Vacant Heart

Chapter Eleven

"I can't feel my legs."

My breath swirls in front of my face at the gasp. We're on a downhill slope, which he said makes it easier to plow through the snow. However, I'm finding it considerably difficult as is. I'd hate to see what is harder than this. I grind my shovel into the snow, using the tip of my boot to gather a good amount into the spear.

Aidan, who clearly is used to this tireless task, smiles at me a further way down, his cheeks and nose red from the frigid temperatures. We're surrounded by barren trees with trunks the width of cars and branches wild and long enough to entangle into the adjoining wildlife. The further we move down the mountain, the more pine trees begin to scatter.

"I can see the smoke through the tree line. We're nearly there."

"Good," I say, teeth chattering. I grunt, flinging the pile of snow into the nearest area. Aidan appears at my side, startling me. His hand is extended, a sweet, apologetic whisper of a smile across his lips.

"I can finish the rest, Josephine."

While part of me has yearned for the past hour we've been headed down this path for it to be over, my competitive nature instantly takes over at his suggestion. I gape at him, almost offended. "No. No way."

"You're not used to this. There's nothing wrong with—"

"I am not a quitter," I say stubbornly, digging again with more vigor. I hear him chuckle as he follows me.

"So, you'd rather your fingers fall off than stop?"

"You're not even human." I turn back, gesturing to his fingers wrapped around his shovel, which are bare, subject to the harsh elements. "I mean, how the hell haven't you gotten frostbite?"

"I'm being a gentleman, well, trying to be," he laughs, walking past me. The one's on my hands are large and tend to slip. I realize I'm wearing his. He watches as I stick my chin out stubbornly with a twisted smile, peeling the fabric off my hands. His eyes widen.

"Oh, come on. You can't be that stubborn, can you?"

"I will shovel the rest of this pathway and you will stand behind me," I challenge him, sticking the gloves into his hand. He gapes, and laughs, louder than I expect him to.

"Not everything's a competition, Josephine. We're not in the city."

"Just watch," I say, even though my breath is coming in gasps, and my fingers feel frozen to the rod of the shovel.

"Oh, I will," he replies, smugly. I turn back, and he holds my gaze just as stubbornly as he puts on the gloves. His returning smile is wicked. I dedicate myself to the task at hand, not surprised that his watchful gaze speeds along my determination.

I like how long he lets me do it on my own. And I like how he doesn't comment on when I need to take a break or how noisy my gulps of air become when we've inched a few feet forward.

I like that when he tells me to stop, he does it silently, scooping me up into his arms. He deposits me onto my feet behind him, and then continues shoveling. He doesn't boast or challenge me further. When the cottage is in sight, he sticks his shovel into the ground, and turns to me.

I'm sure I'm pale as a ghost, and shivering as if I hadn't grown up in the north my entire life. I blink at him as he exhales, his boots crunching through the snow as he makes his way to where I am. My eyes slowly drift up to his eyes the closer he gets. He's right in my face within seconds, and stunning me, he grabs ahold of both my hands, and lifts them. Clasped together, he holds them to his mouth, and blows on them gently.