Then I remember the woodpile. Every spring, my dad would have wood delivered to get us through the summer bonfires, as well as the winter, with the two fireplaces in the cabin. Mom always used to poke fun at him, saying he’d bought enough to kill a forest, but every last piece of wood would be gone by the next spring.
I retrieve my snow boots from my luggage and pull on my gloves. Wrapping my scarf high up around my face, covering just below my eyes, I pull a flashlight from the hall closet. Without power, the outside floodlights won’t work, leaving me only the flashlight to work with. Making my way through the main living room, I can already see the snow drift building up against the glass patio door. I’m going to have to work quickly if I plan on having any heat tonight. Flipping the deadbolt and the slide lock, I turn the handle and the heavy door swings open with a gust of brisk air.
Stepping out onto the wood patio, my boots sink nearly up to mid-calf in the snowdrift. Propping the flashlight on the deck railing, I make my way down the steps and across the backyard to the covered structure that holds enough wood logs to almost make me cry with relief. I work fast, carrying four to five logs at a time across the snow-covered backyard and up the four steps of the patio. I leave a pile beside the door, knowing I’ll move them inside next. I make a good eight or nine trips before I determine this last trip should be enough wood to get me through the night. If I have to get more in the morning, I’ll deal with it then.
I take the patio steps slowly, dropping the last armful of wood on top of the pile as the wind picks up and the snow beats against my back. I know I have to work faster to transfer this pile into the house, but just as I’m about to open the door, I spot a tall, dark figure standing in the living room of the cabin.
CHAPTER TWO
“Holy fuck!” I stumble backward, tripping over the pile of wood at my feet. I land hard on my ass, breaking my fall with my arm. A shooting pain sears through my wrist, and I yelp in agony. Through the glass, I see the large figure ambling closer and my heart rate skyrockets. I do my best to get on my feet, but I slip and slide on the slick snow, almost falling again.
Tears sting my eyes and my heart pounds against the walls of my chest as the door opens. I sense the towering figure getting closer and know I should grab a piece of wood to use as a weapon, but my feet are locked in place, fear incapacitating me. Then, a deep, familiar voice paralyzes me and my heart leaps.
“Mia! Is that you?”
Even though his voice is deeper now—more like a man, and so much less of a boy—it’s a voice I’d recognize anywhere. Mateo Rojas. Jensen’s best friend, and the boy who grew up three houses down from us. The first boy I kissed, and the only boy I’ve loved. The one boy who broke my heart when he up and left to chase his dreams of playing professional baseball. I never saw him again after he left, sealing our goodbye with a kiss I’d never forget. Four years later, I can still feel his mouth pressed to mine, his soft lips showing me what we were both too shy to say out loud.
Mateo was a baseball prodigy, drafted right out of high school. He played two years with a minor league team before being called up to play in the Majors almost three years ago. He’s now one of the most popular and highest paid baseball players on the roster, and also one of the most eligible bachelors, according to People magazine.
I hold my throbbing wrist in the palm of my opposite hand and slowly face him. My cheeks fill with warmth at the sound of his voice saying my name, and I pull the scarf from my face, stuffing it under my chin. Our eyes meet and I catch my breath. With the light of the moon reflecting off the snow, I can’t help but notice how different—more grown up—he looks, yet he’s the same Mateo that still comes to me in my dreams. Gone are his soft, round cheeks, now hollowed out by high cheekbones and a muscular, chiseled jawline. His hazel eyes are still outlined by long, dark lashes, his signature dimple ever present when his lips twist into a smile that can still melt my heart.
“Mia.” He says my name again, this time softer, more concerned, as he steps over the pile of wood and closer to me. “You scared me.”
“Mateo.” I mutter his name like I do so often when I think of him. “I think it’s you that scared me,” I whisper under my breath and wince when I try to move my wrist.
“Come inside.” He wraps his hand around my uninjured arm, guiding me over the pile of wood. His large hand easily circles my upper arm, and he’s gentle as he steers me into the house. Just inside the door, I kick off my boots, leaving my jacket on, and I sink into the corner of the large, plush couch.
Mateo stands over me, his eyes taking me in. I can see his breath in the air with each exhale. He sits down on the couch next to me, the side of his body pressed to mine. Just like he would do when we were kids. Mateo would squeeze in between Jenson and me, but he always had to be touching me. It was innocent, but I always wanted it to be so much more.
“Jensen said no one would be here. So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw you on the patio.”
“No one knows I’m here,” I admit, sounding guilty, and hiss when I try to move my wrist. “I tried texting my mom, but the text wouldn’t go through.”
“No shit,” he answers with a muffled laugh. “Here.” He pulls a large blanket from a basket my mom keeps at the other end of the couch and covers me with it.
“God, it’s good to see you.” Those words fall on a whispered breath, causing mine to hitch. He places his warm hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze. “We have so much to catch up on, but let me get this wood inside and get a fire started. It’s freezing in here. Then, I want to have a look at your wrist.”
We do have a lot to talk about. Like why he left without saying goodbye. Why he hasn’t reached out in the four years since he’s been gone. And did he feel what I felt that night he kissed me, the night before he left? My heart rate picks up, and I simultaneously feel a little nauseous.
