Phee wakes to the smell of coffee. Dog drool is cooling on her arm, a sound of panting loud in her ear.
“Leave me alone,” she grumbles, and then her eyes fly open as she remembers where she is, the audacity of what she has done.
Jean is still asleep beside her, turned on her side, a pillow half over her head. Celestine’s tail wags dangerously, and Phee knows from long experience that there will be no sliding back into sleep once the big dog has ideas of outside and breakfast in his head. Not that she could sleep in, anyway. Not today.
She doesn’t wear a watch, has no idea what time it is. Dim light could mean either very early morning or just an overcast winter day. Rolling out from under the covers as quietly as possible, she slips into her jeans, smooths the T-shirt she slept in, and attempts to run her fingers through her hair. It’s hopelessly tangled, and she settles for weaving it into a messy braid. One hand on Celestine’s collar, she tiptoes toward the bedroom door. Celestine is anything but stealthy, but Jean doesn’t wake.
Out in the living area, Braden’s pullout couch is empty, the blankets and sheets tangled and tossed aside. Katie is in the kitchen, clattering mugs out of a cupboard, a coffeepot on the counter generating the rich aroma of fresh coffee. Low voices and rustling in the loft signal that Steph and Allie are also awake.
Phee feels like she’s been drugged with a tranquilizer, her movements all slow and clumsy, her thoughts heavy and lumbering.
“Where’s Braden?” she manages. “And can I have a mug of that, like now?”
“He’s outside. Coffee in about two minutes.”
Which is time enough to go to the bathroom, to splash cold water over her face, to second-guess this trip about thirty-seven times.
Back in the kitchen, Katie hands her two mugs. “One for you, and one for him.”
Phee accepts the mugs, taking a scalding sip of her own, letting the promise of caffeine nudge her brain cells into waking.
“How do you know he’s outside?”
“You can see everything from the loft. Window on the world. I’ll get the door. Also, hey, he’s got a fire out there. Can we roast hot dogs for breakfast?”
“Those were meant to be dinner.”
“So, we eat whatever was supposed to be breakfast for dinner. Come on, it will be fun. Whatever weird shit you’re pulling with this intervention, Phee, we still get to have some fun.”
“Fine, all right. I’ll be back in—”
“I got it. The girls will help me. Right?” she calls up to the loft. “You two lazybones want to roast hot dogs on the fire for breakfast?”
Two heads appear over the railing of the loft a minute later, disheveled and sleepy eyed. “Yes! I’ve never roasted a hot dog,” Steph says. “We’re getting dressed.”
Muffled voices in the room the men are sharing mean that Len and Dennis are now awake as well.
Katie opens the back door, and Phee steps out into wonderland. The sun, just emerging from behind a mountain, lights the tops of the evergreen trees across the lake and turns the snow pink. The sky is a shade of blue she’s not sure she’s ever seen before.
Celestine takes off running, or tries to, his feet scrabbling on the frosty deck. He slows, taking his time with the stairs, and Phee follows, placing each foot carefully, conscious both of the slippery surface and the two brimming mugs of hot coffee. Braden meets her halfway and relieves her of one mug.
“You need to hang on to the railing so you don’t take a ride down on your ass.”
Celestine sniffs around the campfire, then heads toward the open, flat expanse of snow.
“Hey, get back here!” Braden shouts, and the dog pauses, looking back over his shoulder.
“Cold today, but it’s been warm,” he explains to Phee. “Looks solid, but there are soft spots.”
“Celestine!” Phee calls, and he heads back in the direction of the campfire, stopping to cock his leg on a nearby bush.
Braden sinks back down onto one of the camp chairs with an exhalation that is part sigh, part groan. He looks exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, the lines of his face etched deeper.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asks.
“Spent most of the night out here. Thinking. You?”
“Slept like the dead,” she says. “Sorry. That was not the best analogy.”