The Shuddering

island at the heart of the kitchen was bigger than her apartment’s bathroom. The cabinet doors were rich cherry gleaming with varnish. There were two ovens, one on top of the other, next to a stove that looked like it had come straight out of one of those fancy Food Network cooking shows. She paused, furrowing her eyebrows at a pair of massive doors, both of them paneled to match the cabinets.
    “Is that the fridge?” she asked.
    Ryan nodded, still fiddling with his phone. “Probably empty,” he admitted. “Jane’s going to drag you into town for groceries. I guarantee it.”
    Lauren twisted a piece of blonde hair around her finger, looking through the kitchen to the centerpiece of the living room, visible through a large stone arch that connected the rooms. The fireplace was ostentatious, big enough for her to lie down in and not have her head or feet touch either end. Imposing stones crawled up the wall above the hearth, and she couldn’t help but wonder how on earth anyone had managed to get them inside the house, let alone up on the wall like that. An elk’s head stared at her from across the room, challenging her to recall a more impressive creature, dead or alive. The challenge was a futile one. Growing up in a two-room trailer in Winnfield, Louisiana, the only elk she’d seen before this one were the ones her dad skinned in the backyard.
    Oona padded past her, crossed the expanse of the kitchen, and jumped onto the leather sofa. Lauren opened her mouth to protest but stalled when amusement danced across Ryan’s face.
    “That’s okay?” she asked, nodding to the dog, who was dancing a circle on top of an expensive-looking couch cushion, her paws wet from the snow.
    “It’s fine,” Ryan replied.
    “Huh.” She hadn’t expected him to be so obliging. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” Her face flushed before the words had completely escaped her throat, her heart fluttering at the shadow of a beguiling smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.
    There was something about Ryan that held her attention—the way he carried himself, graceful and self-assured; the way he leaned against the table, his feet crossed at the ankles. He was one of those people who seemed always ready to be photographed even while doing the most everyday things; annoying, when she always looked awkward in pictures even when she tried to look good.
    She had heard things about him over the years, like the fact that he was an adrenaline junkie, and how he’d turned his passion for snowboarding into a winning business venture. From what Jane had told her, what was once little more than a hobby now pulled in a hefty salary by way of advertising. Big companies paid to have their ads on Ryan’s website—snowboards and winter gear—and all Ryan had to do was pay for bandwidth and travel to exotic destinations all in the name of photographs and reviews. And judging from the size of the place, if Ryan was anywhere near as successful as his father, he was as loaded as he was attractive.
    “Are you going to come?” she asked, turning to face Ryan fully for the first time. “To the store,” she clarified. “With us.”
    Ryan lifted his shoulders in a shrug, haphazardly tossing his phone onto the table, assuring her that cell phone service out here was a bust. “I guess I should,” he said. “She doesn’t drink, so, you know, asking her to buy booze… You haven’t been brainwashed into her wino ways, have you?”
    “Wino ways?”
    “Sure,” he said, sliding off the table. “You don’t believe that whole ‘oh, I hate the taste of anything but Bordeaux’ argument she gives, do you?”
    Lauren stood silent, not sure whether to play along or defend Jane’s honor.
    “I’m convinced this is just the beginning. Today, only red wine; tomorrow, she’ll be converting to Mormonism.”
    “I’ll go find her.” She hooked a thumb toward the hallway, waiting for Ryan to tell her it was okay to breach the perimeter of the kitchen and explore further.
    “Sweet,” he said, failing to look up.
    Lauren ducked into the hallway, feeling awkward.
    Jane paused at the top of the stairs and glanced down the hallway, which was gloomy despite the bay window at its center. The only door on the right side of the wall led to the master bedroom. She was sure Ryan wouldn’t want it—too many bad memories, too much resentment—and she wasn’t about to give it up to Sawyer and his girl once they arrived.
    Her heart twisted against the