Mateo moves quickly, bringing in the wood I had gathered on the porch. He starts a fire with ease before turning his attention back to me.
“How is it?” He nods at my wrist while rubbing his hands together to create warmth. The room is freezing, and I’m afraid the small fire isn’t going to make a dent in this cold. The room is too large for a fire to adequately warm it.
“Fine, just a little sore.” I rotate my wrist in a circular motion slowly, showing him I can move it.
“Probably just a little sprain, let me see it.” He throws himself down onto the couch next to me and carefully takes my wrist in his hand. His long fingers brush against my cold skin as he gently pushes and rolls it, looking at me for any sign of pain. “Does this hurt?”
I shake my head no in response, and continue watching him examine me. Everything he does is methodical and with precision.
“What about this?” He turns it the opposite way.
“No,” I answer him quietly. “I don’t think it’s a sprain. Probably just a little bruised. I’ll be okay.” I shift on the couch, pulling the blanket up a little higher as I suddenly feel just how cold the house really is.
“The fire isn’t putting out much heat, is it?” he asks, pushing himself up and grabbing another couple of logs.
“This fireplace won’t,” I tell him. “This room is too big. The fireplace in my bedroom can keep it pretty warm, but that’s because the room is small.”
He squats down in front of the fire, pulling the screen away and tossing three more big logs on the already burning wood. “Well, it’s a good thing there’s a heater in this house—”
“It doesn’t work,” I cut him off.
He turns his head to look at me, his face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean, it doesn’t work?”
“It doesn’t work without power. I can’t get the power on. Remember, my dad has this entire place on solar. I assumed everything would just work, but he must have the power off. I’m sure there’s a switch somewhere, but I don’t know where.”
“Shit,” Mateo hisses as he
comes back over to me. “Do you know if the solar box is outside?” I raise my shoulders in a shrug. “You’re still useless,” he says with a small laugh, nudging my shoulder playfully with his.
He used to joke that I was useless as a kid. I’d sit for hours watching him and Jensen play, not participating—just studying every move of his. I was a fly on the wall, but I always wanted to be there, and Mateo always made sure I was included, even when I didn’t join in their shenanigans.
Even now, a playful touch sends warmth spreading through my body. Mateo has always had that effect on me.
“What are we going to do?” I ask him, concern beginning to grow in the pit of my belly. He turns to look out the glass patio doors at the heavy snow that continues to fall.
“I’m going to go get more wood. You said there’s a fireplace in your room, right?”
I nod and answer him. “Yeah.”
“Okay, while I’m getting wood, take the flashlight and collect some extra blankets, and go to your room. I’m going to try and get enough wood in here to get us through the night, so we don’t freeze to death. I’ll get more wood tomorrow and hopefully find that power box.”
I carefully get up and begin collecting blankets, tossing them on the bed in my room. Does this mean he’s staying in my room with me tonight? My stomach does a little flip at the thought of sharing my bed with Mateo. Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? Except, this is forced, a means of survival. This isn’t romantic. Hell, we haven’t seen each other in nearly four years.
I layer more blankets on top of the bed and collect a few pieces of wood from the living room, carrying the logs to my bedroom. I stack five logs in the fireplace and use some paper to get the fire started. I baby my sore wrist, but I’m thankful I can still move it. The flames are slow to get going, crackling against the cold air. Once the wood finally catches, the room glows in the amber light.
“Here,” Mateo says, shouldering his way through the door, his arms full of more wood. I jump up and reach for the logs, stacking them in a pile on the small log holder next to the stone fireplace.
“There’s too much wood for that,” Mateo says, nodding at the metal holder. “Start stacking them on the floor. Once we get power, I’ll help you clean up any mess they make.”
I start a new pile along the floorboard, and Mateo disappears, returning at least five more times, until we have a giant stack of wood in the room. “That should get us through the night,” he says, dropping the last bunch of wood on top of the pile and then shrugging out of his jacket. Even in the cold room, sweat beads along his hairline and on his forehead.
He looks around the room before suddenly holding up a finger. “I’ll be right back. Forgot one more thing.” A few minutes later, I hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, drawers opening and closing, before he reappears, his arms full of something else this time.
“Couldn’t spend the night locked in a room without some necessities.” His arms are overflowing with a bottle of wine and two glasses, some bottles of water, crackers, and a package of pre-sliced gourmet cheese slices.
I reach for the large glasses, taking them from him, and carefully set them down. He manages to set everything else on the small wardrobe while I close the bedroom door, hoping to contain what little heat the fire is putting out in the room.
My heart thunders in my chest when I think of us spending the night together in this room. My mind takes me back to the million sleepovers we had as little kids, innocent and pure. Laughing and making fun of each other, and staying up way too late.
Shoving that memory aside, I move away from the door and stand in front of the fire, a blanket draped over my shoulders, as Mateo opens the bottle of wine. I can see the muscles of his arms flex under his thin t-shirt as he twists the wine opener.
