Chapter Two

Simon

I put my refund slip in my wallet and make my way back to Baz.

I'm not sure why I listened to him. I'm not sure why I agreed to go with him.

Did I agree to go with him? I didn't actually say yes.

I didn't say no either.

Whatever he has planned is sure to be preferable to sitting alone in this airport all night.

"Right, then. I've got my refund. What now?" I stand in front of him, hands in my pockets.

"Did you check any luggage?"

I shake my head. "It's all in my bag. You?"

Baz grimaces. "The airlines have lost too many of my bags through the years. I never check luggage anymore." He hefts a sleek but sizeable leather satchel onto his shoulder. "Let's go." He turns and strides away.

"And where exactly are we going?" I'm trotting to keep up with him. Blast Baz and his long legs.

"I've got a car for us."

I make an abrupt stop. Why the fuck did I take the refund? "A car? Baz, are you mad? Have you looked at the map? It's a fucking nightmare out there. A bloody snow apocalypse."

He turns and gives me his signature look, eyebrow raised, all sharp edges and arrogance. It's comforting, somehow, to see it again.

Not that I've missed it, mind you. It drove me to distraction when he'd look at me like that at school, the tosser. Infuriated me. I'd never get off a good retort.

But it's the most familiar thing in this airport tonight. So I don't mind it, I guess.

"Do you take me for an idiot, Snow? Of course, I've looked at the weather. We'll be fine."

"Fine? They're closing down the whole airport, Baz. What do you think the roads look like if they have to close down the fucking airport?" I stand firm, cross my arms and glare at him. "I thought you'd have a better idea than driving in this shit."

Baz rolls his eyes, the twat. "Simon. Train service is interrupted as well. Driving is our only option. I've requisitioned a sturdy vehicle, I'm an exceptionally skilled driver, and if you don't start walking I'm bloody well leaving you here." He turns and heads off.

I do end up chasing after him but I blame it on being distracted by the fact that he called me Simon. He's never called me by my given name before.

We make our way to the rental car kiosk and Baz gets into an involved conversation with the desk clerk about routes.

It's obvious the clerk thinks he's mad. Baz is intimidating at the best of times and this is not the best of times so he's absolutely unnerving. The clerk is nervously nodding his head and making vague suggestions in a faint voice. He hands Baz a stack of maps, brochures and whatnot and then the keys. I get the distinct impression he'll be happy to see us go.

So we do. Baz sweeps away, all waving locks and glowering looks. I follow in his wake.

I can't help eyeing him as I trudge after him. I can't believe I've never seen him in jeans before. I'd remember if I had, I know I would. These jeans really suit him.

Fuck.

I chase after him and am greeted with a blast of arctic air as we step through the sliding glass doors that lead outside.

I don't have gloves. I don't have a scarf. I've been in California for the last week. I've got my leather jacket and my hoodie and that's it.

Fuck, it's cold.

I blink up at the sky. It's dark now. The snow is coming down so heavily, the flakes so large and fast. When I tilt my head up it almost looks like the jump to lightspeed in Star Wars. The whirling flakes are all that I can see.

"Come along, Snow."

I turn towards Baz and I'm transfixed. He's got that look again, that strange soft one I can't quite place. Snowflakes are caught in the tumble of his windblown hair and I can't take my eyes off him.

Baz

I've seen Snow like this before at school; cheeks flushed, snowflakes dusting his bronze curls, eyes lit up.

It makes my heart race.

I close my eyes to banish the sight of him and turn towards the waiting shuttle bus.

I can't let myself do this. I can't let myself think about him like that. It's hopeless. I know that.

He's so close.

But it's still feels like he's a million miles from me.

I adjust my bag and walk away.

Simon

I slip and slide in the snow as I follow Baz. The shuttle busses are huddled in a row not far away but it feels like forever walking into this wind, the blowing snow making me squint.

And Baz wants to drive in this.

There are only a few other people on the shuttle so I choose a seat across the aisle from Baz.

He's got his head down, looking at the paperwork the clerk gave him.

I'm staring at him again.

