The others woke up slowly.

I had already climbed off Roman and pulled my leggings back up under the quilts before anyone stirred. He watched me do it with the same calm expression he wore when stacking wood, then sat up and added another log to the fire like nothing had happened. By the time Maya groaned from the couch and asked if the power was back, the only evidence left was the dull ache between my legs and the faint marks his mouth had left on my breasts under my sweater.

The power was not back.

The snow had not stopped.

If anything it was worse—white, heavy, and endless...