They Share a Wall and Hatred for Each Other, Until the Snowstorm Traps Them and the CEO Reveals All
Shelter in the Storm
December in Portland meant rain, cold, and the occasional surprise weather event. The forecast had been calling for a major snowstorm for days, but Mara had not paid much attention. Snow rarely stuck in the city, usually melting within hours of falling.
But this storm was different. The meteorologists were calling it a once-in-a-decade event. It was a perfect combination of arctic air and moisture that would dump significant snow on the usually temperate city. Mara stopped at the grocery store after work on Wednesday.
She joined the crowds of people stocking up on essentials. She grabbed bread, milk, eggs, frozen pizzas, and plenty of coffee. The store was chaos, with everyone sharing the slightly panicked energy that came with unexpected weather in a city unprepared for it.
The snow started that night. Mara watched from her window as fat flakes fell steadily, accumulating on the streets below. By morning, there were at least eight inches, and it was still coming down. Her office sent an email saying they were closed.
The city basically shut down when this much snow fell, lacking the infrastructure to clear it quickly. Mara made coffee and settled on her couch with a book, enjoying the unexpected day off. The building was quiet.
Even James seemed to be sleeping in or working quietly for once. She let herself relax, watching the snow pile higher and higher outside. The power went out around noon. One moment Mara was reading; the next, she was in gray dimness.
She grabbed her phone to check the utility company’s website. There were outages throughout the city with no estimated restoration time. She bundled up in extra layers and tried to stay warm. The old building’s radiator heat required electricity to run.
It would get cold fast. She pulled out extra blankets and considered her options. The snow was still falling, now well over a foot deep. She was not going anywhere. A knock on her door surprised her.
She opened it to find James standing there, also dressed in multiple layers. He looked uncomfortable, his jaw tight.
“The power is out,” he said unnecessarily.
“I noticed.”
“You have a fireplace?” he gestured at her apartment.
“No. Do you?”
“Yes. It’s gas. Doesn’t need electricity.”
He shifted his weight, clearly struggling with something.
“Look, it’s going to get really cold. These old buildings lose heat fast. My place will stay warm. You should probably come over.”
Mara stared at him.
“You’re inviting me to your apartment?”
“I’m offering you a warm place to wait out the power outage. Don’t read into it.”
His tone was gruff, almost defensive.
“And this isn’t some kind of trick? You’re not going to lock me out on the fire escape or something?”
He actually looked offended.
“What kind of person do you think I am?”
“I think you’re the guy who has kept me awake for six months and couldn’t care less about it.”
“Well, I’m also the guy who doesn’t want his neighbor to freeze to death out of spite.”
He met her eyes.
“But if you’d rather stay here and be cold, that’s your choice. The offer stands for the next five minutes.”
Mara weighed her options: pride versus practicality, stubbornness versus survival. The temperature in her apartment was already dropping noticeably.
“Fine. Let me grab some things.”
She packed a small bag with her phone charger, a book, and a change of clothes. She felt ridiculous, like she was preparing for a sleepover with her mortal enemy. James was waiting in the hallway when she emerged.
He led the way into his apartment without a word. His place was the same layout as hers but felt completely different. Where her apartment was cozy and cluttered with plants, his was minimalist and masculine with dark furniture and clean lines.
The fireplace was in the living room, already crackling with flames. It was noticeably warmer than the hallway.
“You can sit anywhere,” James said, gesturing vaguely at the couch and armchairs. “I have food if you get hungry. Water, coffee, but that requires the camp stove.”
“You have a camp stove?”
“I have a lot of camping equipment. Insomnia gives you time to pursue hobbies.”
He said it flatly, moving to the kitchen area. Mara set her bag down and sat on the edge of the couch, feeling awkward. This was bizarre. She was in James Quinn’s apartment accepting hospitality after months of mutual hostility.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
He was doing something with a portable camping stove, not looking at her.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“You’ve never cared about doing the right thing before.”
“That’s not true.”
He struck a match and lit the stove.
“You’ve decided I don’t care about the right thing. There’s a difference. You keep me awake constantly.”
“I have trouble sleeping. I stay up. I try to keep the noise down, but I’m not going to sit in silence in my own home.”
He measured coffee grounds into a French press.
“You act like I’m throwing parties every night. I’m not. I’m usually working or trying to distract myself from my own head.”
There was something raw in his voice that made Mara pause.
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He poured water from a kettle over the stove.
“The point is, I’m not trying to ruin your life. I’m just trying to live mine, and sometimes those things are incompatible.”
They sat in silence while the coffee brewed. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the wind howling outside. The snow was falling so thick now that Mara could barely see the building across the street.
“This storm is really bad,” she said.
“Yeah, we might be stuck for a while.”
James poured two mugs of coffee and brought one to her.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
She took the mug, wrapping her hands around it for warmth.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and sat in the armchair across from her, cradling his own mug. The firelight cast shadows across his face, making him look older and more tired. There were dark circles under his eyes that she had not noticed before.
“How long have you had insomnia?” she asked, surprising herself.
He looked at her over the rim of his mug.
“A few years. It got worse about two years ago.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Multiple. I’ve tried everything: pills, therapy, meditation, exercise, sleep hygiene. Some things help a little. Nothing fixes it.”
He said it matter-of-factly, like he was discussing the weather.
“That sounds awful.”
“It is what it is.”
He took a long drink of his coffee.
“I’ve learned to function on very little sleep. That’s why I work odd hours. I handle things when I’m awake, whenever that is.”
Mara felt a small crack forming in her wall of resentment.
“I still wish you would be quieter sometimes.”
“I know, and I’m sorry that my existence inconveniences you.”
There was an edge to his voice now.
“But I’m doing the best I can with a difficult situation.”
“I never said your existence inconveniences me, just your noise.”
