On second thought, the ankle-length duffle coat was probably the smarter choice.
Eva stopped before going out the cottage door, ran back to the closet in the pokey corridor, and exchanged the elegant Italian houndstooth coat she had originally wanted to wear for her bulky, lumpen tent of a duffle coat. It just might keep the chill from seeping into her bones and staying there all day.
Later, she would be grateful for the swap.
Christmas was months behind. It was March, and Lent term at Oxford University was well underway, but despite the daffodils that had been stubbornly popping up since mid-January, spring still felt theoretical.
Eva had never been so cold in her life. Michigan winters were brutal, yes, but houses there believed in insulation. England preferred character. The wind slid through ancient stone as if it were fabric, dragging in the damp where it settled inside her ribs. No amount of hot tea could make it budge.
She’d grown used to having a perpetual sniffle. She now selected outfits based on pocket access to keep tissues. Pausing mid-lecture to rummage through drawers felt like an admission of weakness, and if there was one thing she’d learned since arriving at Oxford in September, it was that weakness did not go unnoticed. Especially if you were foreign.
Speaking of which.
Her eyes rolled as her mind leapt to one man before she could stop it.
Matthew Hycross.
No one excelled at making her feel like an administrative afterthought quite like he did.
As her assigned departmental guide on her first day, he had completed the campus tour with visible reluctance and abandoned her before lunch under the pretense of a “prior engagement.” She had already caught the slightest of eye rolls when she’d asked about Tolkien’s time at the University. Apparently a question beneath him. After that, he hadn’t answered her following questions with any great depth or attention.
That evening, at the start-of-term drinks reception, she’d learned exactly where she stood.
“One of this year’s strategic pity hires,” he’d murmured to a science lecturer beside the wine table. “Lest we appear entirely allergic to provincial America.”
The woman had laughed.
Eva had kept her back turned, glass in hand, spine rigid. She’d felt the heat crawl up her neck.
She replayed the scene later, of course. There had been more after that — something about funding optics, about how the department couldn’t afford to look insular — but she’d already stopped listening. It clearly wasn’t flattering.
After that brilliant start, things only worsened.
Collaboration invitations quietly bypassed her. Shared projects became solo ventures — his. Her requests for his insights as a long-standing professor at Oxford were met with clipped, minimalist responses conveying just enough information to send her in the completely wrong direction.
It was efficient, the way he undermined her. Polite. Plausibly deniable. And always framed in the language of standards. Of precedent. Of “how we tend to do things here.” As though he were protecting something fragile and historic, and she was a variable he hadn’t agreed to introduce.
He regarded her, she was certain, as a blemish on an otherwise pristine academic lineage. Small-town Michigan. State school. Exchange lecturer. Temporary.
She told herself it didn’t matter. She had worked too hard to land here — however provisional the arrangement — to be wrecked by one Englishman’s cultivated disdain. A year as guest lecturer at one of the world’s most revered universities would speak louder than he ever could. She would take the credential and leave him to his tweed and inherited confidence.
Still.
The sound of Matthew’s voice — measured, elevated, infuriatingly precise — had a way of tightening something in her chest. Their rooms at the college were side-by-side. Avoidance was wishful thinking.
And, maddeningly, he had the audacity to look the way he did.
Tall. Lean. Always composed, as though aware he was being observed and permitting it. Sandy hair brushed neatly aside, except when the wind dishevelled it, or he ran his hands through it as was his tendency when deeply concentrating. An angular, almost severe face, undone by eyes far too expressive for someone so controlled.
The first time she saw him, her heart had fluttered.
It still did, occasionally.
Which made everything worse.
Lent term was moving quickly. Only a few months at Oxford remained. Eva could endure him for a few more months. She would not let him tarnish what was meant to be the launchpad of her career.
She hated herself a little for regretting she couldn't wear the sleek houndstooth coat. It was warmer (and wiser) to be above such things, but she liked looking attractive around Matthew. Today, though, warmth won.
