by Zoe Chant
Frowning, Emilia marched forward. Well, now she’d have to check, just to make sure she wasn’t going completely and utterly crazy.
This is what happens when you live alone, Emilia thought as she trudged forward. You have to go check if your trashcans are where you think they are just to verify your sanity.
Shaking her head at herself, Emilia opened the shed door.
Well, there were her trashcans, anyway, just where she’d put them last night.
And there, on the pile of old cardboard boxes that were filled with old college assignments, old dog blankets, and who knew what else was – was –
What the hell????
Was a large, muscular and unconscious man.
For a long moment, Emilia could do nothing but stand there in open-mouthed shock.
I... I... WHAT??
Vaguely, Emilia became aware of the snow that was blowing down from above, and, dazed, looked up to see a massive hole in the wooden roof of the shed.
Well, I guess that explains the noise, she thought, fighting off the urge to laugh hysterically.
What it didn’t explain was literally everything else.
The man groaned slightly, and Emilia’s attention immediately snapped back to him.
Okay. Okay. First things first.
And the first thing was, no one should be walking around in a t-shirt in this kind of weather, regardless of how they got into her shed.
Emilia gulped. The t-shirt wasn’t doing a lot to keep him covered up – his massive biceps were clearly visible, as were his rock-hard abdominal muscles where the shirt had ridden up. It obviously wasn’t doing anything at all to shield him from the weather.
But nonetheless, she hesitated. Okay, yes. He had the abs of a Greek statue, the jawline of a movie star and the kind of dark brown, softly curling hair she’d always loved on men, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a creep.
And what the hell is he doing in my shed?? I mean, aside from being barely clothed and passed out?
By her side, Max whimpered slightly, before licking her hand where it hung limp by her side.
“What is it, Max?” she whispered, looking down at him.
Usually, Max was wary of strangers – he had to get to know someone before he’d get too close to them. Once he did know them he was the most affectionate dog she’d ever known, and whenever a new dog or cat arrived at the house, he’d usually be the first to make them feel welcome, sitting by them – not too close if they were shy – and providing licks if they were wanted. She’d never forgotten the time just after she had brought Antony, Cleopatra and Octavian home as tiny little kittens from an abandoned litter. Within a few hours all three of them had been right at home sleeping on Max’s broad, fluffy back in front of the fire.
And now, Max, far from his usual wary habits when dealing with new people, was trotting forward and pressing his nose into this – okay, extremely hot – guy’s face, sniffing in concern.
A moment later, he looked back at her and whimpered again.
He wants me to help.
She understood it in an instant. Max was worried about this stranger who’d apparently crash-landed through the roof of her shed, three days before Christmas.
Maybe Santa’s been working out, Emilia thought, shaking her head. Or maybe I’m going nuts after all.
Whatever the case, she couldn’t just leave the guy here. That much was certain. He probably had hypothermia – he needed to be warmed up, right away. And much more importantly, he couldn’t be allowed to sleep.
Pressing her lips together, Emilia began unzipping her jacket.
You better appreciate this, buddy, because I do not like the cold.
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