"Did I miss anything?" she whispered. The TV's raised volume compensated for the dull roar of the storm raging against the centuries old building.
He leaned forward, making himself a cheese and cracker sandwich. "Not yet." He slid the tray toward her on the coffee table. "Better eat up. The local pub is closed on Mondays, so there will be more people eating in tonight." Ah, so not the weather.
She made herself a mini sandwich while watching the weather update. More rising water levels, more power outages, and continuing rain were the predictions. The room was solemn, lacking the pleasant laughter from earlier today.
A violent gust of wind kicked up outside, rattling the windows in their frames. An explosive crack echoed through the room and the building shuddered. The house plunged into near darkness, the glow from the fire casting eerie shadows around the furniture and the startled faces occupying the space. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the Fergusons sprang into action, their movements swift and seamless, as if rehearsed.
"Not to worry, dearies. We have torches and extra blankets can be found in the cupboards in your rooms," Mrs. Ferguson said.
"I'll start the generator," Archie said.
As he wandered off, Mrs. Ferguson clarified that the generator only serviced the refrigerator, the internet router, and other necessary appliances. Guests could charge their phones, but they'd need to coordinate, so everyone got a chance to charge. When asked about the heating, she reassured them the fireplaces throughout the house would keep it warm enough.
Archie came back and handed out flashlights to everyone, and Claire giggled when he called it a torch. "When y'all mentioned 'torches' earlier, I imagined a large stick with an open flame like you see in movies with ancient castles." Everyone laughed and teased her for being a silly American.
As the evening wore on, Mrs. Ferguson made hot cocoa for the guests and they all sat huddled in the dark, trading ghost stories. The wind outside howled like a living thing, beating against the windows and setting the perfect eerie backdrop. As the cold crept into the far corners of the room, her fellow travelers edged closer to the fire and she found herself pressed against Noah as the couch grew crowded. He didn't seem to mind, and the steady heat radiating from his body kept her comfortably warm.
As the hour grew late, Noah leaned over and whispered, "I've done enough peopling today. I'm heading upstairs."
She agreed and stood to join him. They said their goodbyes and navigated the tight stairway using their flashlights and holding on to the rail.
"Can you imagine living like this back when this house was built? This would be normal," she exclaimed.
"Except the light in your hand would be a candle instead of a battery-operated torch."
"Flashlight," she said.
"A torch in the UK." Claire could hear the laughter in his voice. They'd held similar conversations throughout the day about how words had different meanings in their respective countries. This was the man she enjoyed working with. Not the grumpy pants who never smiled. "When in Rome…" he said as he unlocked their suite's door.
The sitting room was warm from the fire, but their bedrooms were already growing cold. Claire grabbed a quilt from the cabinet and returned to the main room to find Noah sprawled on the settee looking at his phone.
"The wireless is back up. I hope my folks are okay."
Claire stilled. She'd completely forgotten his family lived here in the UK. "Are they in the storm's path?"
"They're on the outer edge of it, so they should be fine. It's all the flooding you have to worry about."
She sat beside him, spreading the quilt over them. "Tell me about your family."
He did. She listened to his tales about growing up the oldest of four boys. He talked about his brothers' kids and how his parents easily transitioned from empty nesters to grandparents who were actively involved in the lives of their grandchildren. His mom even babysat regularly for one of his brothers during the work week.
"It must be wonderful to have such a large family." She sighed and stared into the fire.
"What about your family?" he asked. "I've only ever heard you mention your dad."
"Yeah…" Claire paused, considering if the story would change how he saw her. She hated when people shifted from interest to pity. "My mom died in a car accident when I was little."
She wiggled, trying to get comfortable in the narrow space. The couch was cozy, but not exactly roomy.
Noah grunted and scooted sideways to give her more room, then grabbed at the quilt as it threatened to slide off. "Here let's try this." He lifted his arm in invitation. "Come closer. This'll work better."
She hesitated for half a second, then slid in. His arm settled around her shoulders, warm and steady. She let out a soft sigh.
"Better?"
She nodded. "Since then, it's been just me and my dad."
"I'm sorry, Claire," he said. His hand squeezed her shoulder gently—comforting, not pitying.
