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My thin gloves were soaked clear through. I pried them off the icicles that used to be fingers, set my snow-drenched bag on the carpet, and blew warm air onto my frigid fingers.
“Where did that storm come from, anyway?” I asked. “The sky earlier had been completely cloudless.”
A memory of the floating melody I’d heard refused to leave me alone. The music had sounded exactly like what I’d heard before I’d found that necklace in my room.
Why would we hear it out in the middle of the forest?
I wanted to see what Boone would say. Iknewhe’d heard it, too.
Boone removed his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. Then he sat at the small, round dining table just off from the door and began unlacing his heavy-duty boots.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
Once his boots were removed, he stalked to a cupboard and removed a pair of candles, lighting them. Traces of light flickered, adding shadows to the kitchen’s ceiling.
He glanced my way.
I hadn’t moved from my spot on the rug. Snow clustered on my heels, and my pants were as soaked as everything else on me was. My chin juddered from sheer coldness.
I could hear Dad’s voice now, griping about having to wade through piles of snow to get to school in the mornings and how cold he was on a permanent basis until spring arrived.
I’d never completely understood how someone could be thiscold.
Until now.
“Please,” Boone said, gesturing to the chair across from the one he’d taken. “Have a seat. I know it’s not much, but we’ll be warm in here once I get a fire going.”
“Thanks,” I said through my shaking jaw, bending to unzip my boots. “And actually, it’s really cute and cozy in here.”
Slipping my feet free, I glanced around the dim space. A small living area was on one side. It had a couch in front of the window and a rocking chair by the fireplace, which was stocked with fresh logs.
The kitchen where Boone had sat was small as well. It had an outdated stove and a mini fridge nesting on a short counter.
I couldn’t see much through the shadows, but I saw enough to know the décor was dated at best. Nothing was coordinated or staged for anything but functionality. The pictures on the wall were mostly painted landscapes or old black and white photographs of people behind discolored glass.
One thing was extremely lacking, however—considering the season.
“No Christmas tree?” I asked, sliding my feet from my useless boots.
I wiggled my toes just to make sure I still could.
I was really looking forward to that fire he mentioned. Or maybe a shower and some dry clothes. Would he lend me some clothes?
Didhe have a shower—or hot water, for that matter?
“No Christmas tree,” Boone said, retrieving a towel from a drawer in the kitchen.
He returned to my side and bent to mop up the snow puddling on the floor. I tried to help and was amazed that my feet could hold my weight with how numb they were.
My jaw chattered again, but I clenched my teeth, attempting to make it still.
“How come?” I asked. “The tree is one of my favorite parts of Christmas.”
“I don’t do Christmas,” he said in true grump fashion.
“How do you notdoChristmas?” My words were stilted, coming out with more interruptions, thanks to my chattering jaw.
Boone eyed me. Another time, his scowl might have made me recoil, but I was too cold to care.
