I need a drink.

It’s the only thought echoing in my head as I stare at the massive mahogany bed upstairs. One bed. One set of heavy, down-filled blankets.

One space where the air will be thick with the scent of Julian’s cologne and the sound of his breathing.

I turn on my heel and march toward the kitchen. My shoes thud against the hardwood floors, a lonely sound in the middle of a blizzard. I find the bar cabinet tucked in the corner.

My hands are shaking slightly as I pull it open.

Rows of amber liquid stare back at me. Expensive scotch. Bourbon. Gin. I grab a bottle...