I know what he looks like. It's not as if his face is unfamiliar to me. I woke up seeing it every morning at Watford for eight years.

I don't know why the sight of him is so fascinating to me tonight. It must be because I haven't seen him in so long.

And because he reminds me of home, I suppose.

Baz

I'm going to avoid looking directly at him.

It will be easy enough once we get in the car. All my focus will be occupied with driving in this maelstrom.

I'll put the route on my mobile and he can navigate. That way I won't even be tempted to give him sidelong looks when I glance at the screen.

Although Snow is shit with directions.

That disaster of a camping trip at Watford taught me never to trust Snow with a map.

I won't be trusting Snow, I suppose, just Google Maps.

The cars are all snow-covered lumps when we finally reach the dark rental car lot. The attendant, muffled so that only his eyes are visible, waves his hand at us and calls out my name.

"It's this one. Good luck to you. Roads are bad I hear." He points to the vehicle next to him and then scurries off, leaving us to clear the snow-covered windshield and windows.

I'm freezing by the time I get in the car and start it. I turn the heat up to maximum, punch the defrosters on and look at the weather forecast on my mobile again.

The outlook is bleak. There's no end in sight for this snow and temperatures have dropped as the wind has kicked up.

Splendid.

There is one small positive in all of this: the Range Rover has a navigation system. I won't have to rely on my mobile or Snow.

The most direct route to Washington takes us past Philadelphia and Baltimore. I'll have to have Snow keep checking the status on those two airports as I drive.

If Baltimore is closed there's a good chance Washington will be as well.

Then I'll go to further south.

Charleston.

Orlando.

I searched every airport south of New York that offers direct flights to London while I was waiting for Snow.

Fuck it, I don't want to have to drive all the way to Florida.

Simon

Baz fusses with his mobile, then the navigation system in the car. I adjust my seat and settle back to watch him. He's got that determined look I know so well. Laser focused on the task at hand.

I know better than to distract him when he's like this.

Eventually he stops tapping at the screens and plugs his mobile into the port.

"Is your mobile charged?" He doesn't even turn his head to look at me when he asks.

"Yeah. Enough." I pull it out of my pocket. "Seventy-two."

"That'll do." He grips the wheel, eyes forward. "I'll need you to keep checking on the airports to see if flights are still going out. And to track the storm. Understood?"

"Yeah. I can do that."

"Don't waste your battery on any games, Snow. I need you paying attention. I might need you to book the tickets while I drive." Baz darts a look at me, eyebrow up. "You can handle that?"

He's such a prat. I growl back at him. "I can handle it."

I lean forward and punch the radio button.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting on the radio."

"Whatever for?"

I shrug. "Music. Weather. Road conditions. The typical things people put the radio on for."

Baz frowns. "I am not going to listen to your dreadful taste in music while I drive, Snow."

"Yeah, well too bad. This was your idea, dragging me along into this nightmare of a storm. I should get to pick the music."

"Driver's choice."

"Says who?"

"I say so. I'm the driver. We listen to my music. I'll inform you when you need to change stations. Now shut up and check the status at Philadelphia and Baltimore. I need to be able to hear the Nav."

I'm going to regret this trip, I just know it.

Baz

The roads are shit. Not just the ones near the airport but even the main thoroughfares and motorways. There are cars on the road but not many. I've yet to see a snowplow.

Every few miles I see cars pulled over on the side of the road. I've counted four accidents and at least three cars in ditches since we left the city proper.

My hands have a death grip on the steering wheel. The wind has picked up. Between the heavy snow coming down and the gusts swirling the earlier snowfall, visibility is atrocious.

The defrosters are on, the wipers are going and I've turned the heat up in the car.

Snow is predictably irritated.

I know how easily he gets hot. I honestly don't care.

All I care about is somehow making it to an open airport and getting the fuck out of this country.

He used to drive me mad by opening the window in our room every sodding night when we lived together. I had to tolerate it.

So he can tolerate this.

Except he's not.

He keeps opening his window and closing it. Opening it and closing it.

It's insufferable. I'm trying to focus on keeping us on the road, even at this snail's pace I'm forced to maintain.

