Page 4 of Curvy Cabin Fever
I nod and move to the stairway, bracing myself for Storm Damien.
I clearly have a thing for alpha men.
3
ARIA
Fleetwood Mac’s playing on the radio, and I can’t help singing along, fingers drumming the wheel. I swing the car into a parking space outside a little coffee shop.
Three long hours of driving without a single stop is enough to have me running for the bathroom, but I have to get out of the car first. I slide my seat back and groan as my legs stretch, then open the car door. Icy air greets me, and I reach for my puffy jacket before stepping outside.
“Wow,” I mumble, looking around me. I’m parked on a street lined with rustic buildings, all wooden exteriors and large glass windows exposing warm, inviting interiors. I pull my jacket on and move toward the coffee shop; my bladder is fit to burst. A hand-painted sign boasts about cinnamon lattes, and my stomach growls.
I could do with a fat cinnamon swirl or something similar.
I’m starving!
But first, I need the bathroom.
The scent hits me the second I walk in—warm cinnamon, vanilla, and fresh bread—and it nearly sends me sprinting for the glass display packed with cakes and pastries. Behind thecounter, a young woman looks up and greets me with a big, cheerful smile.
“Hi!” I say, glancing around. “Could you tell me where the restroom is, please?”
The barista—petite, with a messy bun of copper curls—points across the room, where I spot a hand-painted wooden sign that readsRestroomsin looping script.
I dart over, shooting her a grateful smile as I do. A few minutes later, I make my way over to the counter, my eyes drinking in the display of pastry heaven before the woman greets me again.
“Just visiting?” she asks, watching me with interest. There’s only one other person here, and she’s lost in a book, a steaming cup of coffee before her.
Another independent woman living her best life. I grin, knowing I made the right choice to get away.
“Yeah,” I reply, pausing to point at a raspberry croissant. “I’ll have two of those, please. Oh, and a cinnamon latte.”
I need all the sugar I can get. I had cereal back home, but then I slept for most of the flight and only had a candy bar to keep me going for the drive. A girl needs to eat.
“Sure!” The woman gets to work on my coffee and waves me to a table. “Pay after, if you like. You might want more!”
Gazing at the endless display of pastries and cakes, I can’t help but agree with her.
“Probably,” I laugh, turning to choose a seat. I opt for one by the window, and the woman brings my croissants and coffee over with a big smile and places them on the table.
“Are you staying locally?” she inquires, leaning on the chair opposite me. I sink my teeth into the croissant and groan when the berry explosion parties in my mouth, my eyes rolling. “Good, right?” She laughs, and I nod.
“Sorry, it’s been a long journey. And yes, I’m staying at a cabin in the mountains.”
The woman tilts her head with interest. “Oh yeah? Which one?”
Small town, Aria, I remind myself.They’re interested, that is all.
“Um,” I mumble through my croissant, but I can’t stop shoving it in my mouth. I’msohungry.
“I’ll let you eat. I’ll come over when you’re done.” The woman, whose name tag tells me she’s called Trish, winks and walks away.
I relax into my chair and devour both croissants before she reappears, her smile bright.
“Do you want anything else?”
I shake my head.“No, thanks. They were beautiful, though.”
