“Thanks Tony. It’s fine, because I’m purposely going to spend an hour in the game room just to spite you.” Amelia playfully glares at Antonio on the screen.
“The fucking game room! C’mon Evan, can’t money like yours buy a blizzard-proof plane or something? I’ve been looking forward to getting in there ever since you bought the place.” Antonio groans.
“Sorry man. Don’t have ‘evil genius’ level of money.” I smirk.
“Don’t worry, big bro. I’ll take a selfie in there and send you a pic.” Amelia winks and the whole call erupts into laughter.
“Ok Evan. You now have my blessing to kill my sister.” Antonio deadpans.
“Alright everyone, we gotta get back to wrangling our circus of kiddos. Text us all updates on how you’re doing. Happy Thanksgiving!” cheers Vanessa.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” we all say right as Amelia ends the call.
I hand Amelia some paper towels and she pats her feet dry, then eases off of the kitchen island.
“So,” she says.
“So …” I repeat.
“We’re snowed in.” She eyes me nervously.
“Yes, we’re snowed in,” I confirm.
“Alone. Together. After last night.” Her eyes widened.
“Correct.” I smile.
“How much alcohol did you say we have?”
25
Amelia
Ask and you shall receive.
Thing is, I didn’t ask for a freaking snowstorm, Mami!
All I did was ask for a sign, you know, something small. Maybe spotting a bird that lingers too long. Or finding something in my luggage that reminds me of my mom to somehow help me figure out what to do.
But no. Anna Nuñez has never been accused of being subtle, and now I am convinced that she orchestrated this whole set up. That, or I’m simply becoming unhinged.
Both plausible scenarios at this point.
“Amelia, you’re doing that thing again where you look like you’re gonna give yourself a brain aneurysm. Stop spiraling,” Evan says as he wraps up cleaning up the mess made by my shattered coffee mug.
He tugs me away from the window and down to the couch, snug next to him. Why did the man have to wear a tight black t-shirt that shows off his broad chest and ripped biceps AND gray sweatpants?
GRAY FUCKING SWEATPANTS!
“I’m not spiraling. Anymore. I’m just trying to figure this all out,” I say.
“There’s nothing to figure out. We have to stay put for a couple of days until the storm dies down and the roads are cleared.” He puts his arm over the couch, next to me.
“Evan, we kissed last night. And it was areallygood kiss.”
“Thank you.” Evan smirks.
“Shut up.”