"Could you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

I grit my teeth. "The fucking window antics, Snow. Christ. As if it's wasn't bloody intolerable when we shared a room, it's fucking excruciating now. I'm trying to keep the damn windows clear so I can see. Stop with the up and down, would you?"

"It's hot."

"I don't give a fuck if it's hot, Snow. I'm trying to see so I can drive and I'm trying to keep us on the road. All you're managing to do is annoy the bloody hell out of me."

"Then why'd you ask me to come with you, if I'm so bloody annoying?"

I don't answer. There is nothing I can say that isn't incriminating or horribly embarrassing. So I just shut up.

We drive on in silence, broken only by the GPS intermittently intoning that we still have too many fucking miles until we reach our destination and the music coming from the radio.

This was a terrible idea.

Simon

It's so fucking hot in the car. I've shrugged off my jacket but I'm still sweating. I know Baz is trying to keep the windows clear but the heat's making me dizzy. I didn't even think to buy a water at the airport. My throat's dry and scratchy.

And Baz won't let me even crack the window anymore.

We drive in silence. I've taken to counting the stranded vehicles we pass. So far, it's been nine cars in the ditch and at least four collisions. One lorry on its side and I've seen two off the road.

Baz is driving slowly, hands gripping the wheel, mouth set in a grim line.

The airport in Philadelphia is closed. So is the one in Baltimore. The last time Baz said anything, was when I told him that. He swore, slammed his hand on the steering wheel and hasn't said a word since.

That was close to an hour ago. We've been on the road for four hours and we just passed Philadelphia. The snow's coming down even harder now. It's difficult to see much, what with all the blowing snow and blizzard conditions.

The radio announcer called it a white-out and said motorists were strongly encouraged to get off the road.

Baz changed the station.

I thought we'd stop in Philadelphia. Call it a night since both airports have grounded all flights. But he's still pressing on. There's no way Washington will stay open if Baltimore's closed already. They're closer together than I'd realized. If one's closed the other's sure to follow.

"What're you thinking, Baz? Do we keep going?"

He doesn't answer me.

The station he chose is playing classical music. I'm not usually a fan but it's soothing. I like it. It makes me think of Baz's violin.

He never practiced it in front of me. I know he played in the room when I wasn't there but he always stopped as soon as I walked in.

By fifth year I knew his habits well enough that I'd pause before opening the door to our room. If I heard him playing I'd usually stand there and listen for a bit.

Unless I really had to piss. Then I'd just walk in.

I liked listening to him play. I'd never tell him that, the prat. I liked the sound of it. I don't know which composers or any of that. I'm not familiar with that kind of music.

You don't get much of an education in classical music in a care home. You don't get much of an education period.

Sometimes I'd hear a melody I thought I recognized. Couldn't ask Baz what it was though. He'd know I was listening at the door, if I did that.

I don't know how many times I stood there, ear pressed against the wood, soaking in the sound of Baz's violin.

"Do you still play?" The words are out of my mouth before I can catch myself.

"What?"

Now that it's out there I keep going. "The violin. Do you still play?"

I'm watching him, because he's far more interesting to look at than the road. His face softens for a moment before he answers. "Not as much as I'd like."

"That's too bad."

"Why do you say that?" He sounds genuinely curious.

"I remember how much you liked to play. And you were good at it." Damn. Didn't mean to let that slip.

His brow furrows. "How do you know I was any good, Snow? It's not like you ever heard me play."

"I'm sure you were. You fucking excelled at everything. Why not the violin too?" It comes out harsher than I intend.

Perhaps back at Watford I would have meant to be harsh about it. He was infuriatingly good at everything. First in our class in every subject. Fucking ruthless on the pitch. Fit as hell. It drove me mad.

I wasn't very good at anything. Not classwork, not football, not at being a boyfriend. I was ok at being Penny's friend but that's not something you can put on a resume now, is it?

I think the only thing I excelled at was annoying Baz. Also not resume material.

I expect him to snap back at me. But he doesn't. He just clears his throat.

He looks tired. I'm sure this kind of driving is taking its toll on him. It's not like I could even offer to take over for a bit.

