Page 9 of Say It Isn't Snow
Although, the only person who spent the rest of that trip by my side to make sure I didn’t scratch myself and helped me put on the ointment wasn’t my best friend…it was her older brother.
I pick up a framed photo of Caleb from a mantel hung above the wood stove, tracing his charismatic smile with my thumb. The sharp cut of his jaw has always been a contrast to his easygoing nature. Thick brown hair flops across his forehead and his green eyes strike a pang in my heart.
If I close my eyes, I can still easily picture his rich laughter. My teeth catch my lip as the memory shifts to sneaking out in his truck and the feeling of that laughter warm against my throat before he trailed kisses along my skin.
I had always nursed a hopeless crush on him. Until one summer of flirting led to us crashing together passionately in secret, sneaking around late at night without telling anyone,swept up in the thrill of not getting caught together by Layla. Every fiery, perfect stolen moment lives vividly in my mind to this day.
He’s not supposed to mean anything to me now.
It was an off-limits fling when we were young and impulsive, nothing more…no matter how much it stings to remind myself whenever I recall how much I liked his touch.
The frame clatters when I put it back on the shelf. My cheeks flush and I hurry back out into the chilly mountain air like my ass is on fire.
While I wait for Layla, I haul my bags inside along with the groceries I picked up. It begins to snow, light flurries at first that quickly turn to thick clumps that stick to my hair and clothes before I’m done. My UGGs will need to dry by the fire after getting so wet.
I’m slightly out of breath by the time I get the third one in. It’s full of baking supplies because I thought I might bake for myself for once—something I haven’t done in ages.
Perching on top of the suitcase, I survey what I brought. I might’ve overpacked out of eagerness for my first true vacation in—god, I’m not even sure how long.
“First things first…” Before I get too comfortable, I rise and prop my hands on my hips.
Where did Layla say the water main was again? I read through the steps she sent from her dad to open the cabin for use, and circle the outside twice before I find the part I’m supposed to turn on to connect the water supply line. With the steady snowfall, it’s easy to miss. Mr. Adler’s process sounds easy enough to handle on my own. I’ll have this place ready to go in no time.
Just to be sure I know what I’m doing, I decide to search online for a video to walk me through it.
As I open my web browser, an alert banner with hockey news pops up. I flick it away with an annoyed huff without reading it. I set it up for updates about Caleb because I’ve followed his career. Maybe it’s silly of me. Unfortunately, some part of me has always been unable to ignore him. I’m not in the mood to think about him for once.
I find a video with great visuals and figure out what to do. The buzz of success warms me from the inside. Thank you for always being my teacher in everything, internet.
The wood stockpiled in an open shed at the side of the cabin has enough stored for the weekend. Layla mentioned her dad wants us to chop more if we have the time to keep the supply replenished.
I eye the axe hanging from a hook curiously. I’ve never tried it, but it could be fun. The idea of swinging a sharp object around and splitting wood might be therapeutic. Throw in a little screaming and it sounds like a party. Until the nearest neighbor thinks I’m being murdered by a wild animal.
Grinning to myself, I grab an armful of wood and I head back inside to start a fire and warm up. The dampness in my soft woolen boots is seeping through to my socks, and I need to get them off before I have a sensory meltdown.
Several attempts later, I’m struggling and getting nowhere.
I thought starting the wood stove would be the easy part. I’m a baker, I deal with heat all the time. Yet all the kindling I try snuffs out before the logs catch fire. The best I manage is making them smoke.
“Okay, why can’t I get this?” I fold my arms and frown at the ancient cast iron fireplace, parking my butt on the floor to think.
It always seemed easy when Layla’s parents or brothers got a fire going. So what am I doing wrong?
When in doubt, to the web. I won’t fail.
I’m going to conquer this and stoke a fire so cozy I doze off reading because I’ll be too damn comfy.
Pursing my lips, I give a sharp nod of determination. I’m resourceful. There’s nothing I can’t figure out on my own when I put my mind to it.
My brows knit in confusion when my search takes forever. I realize why once I see the error symbol in the top corner of my phone screen. The cell service is much spottier than it was when I arrived. I can’t get the internet to load at all.
“Oh, really?” I groan. “Why now?”
I scramble to my feet to see if I can find a signal, only to slump face first over the arm of the couch in defeat. It’s time to regroup and make a yummy snack so I can think better. At least using the oven will provide some warmth in the chilled cabin.
I change out of my jeans and pull on some extra layers, shrugging into a chunky knit cardigan with fuzzy pastel baubles. While I’m unpacking my baking supplies on the kitchen counter, I peer out the window.
It’s snowing even harder than it was before, and visibility is dwindling with the fading light. I grab my phone and call Layla to check in with her when I have bars in that spot.
