Page 47 of A Newport Christmess

He shined his flashlight around the room until he located me on the couch. I squinted when the beam of light hit my face, and he quickly shut it off and shoved it in his pocket. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

“No. I should be good?” It came out more like a question than a statement. Like I was still trying to convince myself that I’d be okay. And I guess I was. With the power out, I dreaded going to bed. Every night, I’d been leaving the hall light on while I slept. Between that and the lock, I’d be alerted to anyone trying to get into my room. But now ... it felt like I was in a setup for one of those awful horror movies that I’d regrettably watched before I realized they would permanently ingrain themselves into my brain.

“You don’t sound very confident.” Landon stepped around the end of the sectional.

My confession couldn’t be avoided. “I picked a bad night to resume my true-crime addiction. Two weeks clean, all for nothing.”

Landon plopped down on the far side of the couch, his shadowed frame barely discernible against the dark leather.

“What are you doing?”

He placed his feet on the coffee table, apparently settling in. “Keeping you company.”

“It’s probably past midnight. You need to go to bed.”

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re scared and by yourself, so we might as well stay up together.”

I stared into the void of darkness around him, trying to convince myself to tell him I’d be fine. But being alone with Landon in the dark was a lesser concern than being alone in the dark by myself. Though it was still a valid concern, just for other reasons. “If you’re sure. But you can leave whenever you get too tired.”

“Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

My breath seemed to catch in my lungs. “Sure.”

“Is there a specific reason why you’re nervous all the time? Did something happen to you?”

I gave an airy laugh. “You’d think so, but not really. I mean, when I was little, there was a girl in my school that got kidnapped. It turned out it was her dad, who didn’t have custody of her, that took her. And she was fine in the end. But I have a pretty vivid imagination that can quickly get out of hand. That, and my mom instilled a healthy dose of paranoia in me. I remember walking to my friend’s house who lived at the end of our street, and when I’d see a car coming, I’d dive behind a bush so they wouldn’t see me. Not just once, like every time I walked there. She moved away when I was nine, so I’d like to think I probably would have stopped doing that eventually, but it’s up for debate.”

“But you’re so friendly when we’re out, even to strangers.”

“What can I say? I’m a living, breathing paradox.”

Landon laughed. “You really are. In a good way, though.”

I shifted, tucking my legs under me for warmth. “I think it comes down to when I’m with someone who I feel safe with, I can talk to anyone.”

“That makes sense.”

Another bang sounded, and I glanced out the glass door. “It’s really coming down out there.” The sight was beautiful—countless large flakes drifting downward in the darkness. If only it weren’t so cold, I might appreciate it more. I ran my hands over my arms. “How long do you think the power will be out?”

He shrugged. “Hopefully not too much longer. Are you cold?”

“A little. But I’m okay.”

“Here.” He moved to the far end of the sectional and lifted the end, grabbing a blanket from a concealed storage area. He handed it to me and returned to his seat, passing in front of the fireplace.

“What about the fireplace?” I arranged the thick throw over myself, grateful for its warmth. “Does it burn wood or is it gas?”

“Oh, smart. It’s gas.” He hurried toward it, pulling out his flashlight and aiming it at the mantel, searching among the Christmas decorations. “Darn. Where’s that key?”

“Key? Isn’t there a switch or something?” That was how my parents’ gas fireplace worked.

“No, this one has a metal key you use to turn on the gas.” He dropped the light to the ground. “Huh. It’s usually right here. I wonder where I put it.” He moved over to the closet and started rummaging around.

“It’s okay if you can’t find it,” I said, knowing all too well how elusive some items could be—my phone being one of them. “I’m warm enough for now.”

He stepped back and ran a hand over his beard. “I swear it was just sitting on the mantel.”

“What happens if you don’t find it? Can you not use the fireplace anymore?”