Deep Chill

Chapter Two - Stars, Hide Your Fires

Author's note: thanks for the interest so far! Please, keep it up and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!

"Your sister," pronounced Isabella, collapsing onto a chair, "has a date." She dropped her groceries on the floor beside her. She didn't take off her coat or scarf.

"What?" said Isaac. He seemed not to have moved since she went off grocery shopping. Now, he sat up. "With who? Jesus, you're alone for two hours and you become someone else. Well, who is he?"

"John Steele," said Isabella. They'd agreed to meet at his cottage - by some coincidence, only half an hour down the highway - to exchange tips and tricks.

"Seriously?" said Isaac. Isabella realized, for the first time in a very long time, that she had managed to astonish him. It wasn't flattering, when she thought about it. "Seriously? How the hell did that happen?"

"I dumped fifty boxes of cereal on him," Isabella explained.

"Wait, what?" Isaac didn't sound any less confused. Isabella chose not to enlighten him.

"Oh, before you think your sister is punching that far above her weight, it's not actually a date," said Isabella. She rolled her eyes when Isaac looked doubtful. "He and I are going to get together and try to get past our writer's block. As colleagues in the trashy novel business. I'm going to give him some pointers, he's going to give me some pointers."

Now she got up and deposited her coat and scarf on the hook. As Isaac spoke, she hauled the groceries over to the kitchen - on the other side of the living room - and began putting them away.

"Pointers? Yeah, he's going to give you some pointers. Maybe just one, and hopefully it won't be that pointy, but it'll be hard and you're going to ride-" he began.

"God, you're gross. Want to stop being disgusting and start helping me unpack?" she asked.

"I prefer to be disgusting," said Isaac, affecting a lofty air. "So when is this non-date?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," said Isabella. She looked up at Isaac over a cereal box. "I got your beer, by the way. So mind helping me unpack it?"

Isaac ignored her. "You need me to leave? Because there's no where to go in this house. I could go into my bedroom-"

"You mean the guest room you've moved yourself into?" muttered Isabella, shoving her ingrate brother's beer into the fridge. She muttered it quietly because even though she knew Isaac was aware she was joking, she wouldn't want him to be offended.

"But that's in the basement, and I can hear anything that goes on up here. This place is pretty small," he went on. He stretched and then watched her.

"Pretty small and pretty damn expensive," Isabella commented. Her cottage had cost her a pretty penny, and though small, was beautiful. "Though very nice. But no, that's not necessary. Do whatever you want here. You can even have the car, as long as you drop me off. I'm going over to his place."

Isaac chuckled. He chuckled some more. When the laughter got maniacal, Isabella stopped him.

"You sound like a fucking creep. Why are you laughing?" she demanded. She crossed her arms and kicked the fridge closed. Going over to the fireplace, she settled down onto the rug and warmed her hands.

"Because this is so unlike you. Could you get my copy of Death in Winter signed?" he asked.

"You keep being like this and I am never getting anything signed," snapped Isabella. In a tone she knew Isaac would not take seriously, she went on. "Help me with groceries, and then I'll get your precious novel signed-"