Page 20 of Solo

“Oh no, I’m good,” he says, waving away my concern like it’s an annoying gnat. “Wood. Food. Gas. Batteries. This ain’t my first rodeo, ya know, Drew.”

I look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know, man, seems to me you’ve left the most important thing off that list. What about the liquor?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh no. Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got a stash that would make the Alcoholic Beverage Commission stand up and take notice.”

“I’ll bet you have, Joe.” I grin and shake my head.

“Come on in and have a quick shot of bourbon with me. Just a little something to warm the gut before you head back home.”

I’m about to accept the offer when I feel the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket. I hold up a gloved finger at Joe.

“I’m in. Can you just give me a second to take this call?”

He nods and wanders toward the garage while I glance down at the display.

“Tessa,” I answer. “How are you doing with the snow?”

“Oh, I’m fine. That’s the beauty of living in a condo, Drew, other people do the shoveling.” She laughs. “What about you? You playing Paul Bunyan up there on the hill? Chopping your wood and churning your butter?”

“Churning my butter? Where the hell did you get that from?” I snicker.

“I don’t know, it just sounded like something you’d do when your cabin is snowed in. Not that your place is a real cabin.”

“Oh, now you’re just being insulting.”

“Please, Drew. How many cabins have a Viking stove and a mudroom and a sixty-inch flat-screen TV and—”

“All right, already! I give up. You’re right, it’s not exactly a little fishing cabin in the middle of nowhere. But it’s not like I haven’t stayed in those, too. They’re just better suited to short-term stays. No hot water or heat gets old pretty fast when the temperature drops down into the single digits.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose. So, if you’re not churning butter then what are you doing up there on the mountain? All by yourself? Alone?”

My internal alarm goes off. This is a typical Tessa maneuver. She’s looking for an invite to spend the weekend snowed in with me.

“Oh, well, it’s really coming down up here already. I don’t think I could get out if I wanted to, so I’m just staying close to home. Hunkering.”

“Well,” she begins, “it just so happens that one of my neighbors drives a snowplow and he’s offered to drop me at your place. I could keep you company.”

She says this last part a little slower and a lot softer. I pace to the end of Joe’s driveway, out of earshot.

“Tess, you’d be stuck for days. It’s a mess up here. Believe me, you’re much better off in your own place. Why don’t you throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and watch one of those old musicals you like. What’s the one you enjoy so much? Seven Guides for Seven Mothers?”

She snorts loudly. “Brides, Drew. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. And I’d love to watch it with you. C’mon, Drew…” she coaxes.

Shit. I don’t know how to get out of this, but I do know I sure as hell can’t be stuck here with Tessa for the weekend. I’m trying to decide which lie will sound most convincing when I notice Joe. He’s walked out past me on the driveway into the cul-de-sac and he’s staring toward my house with obvious interest.

“Oh, hey, Tess, let me call you back later,” I mutter, trying to see what he’s looking at.

“How about I just come—”

“Tess, I’ve gotta go. It’s too dangerous out. Maybe tomorrow if the roads are clear, okay?”

“Fine,” she grumbles.

I say good-bye and walk to where Joe is still standing, looking toward my property curiously.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“You expecting company?” he asks me, and I glance at him.