by Sophie Stern
At least, that’s the goal.
I’m lucky to have a job I enjoy and good colleagues at my office. When I first joined McQuaid Technologies, I wasn’t sure what to expect. You never know what that first job out of college is going to be like. Are you going to hate it or love it? Will your boss be garbage or incredible? Will you be terrible or will you flourish?
Luckily, it was all positive for me.
Within a year, I’d been promoted to team leader and two years after that became a division manager. Now I’m in charge of the entire call center and while my life is insanely busy, it’s a good kind of busy. I realize now that instead of worrying about my family and their treatment of me, I’m going to have a lot more time to focus on improving the office where I work.
Snow starts falling suddenly, and I realize that I’m definitely going to be dealing with a storm on the trip. Luckily, I’m more than halfway home now. I’ve just passed the last exit for awhile. Although I’ll be driving in and out of the mountains the rest of the way home, I’ve made this trip so many times I feel comfortable continuing on.
There will be another small town half an hour or so up the road. If the storm worsens, I can stop there. It won’t be a problem.
I slow down and notice my GPS losing signal. That’s not uncommon. I keep a couple of maps in the glove compartment for instances like this. The windy mountain road I’m on right now tends to weave in and out of really rocky areas and that can affect the signal. It’s not a big deal. I just turn my headlights on, decrease my speed, and keep going.
Everything is going to be fine.
My phone has seven missed calls from my mother. Now that I’m not getting cell service, maybe the calls will stop. Maybe they’ll start going right to voicemail and she’ll realize I don’t want to talk to her. Part of me is surprised she cares enough to call, but then, she always was a little bit dramatic.
Chances are I’m going to delete her voicemails without listening to them.
I’m not a glutton for punishment any longer.
Nope.
No more.
My days of dealing with her drama are over. Maybe there will come a time when we’re able to work through our differences. Maybe in a few years, we’ll get together and talk and things will be different. We’ll have both changed and grown and things won’t seem so bad, but I don’t think so.
With a sigh, I try to stop thinking about my mother and instead focus on the road. The snow is coming down harder now and I’m starting to feel a little nervous. Maybe I will take the next exit and find a cheap motel to crash in for the night. Colorado weather is notoriously unpredictable and despite the fact that it’s April, snowstorms aren’t that unusual.
Suddenly, the car slides a little and I realize the road is icing over. I slow down even more. I’m barely moving at all. The car is slowly crawling along the deserted road now. My wipers are going back and forth as quickly as they can, but it’s just not fast enough. I can barely see and I slow down even more.
Panic mode hasn’t set in yet. This is good. The last thing I need to do right now is panic. I just need to think. There are mountains on either side of me and the two-lane road is totally empty. Luckily, there aren’t any nearby ravines or cliffs I could slide off into. Even if I swerve and hit something, I’ll be hitting the side of the mountain: not falling to my doom.
Somehow, the thought isn’t as calming as I think it should be.
Suddenly, I slam on my brakes much too hard and my car slips and slides and finally stops just in time to miss the boulder that’s fallen and blocked the road.
I’m trapped in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a snowstorm and that’s when panic mode finally arrives.
3
Melody
I don’t scream, but I want to. I should. It’s been a long day with more drama than I’m comfortable with and more stress than one person should ever have to deal with, but I’m a Colorado native. I’m prepared.
I back up my car and pull over onto the narrow shoulder. There’s no way I can turn around. The roads are way too slick and it’s much too dark. There’s so much snow falling that I wouldn’t be comfortable trying to turn around.
Part of my brain is screaming that I should try to turn around, but if I slip and hit the side of the mountain, I’m going to wreck the car. Then I’ll really be trapped. As it is, I can wait until the snow settles a little bit and then try to go. I’m still at half a tank of gas, so when the storm clears, I can just go back to the last town I passed and take an alternate route home.
I chose the long way because I was tired and wanted to relax on the drive home. I didn’t think I’d get caught in a monster storm, but that’s what I get. It’s just my luck. I kill the engine to save gas, but I don’t get out of the car. Instead, I crawl into the backseat and pull down the back bench to access the trunk. I have a bug out bag in there and a warm blanket, so I pull those both out. I don’t think I’m going to be trapped long enough to need flares or camping gear. I certainly won’t be needing the protein bars or dried granola that’s in the bag, but the blanket is going to be perfect for me.
I feel like I should go to the front seat and sit up there, but the backseat of the car is so comfortable that I just pull the blanket over myself and sprawl across the back bench. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a little bit, I tell myself. Just a quick, short nap and then the storm will have calmed down enough for me to see, enough so I can turn around safely. Even as the snow accumulates on my front windshield, I know everything is going to be okay.
Just a quick little nap.
***
The rapping sound on my window is directly above my head. At first, I think it must be a bird or animal, so I ignore it and try to fall back asleep. Then I realize I’m in the middle of a storm and there’s no way a random bird would be pecking at my window. I sit up, but I’m too late. The front door of the car opens and a fucking lumberjack peeks his head in my car.
