“Maybe that’s what makes it more appealing,” I reply, a playful wink accompanying my words.
“With all the noise and hustle of Christmas, it’s like the world hit pause here,” he adds.
I step toward the French doors that, in summer, lead to a deck overlooking the golf course. Flicking on the light, I’m met with a blanket of falling snow, each flake illuminated like a tiny diamond. I hug myself, savoring the view. Despite the cold, despite the storm outside, there’s a warmth in having this entire place alone with Penn. “Cozy,” I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest. “But I’m worried about getting back.”
He steps behind me, sliding his arms around mine and warming them with a slow, gentle motion. “How often does the plow get out this way in winter?”
“I don’t know. Probably not often since the club’s usually closed.”
“Shit.”
“I need to get back. I have to be there for tonight’s festivities. How would it look if the event’s director didn’t even show up?”
“With this kind of snow, Jay… I’m guessing tonight’s events are already canceled.”
I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping to call home, only to find no service. “Great. Do you think there’s a landline somewhere around here?”
“Probably,” he replies, eyes scanning the room.
“Let’s keep looking.”
We find a narrow set of stairs and begin our descent. The air grows colder with each step, and the dim light does little to push back the unease curling in my stomach.
“You okay?” Penn asks, his voice low and steady behind me.
A nervous chuckle escapes. “Have you… ever seen the movie The Shining?”
“Jesus… why did you have to bring that up?” he groans, though I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I practically squeal, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and find a heavy door. Penn steps ahead, testing it. “Not locked.” He pushes it open, and I instinctively grab the back of his jacket, clinging like a lifeline.
“Did you hear that?” I tilt my head, straining to locate the faint, squeaking sound again.
“If you heard someone pounding on a typewriter… or see those twins… I’m fucking out of here,” he warns.
I chuckle, covering my mouth. “No, it wasn’t that. Just… squeaking.”
“Probably mice,” he mutters, eyes scanning the dim corners.
I shiver and press closer to him. “Great. Now I wish it was a typewriter.”
Penn flicks the light on. The fluorescent bulbs hum to life overhead, casting a harsh, pale glow over the rows of cardboard boxes stacked along the walls. The air smells of mothballs and peppermint, with a side of industrial cleaner that makes my nose wrinkle.
“This could take all night,” Penn says, surveying the space.
“Actually, we might have all night,” I admit. “If that snow keeps up…”
He shivers. “I am not spending all night in this creepy basement.”
I pull out my phone, checking for a signal. “Do you think we should find a phone first?”
“Let’s just do a quick sweep of the boxes first. Look for labels,” he suggests.
I step forward… and something whacks me square in the face. I scream, flailing like a ninja warrior.
“It’s okay,” Penn murmurs, gently pulling the offending strand from my hair.