An unseasonably aggressive weather pattern was in the forecast, bringing with it a freak snowstorm in March that could last for days. Temperatures already hovered at freezing and were expected to drop sharply in the next few hours. There was murmuring about a university closure, though the deans were hesitant to act prematurely. But England did have a flair for dramatics when snow was involved. A few flurries could empty lecture halls.
Even so, this forecast was serious. Eva’s Michigan instincts said so.
After reassuring Charlie — her colleague’s dog temporarily in her care — with a final scratch behind the ears, she stepped out into the garden. Fat flakes had begun drifting down, tentative but determined. She tightened the duffle coat’s hood and made her way to the small Fiat car her colleague had left for her use.
By the time she pulled into the university car park twenty minutes later, the snowfall had thickened. Cars wore a dusting like powdered sugar. She doubted she’d see a full class today. “Slippery stone steps” would be cited with great solemnity as an excuse for absences.
She’d just turned off the ignition when a vintage red Jaguar slid into a space a few cars down.
Great.
The familiar sinking sensation settled under her ribs. Even his car was smug.
She decided to wait him out. If she lingered a few minutes, Matthew could disappear into his rooms and she could shed the duffle coat in private dignity. No need to present herself as a migrating marshmallow first thing in the morning.
Three minutes passed.
He didn’t move.
She leaned forward slightly, attempting a discreet glance. He was looking directly at her. Piercing gaze, as always. She snapped back against the seat.
Fine. She would outlast him. He prized punctuality; he’d want time before his morning lecture. He couldn’t remain in the car indefinitely.
Four more minutes.
Still nothing.
“Sod it,” she muttered, privately delighted at her natural use of such an English phrase.
She stepped out, locked the Fiat, and immediately heard his door open in response. Typical.
For a second she considered diving back into the car under the pretense of a forgotten folder. Then she remembered she was thirty-four years old and thirty-four-year-olds did not hide from colleagues. However aesthetically inconvenient those colleagues might be.
Let him see the duffle coat. It wasn’t as though she’d ever meet his standards.
He, meanwhile, looked infuriatingly immaculate. Gray cashmere. Tailored wool. Clean lines. Effortless. Though his drawn-up shoulders suggested he might not be nearly as warm as she was. The wind caught the edge of his coat and he adjusted it quickly, jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into composure.
“Fool,” she murmured under her breath, and felt marginally better.
Much louder, and perfectly cool, she said, “Good morning,” as he approached.
Because he was approaching. Directly.
What on earth could this be about?
Chapter 2
“Humbridge wishes to see us both. Her office. Straightaway.”
Not even a “Good morning, Eva” in return. (Not that she had given him the warmest of greetings to begin with.) Eva was further peeved because this was exactly the sort of information Matthew used to gain the upper hand.
Having only just arrived, how did he already know that the Chair of the English Faculty wanted to see them and she didn’t? They were meant to be on equal footing, but Matthew had a way of making her feel like his position was superior to hers.
They were still facing each other.
“Fine,” Eva said, then she waited for him to lead.
She’d be damned to give him more opportunity to ogle her ridiculous winter coat from behind. Besides, this way she could smirk unseen at the pinkness of the back of his neck. He may look incredible, but the cold was certainly getting to him.
The wind had sharpened since morning. It chased them through the gates and along the old stone structures that never failed to catch Eva’s breath with their lauded magnificence. Snow skittered sideways across the quad. The sky was already dimming to a flat, metallic gray.
By the time they reached the Chair’s office, Eva’s ears were stinging.
Mercifully, the office was warm. There was a fire in a huge, inevitably antique mantelpiece — even the dust around here was antique — that let Eva slide out of her coat and bundle it in her arms, where it could stop inflicting fashion crimes on her appearance.
“Tea?” Humbridge asked by way of greeting. Always tea. The English answer to every situation.
Professor Humbridge, the Chair of the English Faculty, was elegance personified. In looks and mannerisms, she reminded Eva of Dame Helen Mirren. Today she wore an extremely well-tailored wool suit, a staple of her wardrobe, and the most refined snow boots Eva had ever seen. A nod to the weather. A practical one.
