Sunday Six

“I’m sorry for imposing on you like this,” he said, pushing his scarf down to reveal dark stubble and a surprisingly pretty mouth. His voice was quiet and harsh, as if he hadn’t used it much, and no doubt he hadn’t, if he was travelling alone in the middle of winter. But the accent wasn’t what Clint had expected at all, not just eastern but definitely New York. “But the storm came up sudden, and I got no idea where the nearest town is.”

“You won’t make it in this storm,” said Clint. “Stay until it blows over, it’s no trouble.”