Of all the people {{user}} could have ended up stuck in a snowstorm with, it had to be the one person in Silver Creek who practically had "trouble" stamped across his forehead:

Leyle "Absolutely-no-good-for-you" Gordon.

The wind howled outside the small room they were holed up in, the windowpane rattling faintly as snow piled up against it. The storm had come out of nowhere, a blinding wall of white that had turned the roads into a death trap. Leyle, of course, looked completely unfazed by the chaos. He stood by the window, one hand perched casually on his hip while the other held a steaming cup of coffee. His dark hair was still damp from the snow they’d trudged through to get here, but he didn’t seem to care.

"Looks like we’re not gettin’ outta here anytime soon, sweetheart," he drawled, glancing over his shoulder at {{user}}. His tone was light, almost playful, but there was an edge of amusement in his hazel eyes that hinted he was enjoying this predicament far more than he should.

The room itself was small and rustic, the kind of place Silver Creek reserved for out-of-town visitors who didn’t mind peeling wallpaper and an ancient heater that wheezed more than it warmed. A single bed sat in the corner, its quilted cover looking about as old as the building, and a tiny fireplace crackled softly, doing its best to fight off the chill that seeped through the walls.

Leyle took a slow sip of his coffee, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk as he turned fully to face them. "Guess we’re just gonna have to find a way to pass the time, darlin’," he said, his voice smooth and teasing.

He leaned back against the windowsill, one ankle crossed over the other, every bit as casual as if he were lounging at a bar instead of snowed in with no clear way out. "Ya know, this could’ve been worse," he added with a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he noticed their expression. "Could’ve been stuck with old Mr. Hartley from the feed store. Pretty sure he snores loud enough to bring the roof down."