I don't drive. Never learned how.

I check the weather on my mobile. There's no break to be seen with this storm.

"Baz. Let's find a place and stop over for the night. You've been driving for hours. There aren't going to be any more flights tonight. We may as well find a hotel and try again in the morning." I lean towards him. "You look knackered."

"I want to get to Washington. If it's functioning tomorrow we can get a flight from there."

I fuss with my mobile. "Baz, that's hours away. It's taken us twice the time it should to get here. It can't be any better the further we go, especially with Baltimore closed down. It could be four more hours, if not longer." I check the time. "It's almost ten o'clock."

"Let's get a bit farther."

He drives on. There are even fewer cars now. For miles at a time we are the only vehicle in sight, other than the ones that have run off the road. I haven't seen a snow plow in hours.

Eventually the decision to stop for the night is made for us. I hear the siren before I see the flashing lights in the rearview mirror.

"Fuck." Baz's face is oddly pale against the strobing red and blue lighting of the police car behind us.

"At least you know you weren't speeding." He's not made eye contact with me once since we left New York but now he gives me a withering look.

The state trooper looks exhausted as he peers in the driver's side window at us. "You boys need to get off the road. The storm's only going to get worse and there's a pile-up a few miles down from here. Cars in ditches all the way to Wilmington."

I can sense Baz's frustration. He sighs and looks up at the trooper. "We just need to get a little farther tonight, before we stop."

But the trooper shakes his head. "There's not that much farther you're going to get tonight. I'm telling you it's bad up ahead. They're going to start closing roads, the drifts are getting so deep. The plows can't keep up, we can't keep up and there aren't enough tow trucks to get all these cars cleared." He leans down. "You need to hole up somewhere for the night."

He must see something in Baz's face because his expression softens. "Listen. You don't sound like you're from around here. You need a place to stay for the night—my sister has a bed and breakfast down the road. I think she's still got a room or two left. Follow me. I'll take you there myself."

Baz's shoulders slump and I know what that means.

He's done fighting.

We follow Sgt. Petty to an exit a mile or two ahead. The smaller roads are even worse than the motorway, snow-covered and with drifts making only one lane passable at times.

We finally stop at a house near the edge of this small town. It's lit up so I can see it's old. Or at least it looks like it should be old. There's a sign as we drive up to it-looks like a nanny goat frolicking in a field. The sign reads "The GOAT B&B". What an odd name for an inn.

It's cheery though, with strings of bright Christmas lights twinkling from the eaves. There are two stories and what looks like a rounded turret that juts up even higher, with fancy edging. The snow-covered trees and lights make it look like a picture postcard.

Baz and I get out of the car and follow our guide to the front door. It opens as soon as he knocks and a smiling older blonde woman ushers us in. "Come in, come in, get out of the cold."

The inside of the house is as warm and cheery as the outside. There's a fire blazing and a huge Christmas tree takes up one whole section of the front room.

This must be Sgt. Petty's sister. She looks just like him—same blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw.

"You staying a bit, Nicky?" she asks him.

"No, Ebb. Got to get back on the road. I wanted to make sure these two found the place alright. You've got room for them, you said."

Ebb beams at us. "I've got one room left tonight and I think it'll suit you two just fine." She pats her brother's arm briefly. "Stay safe out there tonight, Nicky."

Baz steps forward and holds out his hand to him. "Thank you. For your assistance tonight. Greatly appreciated."

I'm grateful too. Who knows how long Baz would have kept driving if he hadn't stopped us? I nod at Sgt. Petty. "Thanks."

Ebb makes a show of bustling us into the house once her brother is gone. We're in the kitchen with mugs of tea in hand moments later. "When did you two last eat?" She stands with her hands on her hips, looking from me to Baz.

I can't quite remember. Midday maybe for me.

"Never mind answering that. Sit. I'll whip something up for you."

It's not long before a plate of scones is set in front of us, followed shortly by a steaming dish of scrambled eggs and another of bacon. It smells heavenly.

I'm famished and it seems Baz is too. I can't remember ever seeing him eat this heartily.

