”

      The older man nodded. “For a few days at least. That incline is too dangerous for the plows. Patty stocked the kitchen and I added half a cord of firewood to the pile. It should keep you until it’s safe to head back to Nashville.”

      Bree heard the man’s words, but part of her didn’t quite process it at first. It wasn’t until Ian closed the door and turned to look at her with an expression of pure agony that it clicked. It wasn’t as simple as Missy not being able to get here. They also couldn’t leave. They couldn’t even get down the mountain so she could sleep in her reserved hotel room.

      Bree immediately reached for the remote control and turned the television to the weather station. Hopefully the National Weather Service knew better than the caretaker. The map of the country finally came up and the woman in the nice suit pointed out the weather trouble spots. When she got to the Smoky Mountains, Bree gasped.

      “...An unexpected barrage of snow in the area after two smaller storm cells merged into the newly dubbed Winter Storm Shana. Blizzard-like conditions are expected overnight with up to forty inches of snow. Roads are closed and the highway patrol is asking people to stay in their homes. Do not try to travel as emergency crews are having difficulty getting to distress calls.”

      At that, Bree’s knees gave out and she plopped down into the armchair behind her. She was stuck here. With Ian. For an undetermined amount of time.

      And Ian looked anything but pleased about it.

       Two

      Days. Days! Trapped in this house with Briana Harper. What, exactly, had he done to deserve this? He must have done something because if the past few months weren’t karma coming back to bite him, he didn’t know what it was.

      Ian scowled at his phone as appointment change notice after appointment change notice came through. After finding out they were snowed in, he’d called his administrative assistant and asked her to clear his calendar through Tuesday, just in case. Each meeting on his packed schedule generated another email as it shifted ahead into an already overcrowded week.

      On the plus side, he had his laptop and cell phone, and the cabin had DSL internet service, so the wheels of progress could still spin to a point. He might be stuck here with Bree, but it was a big house and he was a busy man. Certainly with three stories and twelve different rooms to choose from, they wouldn’t have to cross paths very often.

      He leaned to the side on his stool to peek into the living room. Bree was camped out there with her own computer and equipment. She’d been on the phone on and off, too. He’d tried not to listen, but it was hard not to. She’d called a woman named Natalie, then Amelia. The talk had been all about work and covering the weekend wedding festivities, but a part of him kept waiting to hear his own name.

      Bree had mentioned that she’d kept their past together a secret, but surely now that she was trapped here with him, that information would be shared with her coworkers. In the scheme of things, it seemed noteworthy. Unless, of course, he was as distant a memory in her mind as his music was in his own. If that was the case, good for her. He hadn’t been as lucky. Thoughts of Bree still plagued him, angered him. He’d be happier now if he could’ve forgotten about her. Sometimes the intricacies of his work would push the thoughts away, but a quiet moment always brought them screaming back into his head.

      She’d called her mother and left a message so she wouldn’t worry. One call she didn’t make, however, was to a boyfriend or spouse. He’d thought for sure that a man would’ve met Bree’s requirements by now. There were plenty of hopeful artists in the world for her to choose from. Or maybe she’d grown up and realized that it wasn’t practical for an adult who needed to support a family. Not that he was bitter.

      Finally, she’d called a lady named Julia at the Whitman Gallery and said she’d have to reschedule her final appointment before the showing.

      Ian had been to the Whitman Gallery on several occasions. They did a lot of special art showings and liked to feature local Nashville artists. Perhaps Bree was planning a show there. That would be a big step for her photography. Back in school she’d been big on nature and architectural photography. She took snapshots of people but almost never posed portraits. She’d told him once that she liked to capture genuine moments.

      How things had changed! His engagement portraits were about as disingenuous as moments could come. But as he well understood, sometimes art had to give way to paying the bills, and wedding photography was a high-dollar business. The wedding industry as a whole was a racket. The paperwork Missy had brought home after she’d reserved the venue and put down the deposit nearly made him choke. The floral bill alone was running him nearly six figures.

      Bree stood up and Ian quickly shifted his gaze back to his computer screen. He tried not to give her much notice as she came into the kitchen and opened the pantry doors. She pulled out a bag of coffee. “It’s freezing in that big room. Do you mind if I make a pot of coffee? Will you drink some?”

      “That’s a good idea. I’ll drink it.” The thermos he’d demolished on the drive up here had burned off a long time ago.

      Bree filled the coffeepot and went about setting the controls and adding grounds to the filter. “When it’s cold like this, I need something warm to drink.”

      “I think we’ll be drinking a lot of coffee, then.”

      “I noticed some decaffeinated herbal tea in the pantry, too. I’ll probably switch to that in the evenings. Otherwise I’ll be up all night.”

      Ian’s brain instantly went to the nights he had kept her up without the assistance of caffeine. How many times had he missed his 8:00 a.m. English lecture because he’d lost track of time in Bree’s arms?

      His eyes focused in on the curious expression on Bree’s face. “What?” he asked.

      “I asked if you take cream and sugar,” she said with a smile.

      “Yeah, two sugars. I like it sweet.”

      Bree got down the mugs and turned to him while she waited for the coffee to finish brewing. “Still got a sweet tooth, huh?”

      He nodded, remembering all the junk he used to eat back in college. Like any college student, he’d consumed his fair share of pizza and Chinese food, but more often than not, he could be found with a candy bar, a cookie or a can of soda in his hand. Sometimes a combination of the three. “This machine runs on sugar and caffeine most of the time. I have tried to scale back a little. I have a one-candy-bar-a-day limit my assistant enforces by keeping snacks in a locked drawer in her desk.”

      The warm scent of hazelnut coffee filled the air. Bree turned to pour two cups and doctored them appropriately. She set a mug down next to his laptop and crawled onto the barstool at the opposite side of the kitchen island.

      “I guess I always envisioned you marrying a pastry chef. Or a chocolatier. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that Missy doesn’t bake.”

      “Lord, no.” Ian chuckled. “I don’t think Missy has so much as turned on an oven in her entire life. She was singing on mall tours at fourteen and was an opening act for a world tour at seventeen. I signed her with SpinTrax when she was twenty. She knows how to work an audience, but that’s about it.”

      Bree took a sip of her coffee. “I suppose she doesn’t eat that stuff, either.”

      “Missy doesn’t eat much of anything.”

      Food was a constant point of contention in their relationship. Missy’s personal trainer

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