Black Ties and White Lies(51)

She finishes writing something in a small little journal of hers, running Beck’s credit card and handing it back to him. “We sure do, hon. Let me take you to it. This inn is run by my husband and I. He’s out making sure the snow doesn’t make us lose any power so I can get you taken care of in the shop as well.”

The woman slowly walks toward a small opening with a wood sign above it identifying it as their gift stop. As soon as we step in, there’s various animals carved out of wood covering an entire shelf. She catches me looking at them. “My husband carves those,” she says proudly, picking up a carved moose the size of my finger and turning it in her hand.

“They’re stunning,” I tell her. I can’t imagine the steadiness it takes in a hand to get the details so perfect using a knife. I’m more than impressed by the craftsmanship.

She hums a response, ushering us deeper into the store that’s no bigger than my own room at Beck’s place. Her hand reaches out to point to two racks of clothes. “I’m afraid these are the only options we have.” She looks at Beck, starting at his head and looking all the way down to his feet. “Although I’m unsure if these will quite fit you,” she says apologetically.

He takes a step forward, beginning to rifle through the rack. “I’m sure I can find something.” He pulls a hoodie off the rack, looking inside at the tag. Apparently meeting his standards, he hands it over to me. “Take this.”

“I’ll leave you two to look. Come to the counter at the front when you’re done and I’ll get you all rung up.”

I politely smile as she turns around. “Thank you.”

Beck shakes the hoodie, gesturing for me to take it.

“Beck, this thing is like three sizes too big for me.”

He continues to look through the clothing, not bothering to look at me. “It’s the warmest fabric they have. Your lips are blue from being so cold, so forgive me if I don’t give a flying fuck how big it is on you as long as it keeps you warm.”

My mouth snaps shut as his response takes me off guard. His words alone send warmth down my body. My silence has him looking over his shoulder for a brief moment. “No arguments from you? I’m shocked. It’s seemed to be your mission to argue over every damn thing today.”

I scoff, hugging the sweatshirt to my chest. I stick my hands inside the fabric, loving how soft and warm the fleece inside feels against my cold hands. “I wouldn’t call it arguing if I was pointing out the fact that we shouldn’t have been out on the roads with an impending snow storm and all.”

He pulls a set of plaid pajamas from the rack, checking the tag for the size. A grunt leaves his chest. I fight the grin that wants to make an appearance at fancy Beck dawning a pair of red and black plaid pajamas, a giant bear on a pocket on the chest that reads I’m beary tired. It’s something that belongs on a child’s pajama set, not one made for a grown man.

“There’s nothing else in my size,” he groans.

I lift the sweatshirt. “There’s no way this wouldn’t fit you.” Taking a step toward one of the racks, I try to find one of the cheesy pajama sets in my size. They don’t look as warm as the hoodie in my hand, but still far better than the frozen outfit I currently wear.

Beck suddenly turns to me, eating up all the distance between us until our mingling breaths warm the other. “Do you not listen? I’m not taking the warmest thing for myself because you need it. Now find a pair of pants that’ll fit you and let’s go find some other things we’ll need for the night.”

He leaves me standing there watching his retreating form, my jaw almost hanging to the floor. No matter how much he’s pissed me off today, that primal, nurturing side of Beck I just witnessed has me feeling a range of mixed emotions.

Following his instructions, I look through the options, not finding much. Eventually, I find a pair of long johns I’m almost certain are supposed to be worn as underwear when you go skiing, but it’s the best I can find given the circumstances.

When I find Beck, he’s piling various toiletry items in his arms. A box of toothbrushes almost falls to the floor as he shoves two phone chargers into the pile.

“Need help?” I offer, taking a step closer to him. My voice comes out odd, my mind—and ladybits—still reeling at the authoritative yet gentle tone of his voice a few moments ago.

“I’ve got it,” he growls.

“Okay,” I mutter under my breath. I leave him to it, deciding to search for some sort of food to snack on. It’s seemed like ages since we ate. Maybe Beck’s mood will improve if he’s fed, his anger could be because he’s hangry. At least I hope that’s the case. A night snowed in with him when he’s this testy doesn’t sound like my ideal way to ride out a snowstorm.

I stand in front of the meager selection of food they have. The options could be better, but I guess it could also be worse. They do have red licorice, which happens to be my weakness, so that’s a win in my book. A pile similar to Beck’s begins to build in my arms, except mine with food instead of toiletries. I add a few different bags of beef jerky, apparently made by someone local, as well as a few bags of potato chips. I walk by a small refrigerator grabbing a few water bottles for the room.

My food choices aren’t likely up to Beck’s standards, with all the fancy meals he’s cooked or had prepared by his chef, but it’s the best I can find given our circumstances.