Page 1 of A Pack of Cozy

Calliope

Snowdancesplayfullyagainstthe expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lakeside Point Public Library. Through the swirling snowflakes, I can just glimpse the warm glow of the Lakeside Point Lighthouse. Its beam cutting through the darkness, guiding the Lake Michigan freighters drifting in the night.

I switch off the lights. Should I close the Library tomorrow? Is it a safety hazard? I'd contacted the board half an hour ago, and was nearly laughed off the line. Closing for near-apocalyptic snow is not an option in the Leelanau Peninsula of northern Michigan. I was assured we'd be closed from October to May if the Library was closed for snow.

"May? There's snow in May?" I'd asked.

"Sometimes," was the reply, and the line went dead.

When I'd taken this job, I hadn't considered the snow, the severely understaffed library, or the long drive to the grocery store in the next large town over. All I'd been focused on was escaping my old life. Lakeside Point was my first job offer.

Trying to cover myself and my items from the snow, get to my car quickly, and not fall on my ass is a struggle that makes me seriously reconsider every decision that led me here. I bundle in and immediately turn on the car, cranking up the heat. I'm halfway through town before any actual warmth starts pouring out.

The town is charming, with adorable houses turned shops lining the streets on both sides. Delicate white string lights crisscross from lamppost to lamppost, twinkling softly.

As I drive to the end of the street, the view opens to a beach, where the icy waters are obscured by the pelting snow. I take a left off Main Street, and the first stretch is paved, but then the car jumps, and I know I've left the warm embrace of downtown for the more rugged parts of the Peninsula. Houses just off the main thoroughfare soon get lost in trees as the community blends into the forest. I only know there's a house at all because of the signs at the end of the drives.

The dirt road gets rougher and a thick layer of snow covers everything. I feel nothing but jumping and jostling. Keeping myself from smacking my face against my car window is a chore. Then the jumping stops, and so does the car. I press the gas pedal. The wheels turn. I can feel them turn. But the car stays firmly in place.

"No," I beg as I hit the gas again. Nothing.

I take a deep breath, trying to cling to the warmth of the car for just a moment longer. But the second I open the door, the icy air blasts in, whipping away every bit of heat. I'm tempted to slam the door shut, but the thought of freezing to death in a car isn't exactly appealing. So, with a heavy sigh, I step into the snow, which is already up to my ankles, and trudge around to the back of the car.

The tires have sunk deeply into the snow, which has compacted into ice. I can't figure out how to get the car out without digging or pushing while revving the engine. Unfortunately, I don't have a shovel in my car, and pushing and driving simultaneously isn't possible.

Can I dig with my hands? I don't even have any gloves in the car. I curse my total unpreparedness. If I walk back to town, will anyone be around to help me? I hadn't seen a single light on in any of the storefronts. Where is the nearest house? Had I seen a drive back up through the trees? I have no idea. I've only been in town for a week, and I'd spent three days unpacking in my new rental home and four working at the Library.

I pull out my cell phone, but there's no reception. The Peninsula only has spotty service, and I feel increasingly isolated. The WiFi at the local café is the only guaranteed connection in town, but it feels miles away in this wilderness. Just as I gather the courage to start walking back, a set of headlights suddenly cuts through the dark, twisting around the bend in the road. I press myself against the side of my car, my heart racing, feeling an unsettling mix of relief and anxiousness. Is this how serial killers got their victims? If this was a movie or a horror novel, it definitely would be. Maybe killers spend all day waiting for cars to break down in the forest.

The car stops just behind mine, and the door swings open. I squint into the blinding headlights, trying to see who it is. A tall man with tousled hair steps out from the car and approaches. As he gets closer, the warm glow inside my car lights up his features.

Snow sticks in his fiery hair. He has a sharp jawline and green eyes that nearly glow in the light from the interior of my car. A long winter coat hides his body, but I see broad shoulders. I can tell he's an alpha just from his size, even though I can't scent him. The extreme cold cuts off our scents, but all alphas are generally around six feet tall or more. He can't scent me either in this cold, but based on my shorter stature at five-two, he knows I'm either a beta or an omega. He probably won't ask. Asking someone's status outright is considered rude in personal settings. That doesn't mean it isn't a question on every job application I fill out. Thankfully, Lakeside Point is considered an inclusive community. They have one of the highest rates of omega employment in Michigan.

The alpha's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Hey! Are you ok?"

He doesn't look like a serial killer.

"I think I'm stuck," I admit.

"Yeah, these roads suck, hang on." He moves around to the back of his car and returns with a shovel. Some of my wariness of him must show on my face because he carefully scoots around on the opposite side of my car from me and begins digging out the front tires. I don't know what to do with myself. I should help, but short of scooping snow out with my bare hands, I can't.

"Are you new around here?" he asks.

"Yeah, how can you tell?"

"This time of year, locals never go anywhere without a shovel and some cat litter," he says.

I scrunch up my face.

"Cat litter?" He finishes with the tires and goes to his car's trunk. Sure enough, he returns with a medium-sized bag of cat litter. He pours the stuff in front of all four tires.

"It creates better traction," He explains. "If you want to get in the car, you can ease the tires, and I'll push from back here."

It only takes a few minutes, and the car comes right out.

"Thank you so much!" I step out of the car to smile at him.

"I'm Connor," he says. His smile is a crooked thing of beauty, almost shy.

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