Once everyone was settled with steaming teacups atop dainty saucers, Humbridge got straight to it.
“I’m afraid we have a small matter that’s become rather less small overnight,” she said. “The Harrington Teaching Innovation Grant.”
Matthew’s head lifted sharply. Eva wasn’t familiar with the grant, but her interest sparked.
“The external deadline has been brought forward. Five pm tomorrow.”
“That’s… highly irregular,” Matthew said.
“Yes. Nonetheless.”
A pause. The wind rattled at the window behind Humbridge’s desk.
“If we fail to submit, the department forfeits the funding entirely. I needn’t say how disastrous those consequences would be.”
The words landed softly. The meaning did not.
“What’s more, the application strategy needs substantive revision,” Humbridge continued. “New emphasis on international pedagogy and cross-institutional relevance. I want the submission to reflect breadth. Not simply history.”
Matthew’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t aware a revised strategy was required at this stage.”
“That,” Humbridge replied, “is why I’m making you aware now.”
“I’ve cancelled all of your lectures today,” she added, glancing at them both. “You’ll need the time.”
Matthew went still. “You cancelled them.”
Eva kept her face neutral, though internally smiled with satisfaction at Matthew’s restrained but clear annoyance.
“I’d like the two of you to work together,” Humbridge said. “Professor Hycross, you know the institutional language the committee expects. Professor Harper” — her eyes moved to Eva — “you bring the external perspective they’re now asking for.”
Matthew’s gaze flicked to Eva. Assessing.
“I trust collaboration won’t be an issue.”
“Of course not,” Matthew said.
“No issue at all,” Eva echoed.
The wind hit the building harder this time. Even Humbridge glanced toward the pane.
By the time Eva and Matthew crossed the quad again, snow was falling in earnest. The cold had teeth now.
“This may become unpleasant,” Matthew said, eyes cast upwards, as though announcing a mild scheduling conflict.
“It already is,” Eva replied.
They chose to work in Matthew’s rooms for the simple matter of his fire having been lit already by a university scout. The air was warm but unsettled. The sky beyond the sash windows had turned the color of slate, the light waning too quickly for mid-morning.
They worked opposite each other at his long mahogany table. Laptops open. Printed drafts between them like contested territory.
“This framing is too broad,” Matthew said, referencing one of Eva’s paragraphs. “The committee will want specificity.”
“It’s a conceptual section,” Eva replied evenly. “They asked for vision.”
“Yes, but vision anchored in evidence.”
“That’s what the next section does.”
He exhaled through his nose. “It should do it sooner.”
First disagreement.
Begrudgingly, Eva adjusted the paragraph. Moved a sentence. Let it go.
The wind howled down the chimney, a low, uneven sound that made the fire shift.
Twenty minutes later —
“This case study isn’t aligned with the grant’s scope,” Matthew announced, breaking the silence between them.
“It demonstrates cross-institutional impact.”
“It’s anecdotal.”
“It’s human,” Eva countered. “Not everything has to read like a dissertation.”
He met her eyes. “This level of funding expects rigor.”
“And I’m not suggesting we abandon it.”
“It needs tightening.”
Second disagreement.
Eva cut several sentences from the case study. Didn’t look at Matthew while doing it.
A gust of wind struck the windows hard enough to make the glass tremble.
A knock at the door caused them both to glance up. The porter. The shoulders of his coat were white with snow. “University’s closing early,” he said. “Storm’s turning. Best be getting home while you can before the roads are impassable.”
“Thank you, Mullins. We’ll manage,” Matthew replied.
The porter hesitated, looked out the windows, then nodded and left.
Silence settled heavier than before.
“If you prefer to leave now, by all means —” Matthew started.
“I’m staying,” Eva said, cutting him off. There was no way she would relinquish her input in the application that easily. Not when Humbridge had finally given her a chance to make an impact on the department.
The light drained further. It felt closer to twilight than late afternoon.
Matthew was earnestly scrolling through the document they shared on both laptops. “The tone shifts here.”
