Page 61 of Flare Up
Grant’s smug grin made her want to kick him under the table. “Mom has good gear. You’ll be plenty warm enough.”
“You can take our two-up,” his dad added. “Just had her tuned up and the belt changed and she’s running great.”
Wren had no idea what any of that meant, other than the Cutter family was unanimous in their desire to get her on a machine that offered no protection from the below-freezing temperature. Maybe it was some kind of twisted payback.
When Grant’s foot nudged her ankle, she looked over at him. “I really think you’ll enjoy it.”
The way he said it—and the sincerity in his expression—made it plain it wasn’t a twisted revenge plot. He knew her and he honestly believed she would have a good time. And she knew him, so she knew if she didn’t like it, he’d turn around and find something else for them to do.
“It seems like a good day to try something new, I guess,” she said.
And that’s how, an hour after they finished eating, Wren found herself swallowed up by outdoor gear. She felt like a toddler who’d been bundled up to build snowmen and she was thankful she’d gone to pee before Grant started layering her up. First she was sent to put borrowed wool base layers under her clothes, along with wool socks because her cotton blend ones were a serious no-no. Then bibs, which reminded her of the snow pants she’d worn as a kid, except heavier and a much higher quality. They helped her put on the boots, which were definitely too big for her, so more wool socks were added. A lightweight coat liner was followed by a wool hood with a long neck that tucked into it. Then a heavy coat. Gloves. Finally, a helmet over the wool hood, which Grant buckled for her.
If she had to pee again, she was in trouble.
“You look adorable,” he said after tugging on the helmet’s buckle to make sure it was secure.
“I feel very...round.”
“But adorably round.”
He’d already pulled the snowmobile out of the garage, and she’d been thrilled to see it had an actual passenger seat with a back rest and little shields to help deflect the wind from her hands. She guessed that’s what two-up meant. It sounded like a big, souped-up lawnmower, but he looked so happy, she didn’t comment on it.
And unlike her, he managed to look pretty hot in his gear. It was black and hugged his body more, but she wasn’t sure if it was because he had more fashionable snowmobile gear than his mother or because his actually fit him.
“You ready?”
Since she was becoming uncomfortably aware that gear meant to protect you at high speeds in cold weather was not meant for standing around in the yard and she was in danger of overheating, she nodded. Then she waddled over to the machine and very ungracefully climbed up to straddle the passenger seat.
“Hold on,” his mom called, and Wren groaned. She didn’t want to climb back off the damn thing with an audience, other than Grant, because it wasn’t going to be pretty. “Once you get on, I want to get a picture. It’s her first time.”
Grant rolled his eyes, but Wren felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the many layers she was wearing. There was a certain acceptance implied by his mom wanting a picture of them together, and she was grateful for it.
Once his mom had checked the screen to make sure she liked the photo and given them a wave, Grant plugged a cord from her helmet into a port in the snowmobile and lowered her face shield for her.
“It’s heated so it won’t fog up,” he explained. Then he climbed on in front of her and started the engine again.
Wren squealed when it lurched forward, but she hoped the shield on the helmet meant nobody could hear her.
He drove around the house and across the backyard—which was more like a back field—and through a break in the trees she hadn’t even noticed was there. The trail was narrow and twisty through woods and she was afraid her fingers were going to ache from clutching the hand grips so hard.
But then they came out of the woods and he turned onto a trail so wide and smooth it was practically a road. He picked up speed and that made her nervous at first, but eventually she relaxed against the seat and watched the scenery.
Every once in a while, a sled would pass them going the opposite direction. And sometimes there were bumps and dips in the trail, but mostly it was like cruising along a back road made of snow. One of the most surprising things was how warm she was. Clearly the Cutter family didn’t skimp on snowmobile gear.
After making turns at several intersections, Grant turned on a small trail that wasn’t as twisty as the one that connected their yard to the big trail, but was close. She could tell by the engine sound and the way she leaned back against the seat that they were climbing a hill, though it was hard to tell visually since there were dense woods on both sides of them.
She had no idea how long they were on that trail before it broke into a clearing. There were tracks, so she knew others had been there, but it didn’t have the hard-packed look the bigger trails had. When he pulled the snowmobile around sideways, she was able to see the view.
Looking out over the snowy trees and a picturesque small town—the kind that were always on postcards for sale at gas stations in New England—took her breath away.
He killed the engine and got off the sled. Then he unplugged her shield and helped her take her helmet and the hood off before she climbed down from the seat.
“You doing okay?” He took her hand as they walked toward the edge of the clearing.
“You were right. I’m enjoying it.”
“Good. I was really hoping you would.”