When our plates are scraped clean Ebb stands and puts them in the sink. "You have your bags? Good. Now let me show you to your room."

We follow her up a flight of steps and then another narrower flight of stairs. "You're lucky I had this last room free. I think you'll like it. It's the only one with a private bath so you can have a good soak or a shower to warm up before you turn in."

Ebb opens the door and I follow Baz into the rounded room. We're in the turret I saw before. There's a fireplace, with a fire already going, two padded armchairs in front of it. Beyond that is a small alcove with an armoire.

It's as cosy as the rest of the house.

"Bedroom's upstairs and the bathroom is there too," Ebb says as she waves a hand in the direction of some narrow, openwork circular stairs. "Breakfast is served at nine. If you want to get on the road earlier than that just let me know. I'm up early so I'm sure to be about. I'll whip up something for you to eat before you go."

She grins at us and then disappears, the door closing behind her.

I drop into one of the armchairs. "This is nice."

Baz is standing by the door still, that odd expression on his face again. It's the first time he's looked directly at me since the airport. "You all right, Baz?"

He nods. "I'm fine."

He looks worn-out. I'm sure he is, even if he won't come out and admit it.

"I think a hot shower and a bit of time by this fireplace is the plan for me." I stand up and grab my bag again. "Let's see how things look upstairs. You can shower first."

There's a smile on his face now. "Just like old times."

I smile too. He always showered at night. I took mornings. "Yeah, just like old times." I look around the room again. "It's a lot like our room at Mummer's."

Baz snorts. "We certainly didn't have this much chintz, Snow."

I like this.

I like talking this way, neither one of us being prickly. It's nice.

"Honestly, Snow, you can shower first. I want to sit and soak up the warmth a bit."

Baz drops down in the chair closest to the fire and leans his head back, eyes closed. The fire casts a warm glow over his features and highlights the long line of his neck.

I drop my bag again and sink into the chair I just vacated. Baz opens his eyes and turns his head to me. "Thought you said you wanted a shower."

I shrug. "I don't mind doing this for a bit first."

He closes his eyes but he's smiling again.

I gaze at the fire for a bit, stealing glances at Baz every so often.

There's a softness to him I don't recall noticing before. Or maybe time has smoothed the edges from my memory. I don't know.

I like to look at him. I don't know where that realization came from but it's true. I don't think I ever noticed him this way, back at school. Not the way I'm noticing him now.

The way he crosses his legs just so at the ankle. The way his posh jumper clings to him. The way his hair falls in a wave over his forehead.

Nope. I've thought about his hair before.

Christ, I've thought about all these things before.

Baz

I could fall asleep here, sitting in front of the fire. It's warm, the chair is soft and I've got Simon Snow by my side. It's bloody perfect.

But I can't sleep all night in a chair. I've got to get some real rest, if I'm going to be driving in this shit again in the morning.

I exhale and open my eyes.

To find Snow staring at me intently. He looks away immediately, face turned to the fire but I can see the flush creeping up his cheeks as he does.

Odd.

I feel a little flutter in my chest at the sight of him. Christ, he's gorgeous. The firelight sets off his tawny skin and burnishes his hair to a golden hue. The constellation of moles on his skin are so familiar to me.

He shakes himself and stands up. "Um, maybe we should think about calling it a night, Baz. You're planning an early morning? Get back on the road?"

"As early as we can. I'd like to get to Washington in time to catch one of the afternoon or evening flights. We can only hope they've cleared the roads by morning."

Snow pulls out his mobile and taps at the screen. He frowns and his brow creases. "Baz."

"Yes, Snow?"

"You're not going to like this."

"What?"

"I checked on the airports again. All the ones we passed are still closed but now Washington is too." He lifts his eyes to meet mine. "I'm sorry, Baz."

I blink at him stupidly for a moment before responding. "It can't be helped. I expected this might happen. I have to hold on to the hope that by morning the storm will have tapered off and the night crews will have cleared the snow enough to allow flights to take off."

"Anything more to do tonight, then?"

