Snowman

by AC Netzel

  Feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I open the door to my suite and head downstairs. My hands tremble with each step down the creaky staircase. Once I’m at the breakfast table, I’ll make a last-ditch effort to sway the Jingle Belles into selling.

  Plastering on my ‘customer service’ smile, I walk into the dining room, ready to face two-thirds of my ultimate goal, only to find Winter and Rainbow seated at the table.

  “Good Morning,” I say politely as I head to the credenza for a cup of coffee.

  Winter flashes me the peace sign while Rainbow glares at me. A more appropriate name for this hostile woman would be Raincloud. The woman drizzles frostiness. She’s the anti-hippie.

  “Err… where’s…,” the tall lady and the shorter one, “our sister-friends? They’re usually at breakfast by now.”

  “Gone home,” Winter says. “Came down early and said their goodbyes. Too bad you missed them.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “That’s too bad.” Dammit.

  “You could visit them. They’re reopening their shops today,” he tells me.

  I nod in agreement. “You know what, Winter? That’s a fantastic idea. That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  “I bet,” Raincloud snaps.

  You are a very unpleasant hippie.

  “Do you have a problem with me?” I ask her, my New York ‘don’t mess with me’ attitude coming on strong.

  “I have a problem with the establishment keeping us down. And you are the establishment.”

  Winter nods, raising a fist. “Gotta fight the man.”

  I grab a croissant off the tray in the center of the table and rip off a chunk. The frustrations of the past few days have finally caught up to me, and I lose it.

  “Listen lady, I’m just trying to pay the bills. I’m doing my job. You know, a job —ever hear of one? Don’t knock it until you try it.” I turn to Winter. “And you? Do these,” I grab my boobs, “look like a man’s tits? I am a fierce woman, dammit. So, go drop some acid and take a trip somewhere else. You’re not welcome in my universe.”

  Holly flies out of the kitchen with both hands on her cheeks. “What in the world is going on here?”

  I point at Raincloud. “She started it.” My breathing is erratic, and my nostrils flare. Very attractive, for sure.

  Holly shakes her head and sighs. “Summer, you seem a bit… stressed. Are you all right, dear? Can I get you a slice of fruitcake to settle you down?”

  I glance at the hippies who are calmly eating their breakfast, then back to Holly, who has a look of either genuine concern for my mental well-being or disgust from my behavior.

  Thank God she didn’t witness the boob grab.

  “I’m fine. I’m going back to my room.” I grab another croissant off the table then turn to the hippies. “I apologize if I offended you.”

  “We’re cool, man,” Winter says, then stares straight at my chest. “I mean, woman.”

  His wife nudges him with her elbow but doesn’t threaten me with any of her customary frosty glares. So, I guess I’m cool with her too.

  “Far out.” I hold up a peace sign, turn around, and leave the room.

  For the past hour, I’ve done nothing but stare out my window and watch snowflakes fall to the already snow-covered ground. I’ve checked my flight status on my phone several times. My flight is still a go.

  Staring back at my suitcase, packed and zipped up, sitting next to the door, I sigh.

  “See you around, Ebenezer,” I say to no one, as my feathered nemesis is likely safe in the coop annoying the hens. I close the blinds and walk to the door. Grabbing my suitcase, which weighs a ton, I take one last glance back at the room, take in a deep breath then leave.

  Clumsily, I navigate down the creaky staircase, my suitcase bumping against the wall with every step I take. Spotting Holly behind the desk in the small lobby area, I choke up. I pause as I watch her reading over her ledger, with her reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose. This is the first time I’ve ever felt sad about leaving a hotel… well, bed and breakfast. This place is special, and it’s all because of her.

  I walk to the desk and place my luggage on the floor next to me. She looks up and smiles. When her gaze travels to my suitcase, her brows crinkle.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “It’s time.”

  “But it’s snowing.”

  “I know.”

  “The roads are hazardous. I really think you should wait this out. The weatherman says it’s only going to get worse. You haven’t had the best luck with…”

  “I’ll be fine,” I cut her off. I’m painfully aware of the fact that I suck driving around this town, but it’s barely doing anything outside. I can handle a few snow flurries. I suspect she’s trying to scare me into staying longer, but it won’t work.

  “I thought you were going to stay a little while longer.”

  I knew it.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” I hold out my company credit card.

  “Did you change your mind about the condo project?” She takes the card and processes my bill.

  “No. I’m heading to the lake now to talk to the sisters.”

  “And Nick?”

  “Yes, him too. That’s if he’ll talk to me.”

  “I meant… what about Nick?” she asks.

  “What about him?”

  “I thought… maybe… the two of you,” she hesitates, “like each other.”

  “Umm,” I say uncomfortably. “I like him like I like everyone I’ve met here. Platonically.”

  She stares at me skeptically. “That’s not what I saw.”

  “Then you’d be mistaken,” I say matter-of-factly. “Do I need to sign anything?”

  “No. You’re all checked out.” She hands a receipt to me with a holly leaf stamped on top. “Please be careful driving.”