With a loud pop, Mateo uncorks the bottle and fills the two glasses nearly half full of wine before turning to me, his hand outstretched with a glass. His beautiful eyes find mine and butterflies dance around my stomach.
“So, where should we start?” he asks, as I take the glass of white wine. His lips pull into a full smile and he winks at me. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we, babe?”
CHAPTER THREE
Babe?
Did he just call me babe? After kissing me, confiding in me, and then disappearing four years ago, never to be heard from again, he has the audacity to call me babe?
I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t babe me, Mateo.” Forcing a hearty chug of the crisp white wine down my throat, I revel in the burn from the alcohol as it pools in my belly. I’m going to need a lot of wine to get through this conversation.
He releases a long sigh. “Mia.” My name falls off his tongue with a low growl. “Sit down.”
He drops down to the floor in front of the fireplace. Pulling a blanket onto his lap, he pats the plush carpet next to him. I slowly fall into place beside him, and he drapes half of his blanket over my legs. Our shoulders brush against each other as we both face the fire, the warmth finally hitting me.
Mateo leans forward, and with his long arms, pulls another two logs off the pile, tossing them into the fireplace. I watch the flames crawl around the cold log, doing its best to penetrate the bark and ignite the large pieces of wood.
I keep my eyes fixed on the flames dancing inside the brick fireplace, but I can feel Mateo’s gaze on me. I always could. He can bore holes into my head with the weight and power of his stare. He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “Talk to me, Mia.”
“About what?” I don’t mean for those words to come out as short and bitter as they do, but he takes notice, and I feel him sit up a little straighter.
“You’re mad at me.” It’s not a question.
I clear my throat and take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You disappeared, Mateo. You just left and I never heard from you again. We were . . . we were . . .” I pause, swallowing down the growing lump in my throat, a flood of anger and hurt I buried so long ago making its presence known. We were more than just friends. We had a bond that was indescribable.
Mateo’s eyes hold mine, and I will myself to blink back the tears I feel forming behind my eyes.
“I had to,” he whispers.
“Why?” I snap at him.
“It’s complicated, Mia.”
I choke out, “You were my best friend—”
“And you were . . .” He pauses. “And you are mine. After all these years, you’re still my best friend.” His eyes hold the same sadness mine do.
“A best friend doesn’t abandon their friend, Teo.”
Teo. That’s a name I haven’t called him in years. I was the only person allowed to call him that. He huffs out a small laugh at the nickname.
“Mia—”
“Let me finish,” I snap at him, but he cuts me off with his lips. Warm, soft lips take mine, just as I remember and longed for all these years. I try to pull back, but he moves with me, anticipating my retreat. Tangled in the blanket, he gently pushes me down, my back meeting the soft carpet.
“That’s why,” he mumbles against my lips before continuing. I can feel his heart beating against my chest and warmth pools between my legs. He slows, finally pulling his lips from mine. “You felt that, right? The feeling that happens when I touch you?”
I swallow hard and nod.
“I felt it too, Mia. I felt it before I ever kissed you. Back when we were kids.” He pushes himself up and helps me back into a sitting position. “The night we kissed was the best night of my life, but I knew I had to leave. We both had dreams, Mia. I knew you’d abandon yours for mine, and I would have abandoned mine for yours. We needed to grow up. We needed to live our dreams without sacrificing them for one another.”
There’s no hiding the tears anymore. They pool in my eyes and a single tear falls, rolling down my cheek as he continues. “I needed you to go to New York City, and I needed to go to San Francisco.”
I don’t know what comes ove
r me, but I reach out and place my palm to his cheek. I need to touch him as he shares his heart. He cradles his head in my hand and I choke back a sob.
“I needed you,” I manage to get out, and he shakes his head slowly in disagreement.
“You needed to grow into the woman you are now, without me. I knew we’d find our way back to each other, Mia. I always believed it here.” He places his hand over his heart. “And look at you.” He pauses. “I could not have imagined you’d be as beautiful as you are.”
My heart physically aches as I think of all the birthdays and holidays we’ve missed. All the missed goodnight texts, or the simple check-ins that friends do with each other. But he’s right. There’s something different about us now. Something more mature, more honest and real.
“Tell me this.” He pulls my hand from his face and places it between both of his. “If you and I had tried to make a long-distance relationship work, we would have failed miserably. You know it’s true, right, Mia? You were in design school, and I was working my ass off in the Minors. Do you really think we could have made it work? Through all of your classes and my traveling, there would have been little time left for us.”
His eyes were honest.
“Your dream was always New York, and I wasn’t going to take that away from you. And my dream was the Majors. If I knew you were hurting, I would have packed up and moved to New York City to be with you, and vice versa. One of us would have sacrificed their dream for the other.”
He looks at me and holds my face with both of his hands now. “Would there have been miscommunications and hurt that we couldn’t fix because we were twenty-nine hundred miles apart?” His eyes search mine for answers, ones I’m unable to vocalize. “The answer is yes. I had to create this distance for us. So we could grow into each other and not away from each other.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Grow into each other and not away from each other. I’ve never heard such beautiful words that hurt so much at the same time.
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 28