“Because we’re talking about international integration instead of departmental history.”
“Yes, but it reads like two different authors.”
Eva stilled. “We are two different authors.”
Matthew’s jaw flexed. “I understand that you may not have as much experience with applications at this level —”
“That’s not fair,” Eva cut in, heat rising fast. “It’s not about experience. It’s about getting the job done. We don’t have time to polish every sentence until it gleams.”
“Submitting something substandard would reflect badly on the department.”
“Not submitting at all would be worse.”
He paused. Just long enough.
“I wouldn’t necessarily look at it that way.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” she said before she could stop herself.
His eyes sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means not all of us have the luxury of a privileged background that always gets us a free pass.”
The words hung there. Irrevocable.
The wind slammed against the chimney. The fire guttered low, then flared.
“That’s an unfair characterization,” he said, voice tight.
“Is it?”
His hands flattened on the table. “You think I haven’t worked for my position?”
“I think you’ve never had to prove you belong in the same way as I have.”
Color rose along his cheekbones. “You have no idea what I’ve had to prove.”
“And you have no idea what it’s like to walk into a room and have to justify your presence before you’ve even opened your mouth.”
The room felt smaller suddenly. The fire snapped once, sharp.
“I invited you onto this project,” he said.
“Humbridge did.”
“I supported it.”
“I didn’t realize I was meant to be grateful.”
His mouth opened. Closed.
Before Matthew could retaliate, the lights cut. The room dropped into darkness. Only the fire and his laptop screen threw thin, uneven light across his face, all angles and shadow. For a second, neither of them moved. Wind roared down the chimney. Something outside banged loose.
“We’ll get nowhere like this. I knew this was a mistake,” Matthew muttered.
“That makes two of us,” Eva shot back.
The temperature seemed to fall immediately, the absence of an electric hum making everything feel rawer. Quieter. Closer.
“There’s no point continuing here,” he said. “We’ll lose battery soon.”
“And your solution?” Eva’s voice sounded different in the dark. Thinner.
“We work separately. From home. We’ll each produce a full draft by the end of day, then I’ll consolidate tomorrow before submission.”
There it was.
Matthew’s maneuver to take control and push Eva out.
The firelight caught in his eyes as he waited for her to concede. Eva’s throat tightened. She swallowed, trying to ignore how difficult it was.
“Right. Of course.”
There was no point arguing now. They were under deadline, not only from the application, but from the blizzard as well. The last thing Eva wanted was to be stranded in a shutdown university overnight, especially if that meant she was stranded with Matthew.
He was already closing his laptop, the screen casting one last sterile glow on his face. Another violent gust hit the windows. The glass shuddered. Eva gathered her papers with more force than necessary, pages sliding unevenly in the low light.
They stepped into the corridor one after the other, the building dim and echoing.
Through the window, Eva could see the snow had thickened into something close to blinding. It drove sideways across the courtyard. The path they’d taken earlier was already half erased.
Eva stopped at her rooms long enough to check the windows were secure and grab a few books she might need to work from home. By the time she reached the car park, the wind was vicious, needling her cheeks, swallowing sound.
Matthew’s car was already gone.
Chapter 3
This weather was unlike anything Eva expected from England. Heavy rain, yes. Blinding snow? Most unusual.
Eva was grateful for her years of experience driving in Michigan winters. She’d need every ounce of skill she had navigating the roads in this little Fiat, which was never meant to drive in these conditions.
What’s more, because England so rarely got substantial snowfall, the roads hadn’t been salted or scraped. The councils didn’t even have the equipment. The roads were already covered with at least half a foot of snow, and it was only getting deeper by the minute.
Eva gripped the wheel and cursed her foolhardiness for staying so late at the university. They should’ve left as soon as Mullins had advised them to. But she had equated leaving before Matthew with forfeiting any notable contribution to the grant application. Now, where had that got her? Matthew likely taking over the project anyway, and Eva driving in far from safe conditions.