“Are you okay?” He asks urgently, and I’m too stunned to speak. Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming. There’s no way I’m not. He’s got this big, thick beard with little flecks of snow in it and he’s wearing a dark red cap on his head.
“Are you a lumberjack?” I ask, but even as the words float out of my mouth, I realize how stupid they sound. I should be freaking out. I should be absolutely, totally, completely freaking out that there’s a strange man peeking his head in my car.
Then I realize I didn’t lock my door.
How stupid am I?
“I didn’t lock the door,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand. I’m still groggy from my nap, still not quite awake.
“No, I’m not a lumberjack, and no, you didn’t lock the door. Come on. Let’s get you out of here before you freeze to death.” The man frowns at me. “What all do you need? Purse? Is that it?” He picks up my little black purse from the passenger seat up front and grabs my cell phone from the dash. He drops it in my purse and closes the door again. Then he opens the back door and offers me a hand. “Come on,” he says.
Something tells me this isn’t the kind of man who takes “no” for an answer. Honestly, even if I wanted to refuse him, which I super do not want to do, I don’t think I’d be able to. We’re in the middle of nowhere and I don’t exactly have a weapon or a way to defend myself.
I get out of the car and grab my blanket, then wrap it around myself.
“Don’t you have a coat?” He asks, motioning to the snow around us. It’s still coming down hard and a quick glance around tells me there’s no way I’m getting my car out of here tonight. It’s definitely night time now: the sun has set and the temperature is even lower.
“No,” I say. “I have a blanket.”
He growls – actually growls – and takes his coat off. He grabs the blanket from around my shoulders and instead drapes his much-too-big jacket on me. “Use this,” he says, and shoves the blanket back in the car. “My place isn’t far. You can stay with me until the storm clea
rs.”
“But I don’t know you,” I say.
He raises one very handsome eyebrow. “Scared of strangers?” He asks. “Stranger danger? Isn’t that what you kids are calling it these days?”
“I’ll have you know that it only makes good sense to be scared of strangers,” I try to tell him, but the man just laughs.
“Come on, darling. I’m freezing my arse off, which means you must be even colder than me.” He takes my hand and I grip it. I feel tiny compared to him, which is strange. It’s the strangest thing out of everything that’s happened so far. I feel small, and I never feel small.
I always feel big and fat and awkward and clumsy, but next to this man, I feel like a damn pixie.
“Okay,” I manage to say, and he leads me away from my car. “Wait!” I say. “My keys.” I look back at the car, but he lifts his other hand and dangles them in front of me.
“Got you covered,” he says. Then the man shakes his head, as if he can’t believe how silly I am, and we keep walking. Somehow, the gesture doesn’t make me feel ashamed or embarrassed. I don’t feel dumb. I probably should, but I’m so tired and worn out and honestly, all I want to do right now is rest.
The whole week is a blur and everything that happened at the reunion completely drained me. I’m both emotionally and physically exhausted, and I allow the strange mountain man to guide me a hundred yards back up the road and down a narrow driveway.
“I didn’t notice this when I passed,” I say, confused at how I could have missed the mailbox and PRIVATE DRIVE sign.
“Most people don’t,” he says. “That’s kind of the point, though, right? Privacy. It would be hard to be left alone if everyone noticed the driveway and wanted to turn around or park in it, or text.” He shudders at the word, as if he can’t believe some people actually want to text or want to find a safe place to text.
“Hey,” I protest. “It’s better to pull over and text than to drive and text. You know, safety first.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “It’s better to not text at all when you’re on a drive. The whole point of living in the mountains or of driving through them is to get away from the city, to get away from the noise. What good is that if you’re always connected to your phone?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug because he makes a good point. It’s easy to get addicted to your phone. I know I do it, especially when I’m working. It’s easy to use it for instant communication with anyone you want to talk to, but sometimes it’s nice to put that aside and just unwind.
Sometimes it’s nice to put that aside and forget.
We walk down the narrow driveway. The man, whose name I still don’t know, carefully holds my hand as we make our way down the snow-covered drive to the cutest cabin I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Is this for real?” I ask. It’s a two-story cabin with a wraparound porch that even has a porch swing. With the snow everywhere, it looks like something out of a picture book. It looks like something out of a fantasy. It doesn’t look real.
I should pinch myself because I must be dreaming.
There’s no way this is actually happening.
“Are you okay?” The man asks. His eyes search mine as if he’s looking for answers there, but I don’t have any. I don’t know what to tell him because I don’t know if I’m okay. Nothing about what happened today was okay. That’s not a word I would use to describe my life. Nothing about my weekend is okay.
“I, um…” I hesitate, and he nods, as if he knows I don’t want to talk about it. Then we get to the porch. By the time we reach the front door, my nose is ice-cold and I’m sure it’s red.
