Light My Fire

“You know, if I’m going to be cuddled up under blankets in front of a fire and snowed in all weekend, there are at least a dozen people I would pick to do it with besides the two of you. And they all look better in lingerie. And out of lingerie.”

I roll my eyes. “We gave you three chances to change your mind,” I tell Jackson Hill, my buddy Wyatt’s best friend from high school, who has also become one of my favorite people to hang out with. “I told you when I called to tell you we were moving the trip up a day, I said it again when we picked you up, and I reminded you right before the plane took off.”

We had been planning this guy’s trip for about a month. We’d all hoped for some nice weather—or at least sunshine—after the long, cold Chicago winter. We’re heading up to northern Minnesota, so it’s not like we expected it to be balmy, but the gorgeous cabin our friend, professional hockey player Blake Wilder, owns looks amazing in photos and we figured we’d at least have a sunny deck, cold beer, a boat, and some fishing for our four days.

That plan has changed drastically. There’s a big winter storm moving in and it looks like our long weekend is going to consist of hot coffee—maybe with some whiskey in it—and a constantly burning fireplace instead.

“You still came with us,” I tell Jackson. “So the lack of skimpy lingerie this weekend is your own fault.”

“You do not know twelve women who would willingly get snowed in with you for four days,” Wyatt tells his best friend with a grin.

“Fuck off. I know at least a dozen,” Jackson tells him. “And I could get three or four of them to come all together.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Wyatt laughs. “What the hell am I doing going to Minnesota with two dudes for four days of a winter apocalypse when I could be in Chicago with you and four blondes in lingerie?”

“Who said I’m sharing?” Jackson asks.

“We’ve had fun sharing one,” Wyatt says. “Think of what a good time we’d have with four.”

Jackson grins and nods. “Good point. I’ve only got one dick, one tongue, and two hands. I could probably use some help.”

“That’s the spirit,” Wyatt tells him, sitting back against the side of the plane that’s cruising above the dark water.

Wilder’s cabin is on an island accessible only by boat or plane. How the hell did I end up flying from Chicago to northern Minnesota and then taking a chartered private plane to an island where there are only ten houses?

I shake my head. I’m a firefighter. I’ve lived in Chicago all my life. I hang out with blue-collar guys and gals. I’m happy that way.

But damn, it’s nice to have friends with deep pockets, I’ll admit.

“Well, now I’m here,” Jackson says, tucking his hands further into the pockets of his dark gray overcoat. “I cleared my weekend for this, so I’d better at least get s’mores and hot chocolate out of this sex-less snowpocalypse.”

I look at the guy who is twelve years my junior, but has already made more money than I will probably see in my lifetime. “I would think you could afford a decent coat. What the hell are you doing wearing that thing up to Northern Minnesota in March, anyway?”

“I was thinking about sitting out on that fucking gorgeous deck, grilling out, drinking beer, hot tub… just kicking back. I didn’t know I would be fighting for my survival.”

I huff out a laugh. We’re going to a “cabin” that is more or less a mansion in the woods. Heidi, Blake’s grandmother, who was the one to call and warn me about the incoming storm and suggest we head up here a day early, promised the cabin was fully stocked. She also said March storms could be brutal but they cleared out after a day or so and we’d have no trouble getting back to Chicago on Monday. We’re not going to be hanging out on the deck in the sunshine but we’re also not going to be fighting for our survival.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Wyatt tells him. “This cabin is amazing. And we’re still getting away. I get that your usual day is pretty cushy but Luke and I deserve this vacation.”

Jackson leans back and stretches his legs out. “You two work too hard.”

Wyatt laughs. “Next to you, everyone works hard.”

“I’ll be working hard soon,” Jackson says. “When I was developing my app, I worked twenty-hour days for weeks.”

“You’re not working at all right now, though,” Wyatt points out.

“I’m waiting for inspiration.”

Wyatt grins. “And you’re bored. That’s why you’re coming with us this weekend.”

Jackson shrugs. “I also like you two. I can think of worse ways to spend four days.”

“But also better,” I say. “Blondes right?”

He grins. “There’s always time for blondes—and brunettes and redheads—when I get back to Chicago.”

“Very accommodating of you,” I say dryly. “But fair warning, we are playing poker this weekend and I am going to take some of your money.”

“Bring it on,” Jackson says, grinning.

