Page 16 of Stuck with Me

I take a picture of the snowy street with a gazebo in the distance and send it to her. As I stroll down the snow-covered sidewalk, I spot a few people in the distance entering a small grocer’s and a hardware store. It’s becoming clearer to me that I may very well be eating Christmas dinner from a plastic grocery bag.

AMELIA

How is it that I’m stuck here where it’s eighty degrees and you’re over there in Stars Hollow where it’s snowing?

ME

It’s not as glamorous as you might think.

AMELIA

Well do you have Mom giving you the third degree on your love life? It’s Christmas for goodness sakes!

ME

No. But I do got a bitchy woman who’s riding me about my ties to a cabin I’ve never even been to.

I send that last text without proofreading it first and there’s a pinch of regret in my stomach. Because now all I can think about is Rosalie…riding me. My dick twitches and I groan and run my cold palm down my face.

AMELIA

So what’s stopping you?

ME

What do you mean?

AMELIA

Go to the cabin.

I stop walking as my mind processes Amelia’s words. And then I remember; I have the key to the cabin that was given to our family by my great aunt. I suppose I could go there. It’s not as if Rosalie and I have a written contract stating I can’t go to the cabin until the day after Christmas.

ME

That’s not a bad idea. And maybe the cabin has a working heater.

AMELIA

See. Problem solved!

Except what Amelia doesn’t realize, there’s a whole lot of fucking problems. Not only, how are we going to agree with what to do with the cabin, but also, I can’t seem to get my nemesis off my damn mind. I feel like a crazed, horny teenager when I think about that feisty smart-mouthed brunette.

Heading to the cabin a day early could be just what I need. A chance to check it out, explore the property, and see if I feel any kind of connection to the place like Granddad must have. Throwing away his inheritance and going against his parents’ wishes all for some woman makes no sense. I can only believe it’s the cabin and has nothing to do with Rosalie’s grandmother.

After I stock up on as many groceries as I can carry with two hands, I return to the hotel just after noon. There’s a sign on the front counter stating they’re closed for the remainder of the day to observe the Christmas holiday. I check my phone and am relieved the front desk manager at least left me a voicemail. Only after I listen to it, my short-lived relief turns to irritation. The maintenance worker won’t be here until this evening.

It isn’t until this moment that my idea to go to the cabin a day early solidifies. I’ll take my chances with the heat at the cabin. However, I have to overcome one more obstacle. Maple Ridge is too small to have a public transit system or any sort of ride-share program, and the closest car rental is at the Denver airport.

A quick Google search provides me with the Instagram handle: @DesignatedDean. When I bring up his account, it tells me he acts as Maple Ridge’s designated driver. His testimonies prove he has a ninety-nine percent rating and will drive someone as far as Denver, for the right price. While I’m not intoxicated, that detail could be remedied if this is my only option for a ride to the cabin.

There’s a link on his Instagram that brings up his phone number. Within seconds I have his voicemail.

“Shit,” I groan into the phone.

Doesn’t anyone in this god-forsaken town work on Christmas?

My phone rings in my hand and I nearly drop it before I can answer.

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