“Home sweet home,” he says, and pushes the door open. He motions for me to go first and even though I realize this could be a trap and I could be walking to my death, I don’t feel scared. Why don’t I feel scared? I feel comfortable. I feel safe.
And then I just feel warm.
There’s a fire blazing in the fireplace and a couch right in front of it. The entire room feels like summer. It would be easy to forget there’s a storm outside. It would be easy to forget about everything but the orange blaze and the way it feels against my skin.
I slip off the jacket and hand it to the man. Without another word, I go sit on the couch and stare at the fire.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but right now, I don’t care as long as I get to sit here for just a little while.
In just a little while, I’ll go.
In just a little while, everything will be okay.
4
Eli
She’s beautiful.
And stupid.
Part of me completely admires the girl while the rest of me – the caveman part of me – wants to pull her over my knee and remind her she needs to take care of herself. There’s no reason she should be driving through this part of the mountains in bad weather. Has no one really taught her how to check the weather forecast before she goes on a drive? Has no one told her she’s important, special, and should take care of herself?
She’s lucky I found her when I did.
Yeah, she had a blanket, which is better than what some people have when they get stranded in the mountains, but she shouldn’t have been driving alone in the first place. I’m sure she’s an independent woman and used to taking care of herself, but as I watch the beautiful woman warm herself in front of the fire, I kind of hate that she has to take care of herself.
I want to take care of her.
I want to be there for her.
Why do I feel this way about a stranger? I have no fucking clue, but I do. Something tells me this woman – because that’s what she is, really: a woman – has no one else in the world to look after her. Something tells me she’s all alone in the universe and she needs someone to take care of her, to make sure she’s warm, to make sure she’s safe.
Something tells me she needs me.
She sits on the couch and stares at the fire like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. At the same time, I’m staring at her like she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. That can’t be right. It shouldn’t be right.
I shouldn’t feel this way about someone I’ve only just met.
After a minute, I shake my head and get moving. I kick my boots off and place them by the front door. Then I head over to where she’s sitting on the couch.
“Mind if I take your shoes?” I ask.
“What? Oh, sure,” she moves to grab them, but I stop her.
“Please,” I say. “Allow me.” I don’t have a foot fetish by any means. The idea of touching someone’s feet doesn’t arouse me, but I want to help her. I want to take care of her. I want to use this small motion to help this woman feel a little bit better, a little bit safer.
“Thank you,” she says, and I unlace her shoes, which are wet. I set them in front of the fireplace along with her socks. Then I warm her feet in my hands. “You don’t have to do this,” she says, but she closes her eyes and visibly relaxes. This elicits a chuckle.
“You comfortable, darlin’?”
“Yeah,” she smiles, but her eyes stay closed. “You have no idea. This is amazing.”
“What’s your name?”
“Melody. You?”
“Eli.”
“You make it a habit to rescue stranded young damsels, Eli?”
“I’ve rescued my fair share of both damsels and wayward princes,” I admit. At that, she does open her eyes.
“You don’t consider yourself a prince, then?”
“I think if this was a fairytale, I’d be the dark-hearted knight.”
“A villain?”
“A broken hero, perhaps.”
“Interesting self-description,” she says, tilting her head. Suddenly, this conversation has gotten very personal. I’m not sure I want to continue down this road. Not just yet. Melody seems brave and a little quirky. She’s not going to be afraid to ask me what I mean or why I view myself as dark-hearted, why I view myself as broken and dama
ged.
“What about you?” I ask, taking a seat beside her on the couch. I purposely invade her space a little bit to throw her off-balance. I need to get control of the situation again, and quick. I’m happy to help someone in need of assistance. I’m always ready to give someone a place to stay, even if it’s only for a few hours, but Melody isn’t just some random Joe who got stranded in a bad part of the mountains.
She’s super fucking hot, and she’s cute, and my cock is twitching just thinking about all the different ways we can weather the storm together. Maybe we’ll have a drink and see where the night leads us. Maybe she’s more of a cocoa girl. I don’t know.
What I do know is that Melody is delightful and adorable and even though the night has barely begun, I really, really don’t want it to end.
“What about me?” She repeats my question.
“How do you see yourself? Are you a damsel?” I ask, noticing that she didn’t move away when I sat down. We’re still sitting close, still side-by-side, and she doesn’t seem uncomfortable or bothered by that. “Or are you something else, Melody?”
“I was the quite the damsel before today,” she says, hesitating. “But a lot can change in just one day.”
“Everything can change in a day,” I agree, noticing the way she’s watching me. Her breathing has quickened and she suddenly looks a little nervous, a little excited. I don’t say anything else yet. Instead, I just take this moment to enjoy her, to really look at her.
Melody’s dark hair is really, really long. It falls to the middle of her back, and it’s frizzy and messy. I’d guess it was curled earlier, but hurrying through the falling snow to the house did a number on it. It doesn’t take away from her beauty at all In fact, it makes me like her a little bit more.