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“I was hoping you’d do that.”
“Why stop?” With a twinkle in his eye, he took a bite and hummed in playful pleasure.
“I can still make you that sandwich if you’re—”
His phone vibrated on the counter, glowing with a text. Nick bent over and stopped chewing. “Bugger.”
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re canceling the ferries due to adverse weather.” He groaned. “We’re stuck here.”
* * *
After Nick’s frantic phone calls with the production manager and her dinner-hour scramble to secure last-minute island accommodation for cast and crew, Evie evacuated to the bothy. Rooms elsewhere were in short supply, and she didn’t relish venturing too far without her truck.
Warming up in front of the crackling fire, she looked sidelong at Nick, still dripping from their rain-whipped sprint down the path. “You should’ve gone with them.”
He slicked back his sopping mop of hair. “And leave you here alone? No chance.”
“I’ve stayed here before, Nick.” Evie peeled off her raincoat and hood, having escaped the worst of the deluge apart from her bedraggled bangs (long and desperately needing a trim) and the legs of her jumpsuit, which were soggy and spattered with dirt. She studied the bothy’s thick rubble walls and shallow pitched roof, her memories of weekend getaways with Fiona rousing a nostalgic grin. “It’s safe and dry and”—the latest howl from the gales outside interrupted—“windproof. And no one else has shown up.” She hung her coat on the back of a rickety chair, its seat holding a bulging trash bag from the truck. “I’ll probably have it all to myself.”
“Probably, but not guaranteed. Some hikers could barge in, party all night, and steal your stuff—or worse.”
“That wouldn’t happen.”
“Spoken like a true Orcadian.” Nick took off his waterlogged jacket. “Ever trusting.”
Evie dipped inside her backpack, passing bottles of water and Rice Krispie squares, and removed the thermos she had filled with hot, milky coffee before vacating the truck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She set the thermos’s cup on the small formica-topped table and pulled off the cap, pouring generously.
Nick turned, the angles of his face highlighted by the flickering tealights. “I just think you should’ve driven back to Lyness.”
Evie handed him the coffee. His lavender button-down, like his jeans, was soaked through. “And get stuck? Storms like this can wash out the roads. And with the weight of my truck, I could hydroplane and tip over.” She snapped the lid on the thermos, leaving it on the table beside a lighter and a roll of toilet paper.
“Jesus, I didn’t think of that.” Nick planted himself on a folding chair, which wobbled as he shifted. “Looks like you made the right decision then.” He sipped his steaming coffee with care, closing his eyes.
Hauling her backpack with her, Evie sat on one of the raised stone platforms, which ran lengthwise along both sides of the structure. “But I guess you didn’t?”
Nick’s gaze fled toward the bare flagstone floor. “Don’t I know it.”
Her stomach clenched. “Cheers, grumpy pants. I’m thrilled to be stuck with you, too.” Frowning, she leaned over and brushed the wet shins of her jumpsuit, but like her agitation, the muck wouldn’t budge.
“Evie.” Nick jolted with a full-body shiver. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He set down his coffee. “You know I get grumpy when I’m cold and drenched. And I can’t fucking believe I left my overnight bag in the crew’s SUV.”
There’s only one solution. Evie pulled open the drawstrings on the damp garbage bag. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
“Take off your shirt and jeans, and”—Evie plunged inside and lifted out the burgundy sleeping bag she kept in the truck for emergencies—“climb in here. Lie beside the fire and you’ll be toasty in no time.”
“Yeah, like I’m gonna hog your sleeping bag…”
“You can and you will.” She lobbed the bundle onto his lap. “You’re shivering.”
“And what happens later? When the temperature falls and you’re shivering?”
She motioned toward a folded camp bed. “I’ll drag that closer to the fire.”
“Without a blanket? Not on my watch.” He blinked earnestly. “You’ll share with me.”
