In the end, she only got twenty minutes into her pity party before being interrupted by the roar of an engine that sounded like it was bearing down on the cabin. Adrenaline surging, she sprang to her feet, dashing away tears as she dragged the duvet around her. Rushing to the window, she saw a huge yellow machine with a massive bucket clearing the snow between the cabin and the cottage. It was light enough to see that Grady was not the driver. Light enough for the driver to see her and give her a cheery wave.

Stepping back from the window, she crossed to the kitchen and grabbed her phone where it had been charging on the bench, grateful to see the usual three bars indicating the network was up again. She dialed her mom, who picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Mom. Everything okay over there? How’d you guys do?”

“Yes, darling, all good here. It was quite terrifying, though, wasn’t it? The howling was really very spooky.”

“Yes.” It had been.

“But it was good to have all that downtime. I’ve been so inspired since the ice-sculpting contest, I’ve been sketching up a storm. Angels, Suzanne. I have this most magnificent idea for an angel. I’m seeing angels in my sleep.”

Oh no. Suzanne didn’t like the sound of that. She knew how her mom got when inspiration struck. How everything else became secondary. Including the man to whom she was married and supposedly trying to rekindle the flame.

So much for taking advantage of the one bed and the romanticism of being snowed in. Her mother probably hadn’t looked up from her sketch pad.

“That sounds a little too…Christmas for you.”

“I know. Weird, isn’t it? Remind me to thank Grady—I think all the lights and tinsel must have rubbed off.”

Suzanne blinked. Well…she certainly hadn’t seen that coming.

“You guys want to come over for breakfast in a couple of hours? Actually, no… Let’s go to Annie’s.”

Whether the diner or anything would be open in Credence this morning, Suzanne had no idea. Hell, maybe the roads were still closed. But she suddenly had cabin fever in this place where the rug she was staring at was a constant reminder of what had happened between her and Grady. And she would bet her father was feeling a little cottage fever, too.

“Oh no, I’m just going to keep on sketching. But you and Albie should go.”

A rumble of anger swept through Suzanne’s gut. Maybe if she hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes crying, she’d have taken her mother’s dismissal in stride. But her mom had a man who loved her and wanted to be with her—how dare she let anything come between that.