“Same thing from my perspective.”
They fell into silence again, sipping their coffee. The storm raged outside, and Mara found herself wondering how long they would be trapped together. The thought was unsettling.
“Why did you move into this building?” she asked, trying to fill the awkward quiet.
“It’s close to my office. The building has character. I like the old architecture.”
He glanced around his sparse apartment.
“I know it doesn’t look like I care about things like that, but I do.”
“You’re a CEO. Couldn’t you afford something nicer? Newer?”
“I could afford a lot of things. That doesn’t mean I want them.”
He set his mug down on the side table.
“I like older buildings. They have history and personality. New construction is all the same: sterile.”
“I design buildings,” Mara said. “I try to make sure they have personality.”
“Are you any good at it?”
The question caught her off guard.
“I’d like to think so. I haven’t had any major projects yet. Mostly residential stuff, some small commercial buildings, but I’m working my way up.”
“That’s the right way to do it. Build a foundation.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking at her with those unsettling gray eyes.
“What made you want to be an architect?”
“My dad was a carpenter. He used to take me to job sites when I was a kid. I loved watching buildings go up, seeing how everything fit together. I wanted to be the one designing those puzzles.”
She smiled at the memory.
“He passed away a few years ago, but I think he would be proud of where I am now.”
Something softened in James’s expression.
“I’m sure he would be. What about you? How does someone become a CEO of a hotel chain?”
“Hard work, lucky breaks, being in the right place at the right time.”
He picked up his coffee again.
“I started in hospitality management and worked my way up. When I saw an opportunity to start my own company, I took it. That was eight years ago. We’ve grown to fifteen properties now.”
“That’s impressive.”
“It’s exhausting,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But it’s mine. I built it. That matters.”
The afternoon stretched on. The power stayed out and the snow kept falling. Mara found herself actually talking to James. They discussed architecture and design, his hotels and her projects.
He was surprisingly knowledgeable about building aesthetics. She found herself engaged in a debate about the merits of modern versus traditional design.
“You can’t just strip everything down to glass and steel,” Mara argued. “You lose the warmth, the humanity.”
“But too much ornamentation becomes cluttered. Sometimes simplicity is more honest.”
James gestured as he spoke, animated in a way she had not seen before.
“Honest doesn’t have to mean cold.”
“I didn’t say cold; I said simple. There’s a difference.”
They went back and forth, neither willing to concede, but Mara realized she was enjoying herself. James was intelligent and articulate. When he was not being defensive, he was actually interesting to talk to.
As evening approached, James set up the camp stove again and made soup from cans in his pantry. They ate sitting by the fire, and Mara noticed how the flames reflected in his eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” James said after a long silence.
“Sure.”
“Why did you hate me on sight?”
“Before the noise issues, when we first passed in the hall, you looked at me like I was something you scraped off your shoe.”
Mara felt her face flush.
“I didn’t hate you on sight.”
“You did. I could feel it.”
She considered lying but decided against it.
“You barely looked at me. You were on your phone and your assistant was dealing with the movers, and you just walked past me like I was invisible. It felt dismissive.”
“I was on a business call—an important one. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
“Intent doesn’t always match impact.”
“Fair enough.”
He set his empty bowl aside.
“For what it’s worth, I did notice you. You were wearing paint-stained overalls and had your hair in a messy bun, and you looked annoyed. I thought you were pretty.”
The admission hung in the air between them. Mara did not know how to respond.
“You have a strange way of showing interest.”
“I wasn’t trying to show interest; I was trying to move into my apartment.”
He looked at her steadily.
“Then you knocked on my door at 6:00 in the morning furious, and I thought, ‘well, there goes any chance of being friendly neighbors’.”
“You were drilling into the wall!”
“I was hanging a shelf for my books—something I had been putting off for weeks because I kept thinking about not disturbing anyone.”
“But it was finally after 6:00, finally within the acceptable time, and I thought I could do it.”
He rubbed his face.
“Then you showed up angry and I got defensive. I’m not good with confrontation first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not good with being woken up by power tools.”
“I know. I get it now, but in the moment I just felt attacked for trying to exist in my own space.”
Mara absorbed this. She had been so caught up in her own perspective that she had not considered his.
“I could have been nicer about it.”
“We both could have handled things better.”
He met her eyes.
“I’m sorry for all of it. For the noise, for being dismissive, for not trying harder to be a decent neighbor.”
“I’m sorry too, for yelling at you. For assuming the worst about you.”
She paused.
“You’re not as terrible as I thought you were.”
He laughed, a real laugh that transformed his whole face.
“Highest praise I’ve gotten in months.”
They smiled at each other, and something shifted in the room. The hostility that had defined their relationship began to dissolve, replaced by something warm and promising.
Night fell and the temperature outside dropped dramatically. Even with the fireplace, the apartment was only warm immediately around it. James brought out extra blankets and pillows, setting up the couch for Mara.
“You should take the bedroom,” she protested.
“The living room is warmer because of the fireplace. You’ll be more comfortable out here.”
He was already arranging the blankets.
“I’ll be fine in my room.”
“James, this is your apartment. I’m the intruder here.”
“You’re my guest, and I’m not going to let you freeze because of misplaced chivalry.”
He straightened and looked at her.
“Please just let me do this.”
There was something in his voice that made her relent.
“Okay, thank you.”
He nodded and disappeared into his bedroom, returning with more blankets.
“If you get cold during the night, knock on my door. We can both sleep out here by the fire if we need to.”
“That sounds cozy,” Mara said, then immediately felt awkward. “I mean practical. Practical, not cozy. Right? Practical.”
But he was almost grinning, and Mara felt her stomach flutter in a way that was absolutely not appropriate given that she had hated this man 24 hours ago. She changed in the bathroom and settled on the couch.