A sigh escapes me. I hate to show weakness in front of Snow but I can't help it. This is disheartening news, even if it's not unexpected. "No. There's no use getting myself worked up tonight. Things may look better by morning. I'll try to book us flights then, at whatever nearby airport is functioning. Even if we have to go back instead of forward."

He's staring at me again, head tilted to the side. I'm familiar with this expression. It's Snow's appraising look. He's about to make some sort of decision.

"Why are you so set on this, Baz? We could have stayed in New York, waited it out, maybe caught a flight from there tomorrow. I know you want to get home by Christmas but why the urgency of this?" He waves an arm, gesturing at the room around us.

I sit up, hands resting on my knees. I have been uncharacteristically impatient today. More impetuous than usual.

"I want to get home." It's the truth.

"I get that. But enough to put yourself through this, to save a few hours?"

It's a valid question and I don't have an answer other than I want to be home. I want to be with my father, with Fiona. I want to see my siblings. Daphne.

I need to be around family.

This time of year is hard for me. It's been hard since Mother died.

It's been eighteen years.

I've never missed a Christmas with my family. Other than the year my mother died and my father seemed to forget that Christmas even existed. I thought I'd done something terrible, to make Father Christmas stay away.

Fiona had saved the day, arriving at the house with food, sweets and a giant Paddington Bear for me.

Father has never forgiven himself for forgetting that year. He's tried to make up for it every year since.

It means the world to me to be home at Christmas. To help Daphne wrap the presents and haul them up from the cellar after the little ones have gone to bed. To sit by the fire and share a drink with my father. To watch my siblings' faces shine with joy on Christmas morning. I want that.

I need that. It doesn't take away the hole left by Mother's absence but it gives me some solace.

Simon is still staring at me. He takes a few steps, so he's standing in front of me.

"Baz?"

I look up into those impossible blue eyes. Such an ordinary blue. A blue I could drown in.

"I miss my family." My words come out in a whisper.

Simon crouches down, so his eyes are level with mine. "I'm sure you do."

"It's . . . it's been eighteen years since Mother . . ." I pause and that's when his hand reaches out to grasp mine. It's warm and his grip is strong. It fits over my hand as if it's meant to be there.

"I'm sorry, Baz." He gives my hand a squeeze. "Sorry I've been an arse tonight. I'll do whatever I can to make sure we get where we need to go, to get you on a plane to London tomorrow."

I tighten my fingers around his. "Get us on a plane, you mean."

He shrugs. "It's no matter. It's just me this Christmas. Doesn't really matter where I am, does it?"

I feel an overwhelming wave of shame come over me.

How do I always forget this fact about Snow? How do I forget he's an orphan, that while I'm here whinging about wanting to be with my family, I should be grateful that I have one, when he's got nothing.

Nothing to go home to but an empty flat and a solitary holiday.

"No, it's alright. I'm the one who's been an arse. I'm feeling sorry for myself. It's been months since I've seen them and I'm homesick, that's all. I'm whinging. Don't mind me, Simon."

He grins at me suddenly. "You did it again."

"Did what?" I'm thoroughly confused by the shift in mood and conversation.

"Called me Simon. It's the second time you've done that tonight."

"I have not."

"You did it at the airport and you did it again just now."

He looks absolutely triumphant, the muppet. "You are mistaken, Snow."

"Am not, you twat." He's still grinning. He's so close, I could kiss him now, if I leaned in.

I pull my hand out of his instead and stand up, causing him to shift his weight to maintain his balance.

I make a show of yawning and grab my satchel. "I think I'm ready for a shower. You first or shall I go ahead, Snow?"

He's standing now too, looking a bit bewildered.

My heart is racing and my face is heating up but that could be my proximity to the fireplace. At least that's my excuse.

"Nah. You go ahead, Baz. I'll come up and take a look around, if that's all right, get my things ready while you shower."

"Of course."

I make my way up the narrow, circular staircase and step into the room at the top of the turret. It's smaller than the one downstairs, part of the space taken up by the ensuite that's to my left.

Simon comes up the steps behind me and walks right into me. I'm rooted to the spot in disbelief.

There is only one bed.