That’s exactly what will happen. Jackson is effortlessly brilliant in all things having to do with… whatever he got rich doing. Things seem to just work out for him. Except for poker. At least with me. I beat him every time.

“Here we go,” Kenny, the pilot, calls over the engine.

The plane lands on an airstrip that feels more like a suggestion than a legitimate airport. A few minutes later, we’re being driven down a bumpy lane to the cabin. It’s nearly completely dark but the front porch is lit with soft yellow lights strung from poles.

We unload our bags and a few boxes of supplies—beer from a microbrewery on the mainland Blake recommended, steaks, and Jackson’s preferred cold brew coffee… heaven forbid our spoiled baby millionaire not have all of his creature comforts for even four days.

Jackson tips Kenny for giving us a ride, and from the way Kenny’s eyes widen, I guess it’s a generous amount.

Then we head up the stone path that leads to the cabin.

The wind is definitely picking up and the bite in the air is easily twenty degrees colder than the temps were in Chicago when we left.

“Uh, did Heidi or Blake have someone get the cabin set up for us?” Wyatt asks as we approach the cabin.

I see immediately why he asks. The cabin is lit up. Lights glow from nearly every window on this side of the house and there is definitely smoke coming from the chimney.

“Probably,” I comment. “That makes sense.” And seems like something Heidi would do. The seventy-something bundle of energy and mischief seems like she would be the ultimate hostess.

“Hallelujah,” Jackson says. “It’ll be nice and warm inside, and we can start the hot chocolate right away.”

He’s a millionaire, and twenty-eight years old, but he’s been excited about hot chocolate and s’mores since he realized we were not going to be having cold beer and burgers from the grill on the deck.

He might be complaining out loud, but he’s actually looking on the bright side.

Which is honestly his personality. He’s a happy guy and easy to be around. Of course it’s easy to look at life optimistically when everything you touch seems to turn to gold.

He’s good for me, if I’m honest. I tend to be a pessimist and it’s good for me to hang out with energetic young guys who look on the bright side.

Wyatt too. He’s laid-back and goes with the flow. I knew as soon as Heidi suggested we change our schedule that Wyatt would be fine with it. That trait makes him an excellent firefighter where you never know what a shift will bring. He thinks quickly on his feet, is seemingly good at every task thrown his way from working on a stuck elevator, to directing hoses, to comforting victims.

I am definitely the grump of the group. I’m old. And I know things don’t always work out the way you want them to. When Heidi called me and told me a storm was coming in, I mentally canceled our trip, and was pissed that I had to spend the next four days off in cold gray Chicago instead of hanging out at the lake with my friends.

But when she said it was simply a matter of leaving early and being snowed in for a couple of days, I adjusted. I’m not an asshole… all the time. I just tend to see things more cynically. Because life often sucks.

We stomp up the steps of the cabin. This side of the house is mostly siding. I imagine the back is glass windows that look out over the lake, with a dock.

I assume we have keys for all of the doors, but I’m not sure which one is which. I pull the keys from my pocket and start to flip through them at the same time Wyatt flips open a covered number pad and types in a series of digits.

We hear a little beep and the distinct sound of a lock opening.

“There’s a code for the door?” I ask.

He looks at me. “Obviously.”

“And you have the code?”

He grins and pushes the door open with his shoulder, dragging his bag and a box of supplies over the threshold. “Obviously.”

We crowd through the door, tossing our bags and setting the boxes down so that we can get rid of our snow covered shoes before stepping further into the cabin.

I shrug out of my coat and toss it, then bend to untie my boots.

I have one off and have started on the other when I hear it.

The distinctly feminine shriek.

I look up quickly and my heart almost stops.

We can see almost the entire first floor of the cabin from the door and the woman standing ten feet away, her hand on her chest, staring at us with wide eyes and her mouth open clearly just came from down the hallway to her right.

But it’s not surprise at seeing another human in the space I thought we’d have to ourselves that makes my breath lodge in my chest.

It’s seeing this particular human.

This gorgeous human woman who is dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a gigantic sweater over a tank top with her long brown hair piled on her head in a messy bun.

Because she’s the woman I’ve been thinking about for the last several months, no matter how hard I try not to. No matter how many times I tell myself I can’t. No matter what I try to forget about her.

“Hi, Brooke,” I say calmly.

Blake Wilder‘s sister turns her wide stare on me.

And when our gazes collide, our situation hits me right between the eyes.

We are about to be snowed in with the first woman to get under my skin in years.

Well, fuck.