There was no other traffic on the road, but there were track marks Eva was following in the few feet visible in front of her. She’d been creeping along the main road for what felt like hours, but it had probably only been twenty minutes. In normal conditions, she’d only be on this road for about five minutes before reaching her exit (though they didn’t call it an exit in England), but she didn’t want to go any faster and risk losing control of the car.
Eva was relieved that she didn’t have much farther to go until she was home. She hoped Charlie was snuggled up in his dog bed, warm and asleep, and not worried that she hadn’t arrived yet. It was approaching his dinnertime; his tummy would be grumbling.
Eva peered a few feet ahead through the windshield and realized there were no more tracks. Only fresh, untouched snow. That’s odd. Then she noticed the tracks did continue, but not forward, and not cleanly. They zigzagged off to the side. Whatever car made those tracks wasn’t able to stay on the road.
She pulled a bit closer to where the tracks veered right and just made out a dark, indistinct shape off the side of the road, slanted precariously toward the ditch below. Definitely a car, and definitely stranded. The lights weren’t on. There was no exhaust. Hopefully whoever was inside had been rescued by a passerby and was sitting in a cozy home, sipping something warm.
Eva had nearly pulled parallel to the car when she heard the sounds she hadn’t been able to hear from farther away. The strained sputter of a struggling engine. Over and over, the driver was trying, but failing, to get the car to start. So there had been no rescue. Whoever was in the car was stuck inside.
There was no question in Eva’s mind that she’d have to help them. Who knew when — or even if — another vehicle would come along. They could be stuck there in the sub-zero cold for hours, possibly days.
Eva stopped her car in the road and put on the emergency lights. Surely if any other traffic came through, it would be going slow enough to see her lights before there was a collision. Anyway, she didn’t want to pull off the road in case she couldn’t get back on.
Eva got out of her car, her breath catching from the sharp bite of the cold, and walked to the driver’s side window of the stranded vehicle, which, even though she’d just exited from the same side of her car, she had to remind herself was on the right side, opposite of what she was used to back home. She was so focused on keeping her footing, she didn’t take in the familiar shape of the car as she drew closer.
All the windows were coated in snow, making it impossible to see inside. There was the sound of the engine desperately trying to rev once again. It fell ominously silent just as Eva reached the driver’s side. She tapped on the window.
There was a pause. Quite a long one.
Then the window lowered, slowly, as if the mechanism itself was reluctant. Snow collapsed in heavy clumps.
Eva’s heart dropped. She fought the urge to get back into her car and keep driving until she made it home. Her better nature kept her where she was. This person needed her help. Even if it was the last person she wanted to help. It was Matthew.
“I’m fine,” he preempted, before she could say anything. The words came measured, but tinnier than usual. “My car is just protesting the remarkable circumstances.”
His breath ghosted out in pale bursts between them. The interior of the car was visibly colder than it should have been. He had been stranded for some time.
“Sure thing,” Eva replied, and stayed at the window.
Jaguars clearly were not built for deep snow. But this was something Eva doubted would be helpful to point out right now.
Matthew twisted the key in the ignition again. His hand moved more slowly than was normal, deliberate in a way that wasn’t confidence but stiffness. The engine didn’t even attempt a protest this time. No sputter. No strain. Nothing.
He kept his hand there a moment longer, as if waiting for the car to reconsider.
“Sod it,” he said quietly. The slang landed flat, without Matthew’s usual refined polish.
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.
Eva took in the bright pink of his nose and ears and the worryingly blue cast of the tips of his fingers wrapped around the key. The color was wrong. His knuckles looked waxy. When he pulled his hand back, it moved stiffly, like it took effort to extend his fingers.
He rubbed his hands together, briskly, but there was no real friction. His breath came a little shallower now. Controlled. Too controlled.
“You’ve been here awhile,” Eva said before she could stop herself.
“I’m fine,” he replied. There was the slightest lag between her words and his answer, as if he had to sort through them.
He reached for the key again. Missed it the first time. Adjusted. His fingers didn’t quite close properly. He cleared his throat, and even that sounded slower, thickened by cold.
