“What is wrong with you? What possessed you to travel on such a night?” “Wanted to see you, love. The roads are in a state, let me tell you.” His voice sounded ragged and his face was red with cold. He didn’t even have a muffler, the idiot. She wanted to kiss him—she wanted to check him for frostbite—she wanted to yell at him for traveling in dangerous weather and for all the other risks he had ever taken in his life. “Get in the kitchen so I can pour some brandy down your throat and then slap you.” “Promises.”