  “I will.” I grab the paper and shove it into my handbag. “Holly, I want to thank you for everything. You said this place is magic. It is—because you’re the magician. And even though you don’t agree with the reason I’m here—you were always kind, respectful, and helped me above and beyond. You’re an amazing person.”

  She smiles, cupping her hand to the side of her mouth. “I still have faith that you’ll do the right thing,” she whispers.

  I glance down at my Choos, kicking the air with one foot. I am doing the right thing. I’m following my career path and going home. Explaining it to her again is futile. I look back up and give her a tight smile.

  “I better get going,” I tell her.

  “Safe travels.” She walks from behind the desk, holds out her arms then wraps me in a hug. I hug her back because… I don’t know. I just want to hug her. “Good luck to you,” she says. “In all things. And no matter what happens, your company would be foolish not to give you that promotion.” She leans back and looks directly into my eyes. “Don’t let your job be the only thing that motivates you. It’s a wonderful life. Having a successful career may be rewarding, but don’t let it cost you other important things.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Like finding the one person in the world who completes your soul.”

  I take a step back, breaking our hug. “I haven’t found the one. But I guess if he’s out there… he hasn’t found me either.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asks, raising a brow.

  I nod and shrug on my coat then grab my suitcase handle.

  “You know, Kris used to help clean around the inn before I banished him to farm chores and serving breakfast. He’d take out a broom and sweep up the lobby area.” She shakes her head. “But he always lifted the corner of the doormat and hid whatever he swept up under it.”

  “What does this have to do with me leaving?”

  “You can sweep dirt under the rug—but the dirt’s still there. Same thing with what your heart wants. You can hide it… even from yourself… but it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

&n
bsp; My pulse races, as she exposes my soul. I head to the front door without responding.

  “Summer?” Holly calls out.

  I turn and look back at her. “Yes?”

  “Your heart has a finite number of beats.” She smiles warmly. “Use them wisely.”

  Chapter 26

  “Okay, Bethany,” I tell my phone as I place it on the console of my rented car. “We have one more road trip, then it’s to the airport we go.” I program one of the sister’s addresses, take one long last look at The Holly Inn, then drive away.

  I’m five minutes into my trip when what was once flurries has quickly become a more substantial snow shower. Huge wet snowflakes accumulate on the road. I search for tire marks from prior vehicles to follow, as my visibility is significantly reduced. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, my foot hovers between the gas and brake pedal. My stomach twists in a ball of knots, and my body is painfully tense.

  “We’ll just take it slow,” I tell my phone, talking out loud to work out my nerves. “It’s just a little snow. I’m still getting traction.”

  What I say is entirely different than what I’m experiencing. The snow is coming down fast and building up faster. I was in such a rush to get out of here, I never bothered to check the weather forecast. Holly tried to warn me, but in my haste, I wouldn’t listen. At this point, I’m too far away to turn around and go back to the inn. So, I continue on.

  “Whoa.” The back of the car slips, but I recover. “See, Bethany? I’m getting better at this. Pretty soon we’ll be at the chutney palace or whatever the store is called. What is chutney, anyway? It’s like spicy jelly, right?”

  Bethany remains silent. I keep talking because this one-sided conversation is calming me down.

  “Whatever it is, I’m buying a case to get Jingle in a good mood. Then I’ll go in for the kill. After that, I’ll move on to her alpaca-loving sister. Then the long shot, Nick.” I glance at my cell phone. “I know, I know. But I have to try, don’t I?”

  I pass the wooden Arid Lake sign and know I’m close. I’m fairly sure it’s the sign. It’s hard to read when snow is sticking to the words, but that sure looks like Santa and a fishing pole.

  “In 1500 feet, make a right on to Turtle Dove Lane,” Bethany directs.

  As I make the turn, the backend of the car fishtails, but I correct it before going into one of the many waiting ditches along the road. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die,” I repeat to myself. “And I’ll never know what chutney is.”

  “In fifty feet make a left on Arid Lake Drive. Your destination will be on the left.”

  “Almost there,” I assure myself cautiously. Visibility is practically nonexistent, as I drive painstakingly slow through another snow squall. My wiper blades barely keep up with the heavy, wet precipitation.

  “Your destination is on the left,” Bethany says.

  “I can’t see anything. Where’s the damn driveway?” I lean forward and squint, searching for a sign, mailbox, or anything that would indicate a driveway. “There,” I spot an open area. “That has to be it.”

  Slowly, I turn the steering wheel. “Please don’t be a ditch,” I whisper.

  The car turns into the road without sliding. I creep up the driveway at record slow speed. Why must these houses be set so far back from the main street? Finally, I reach the end of the driveway and pull up next to a two-car garage.

  Gratefully alive and unscathed, I blow out a breath as the tension in my shoulder slowly dissipates, and I finally relax.

  I made it.

  And I didn’t die.

  “This has to be a sign. Don’t you think?” I ask Bethany. “Good things are about to happen.” I close my GPS app, grab my laptop, exit the car, and walk through the snow in my Lucky Choos.

  This has proven to be a poor shoe choice, as my feet are already cold and wet. The snow is significantly higher by the lake than it was by the inn.