The wind howled across the open window, pushing snow against Eva’s coat collar. She felt it down the back of her neck.
She knew what she had to do, even if she really didn’t want to.
“Why don’t you come sit in my car where it’s warm,” Eva said, aiming for a pragmatic tone to disguise her reluctance. “We’ll ring a garage from there.”
Matthew kept his gaze forward at the snow-covered windshield. For a moment she thought he hadn't heard her.
“I’m perfectly capable of resolving this,” he said finally. The words were steady, but they came slowly, each one articulated with care. His jaw tightened again — whether from the cold or pride, she couldn’t tell.
Another gust of wind swept over the car. Matthew shivered. He’d tried to hide it, but Eva had seen it.
“You can resolve it from somewhere with heating,” she said. “You’re not proving anything by freezing to death.”
His fingers flexed against the steering wheel, and the movement looked painful. He studied them briefly, as if mildly surprised by their color and refusal to cooperate.
The silence stretched. Snow gathered along the doorframe between them. Then his shoulders dropped. Just a fraction.
“Thank you,” he said at last, and now his voice was quieter, stripped of its usual lecture-hall certainty. “I’d appreciate that.”
He paused before moving, as though bracing himself. When he pushed the door open, the motion was careful. He stepped out stiffly, locking the car behind him with deliberate precision.
“At least you’re dressed for the weather,” he added.
Eva blushed, embarrassed for him to remark on her ridiculous but sumptuously warm coat.
They hurried — well, Eva hurried; Matthew moved with extreme care — to her car. When he slid into the passenger seat and shut the door, the sound of it closing felt significant. Like that, the two of them were sequestered in a small cocoon, while the wintery world outside raged on. It was the closest physical proximity she’d ever had to Matthew in a private space. Eva felt immediately uncomfortable.
Within minutes, the heater began to do its work.
Eva watched with more relief than she was willing to acknowledge as color crept back into Matthew’s fingers. The blue receded first, then the white stiffness at the tips. He rubbed his hands again, and this time there was friction. He flexed them slowly, testing.
“Better?” she asked.
“Marginally,” he said, but his shoulders eased back against the seat. His breathing evened out.
She’d found him just in time. There was no telling what would have happened if she hadn’t come along when she had. Not that she expected he’d ever admit as much.
They each tried calling numerous garages in and around Oxford, but the cell service was patchy, and anytime they actually managed to ring through, the business was closed due to weather.
“How convenient,” Matthew muttered each time.
This couldn’t go on for much longer. The snow was rapidly deepening. Eva didn’t want to lose her chance to make it home herself. She could imagine few fates worse than being stranded in a car all night with Matthew — working heating or not.
A decision had to be made. He was growing more frantic waiting for Google pages to load as his hopes were gradually dashed that they’d locate a garage that was actually open. Eva knew she had to take the lead. She stifled a groan at what she was about to say next.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“The next village over.”
“That’s another… what… fifteen, twenty minutes away? In normal conditions. Let’s go to mine,” she said.
“No, I’m sure we’ll find a garage that’s operating.” There was alarm in his voice now. There was no doubt he was completely against the idea of accompanying Eva home.
“Even if we do find one,” she said firmly, “by the time they get here — assuming they can get here — the roads will be impassable. We’ll be stranded anyway. I’m not far once we’re off this main stretch. And anyway, I need to get home to Charlie. He’s waiting for me.”
“Oh,” Matthew responded quietly without asking who Charlie was.
The air had gone out of him. None of that quiet self-assuredness that he strutted around the university halls with was in him now. He stared morosely out the windshield through the wipers Eva had kept on to stop the snow building up. She could see him take in the reality and bleakness of the situation as resignation fell over his face.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, not looking at her. His voice was dripping with aversion.
“It’s a better option than taking our chances by waiting here,” she tried to say encouragingly, but she didn’t quite manage to hide the aversion from her voice either.
Eva turned the emergency lights off and started creeping forward again. She couldn’t believe the situation she’d gotten herself into. Insisting on taking Matthew Hycross home for the night.