  “Whoa,” I slip and land flat on my ass on a mound of snow. Reaching out for something to grab to help me stand up, I tip over to my side. “Dammit,” I curse, as my shoe falls off and my laptop slides across the snowy ground. I feel around the frigid whiteness in search of my missing Choo, finally locating it and shove my nearly frostbitten bare foot back in it. I crawl across the driveway and grab my wayward laptop case.

  “I hate this place,” I scream in frozen frustration as I stand then wobble toward the house. I trudge through wind and snow until I reach a side door entrance near the garage door. Bitterly cold, I ring the doorbell.

  “Hurry up, hurry up,” I mumble under my breath as I wait. After what feels like an eternity, the door swings open and I gasp.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.

  Chapter 27

  “This is my house,” Nick answers.

  “That’s impossible. I followed my GPS instructions to the letter.”

  “Where were you trying to go?”

  “The house with the chutney store attached.”

  He shakes his head. “You drove down the wrong driveway. She’s next door.”

  “Dammit. I must have punched in the wrong house number.”

  “You’ve been here before. Didn’t you recognize my house?”

  “I figured this was a cookie-cutter neighborhood. You know, all the houses look alike. It’s common in small communities.”

  I’m not stupid.

  I just do stupid things.

  “It’s not common around here. Come inside before you freeze to death.” He swings the screen door open.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll just drive next door.” I know I have to deal with him eventually, but if I get the Jingle Belles aboard, I’ll have more leverage.

  “You shouldn’t drive in this weather. It’s dangerous.”

  Look bud, any and all past automotive misfortunes were due to your crappy roads and not my driving skills.

  “I already have—and I did just fine.” I was convinced I was going to die the entire way here, but that’s another story.

  “Summer, I’m serious. The snow came in heavier and much earlier than expected. It’s always worse along the lake area. Town Hall is closing soon. The schools just closed.”

  “What about Noelle?” I ask, surprising myself that she was my first thought.

  “My uncle is picking her up. She’ll stay with them.” He opens the door wider. “Come inside until the storm passes.”

  I glance at my car, which is covered in snow in the few minutes I’ve been standing here. The car’s tire tracks are practically nonexistent. My toes are numb, I’m soaking wet, and my hair’s sticking to the side of my face.

  He’s right. I can’t drive in this. It’s a miracle I made it this far.

  “Okay. Just until the roads are plowed.” I step inside the garage. “They do plow around here, don’t they?”

  “Jeb and Axel have plows for their pickup trucks. When the storm passes, they’ll take care of all the neighborhood driveways and local streets. The county takes care of the main roads.” He holds out his hand. “Give me your coat.”

  I peel out of my wet coat and hand it to him. He hangs it on a hook near the door.

  “Oh no,” I whine, looking down at my feet. “My Lucky Choos. They’re soaked.”

  “Your what?”

  “My shoes. They’re ruined.”

  He nods with a smirk. “I remember those shoes. You wore them the first day I met you.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “I did. I can’t believe you remember my shoes.”

  “I remember a lot of things about you,” he says. “Leave them here to dry out. They’ll be fine.”

  I nod, kicking them off and shaking out the snow that crept inside. “I hope you’re right. I love those shoes.”

  He looks down at my bare feet. “No socks? Have you ever dressed for winter before?” he asks sarcastically.

  “Ha, you’re a laugh riot.” The Lumberjerk is alive and well.

  “Let’s get out of the garage. Come wit
h me.” He opens the door to the inside of the house and walks in. I follow behind him, my feet red and chilled from the concrete floor, and take the opportunity to admire his physique from the back. His white T-shirt shows off the impressively rock-hard muscles of his biceps and broad, muscular back. And his ass… pure perfection.

  Yeah, my covert staring is incredibly unprofessional. But today’s the last day I’ll ever see that ass—Nick or his actual ass—so I’m giving myself a pass on office etiquette and harassment laws. I’m stressed out from that drive, and inappropriately objectifying the delicious specimen in front of me brings me some inner peace. If Human Resources were ever inside my head, I’d be their nightmare for sure.

  We walk into the kitchen—the place I was banished to the last time I was here. I brush my hand across the countertop, wondering if the Prince of Genoslavia or his wife picked out the granite.

  “Wow.” I’m awed by the view of the snowy lake from the floor to ceiling windows across the room. “That’s gorgeous.”

  Strolling across the wood floor in my defrosting bare feet, I pass the living room furniture until I reach the wall of windows. I marvel at the scene in front of me. Even with my visibility hampered by the dense snow falling from the sky, I see the lake covered in a perfect sheet of fresh, untouched white snow. Trees that were once bare and brown are dusted with white powder along their branches. Needles on the pine trees are weighed down with wet snow. The sky is gray and dreary, yet beautiful at the same time. The ground was covered in snow the last time I was here, but now there’s more, so much more. The dock is practically nonexistent, blending into the white blanket of unspoiled snow on the lake. I splay my fingers across the cold glass, attempting to feel the peaceful scene in front of me.

  I turn back to Nick, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching me. “It’s so perfect,” I say in wonder. “It doesn’t look real.”