“Is everything okay? Where are you going?” he asked. Wow. He sure did play the part of a concerned, interested man—had me totally fooled.
“A room opened up at the Snowy Owl Inn, and I’m going to get an early start tomorrow if the roads are open. I thought it best to get out of your hair,” I said, playing it up that I was cool as a cucumber. After all, like a cucumber, our bodies are 90% water. Yeah, I was a cucumber that felt like I could cry at any moment.
“Oh. Are you sure you want to go there? What if the walls are paper thin? Or, what if they have bed bugs?” Why was he questioning it? He should have been relieved that he was done with me.
“What’s your game here, Ford?” I set my luggage down and put my free hand on my hip while I waited for an answer. “I mean, we’ve spent several days together. Every meal together. Priscillaadoresyou. I thought things were heading in a totallydifferent direction.” I picked the handle of my bag back up, feeling emotion hiding closely behind my eyes, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. No man deserved my tears ever again. Before he could respond, I opened the door. “And then you tell your manager that I’m ‘just a lot.’ Well, here’s a lot, Ford: I was really starting to fall for you. I mean, for who you are. Yes, you’re drop dead handsome, so I’m sure you get this a lot but. . . I really was getting to know the real you. And you know what? I’m thanking you! Thank you for showing me your true colors right now, when I can still walk away. Before I’m so head over heels that I’m quitting my job and moving here to be with you.” Ford’s jaw dropped, and I took a deep breath. “I’m praying for you, Ford. Take care,” I said, as I walked out of his chalet and his life, forever.
The tears finally escaped the corners of my eyes once I was outside. I saw him walking to the door from the window of the chalet; probably in an effort to help me with my bags. I was sure he wanted me out of there as soon as possible, after all, but it was no use. I tossed them in haphazardly, skis to follow and then Priscilla and I got in the car. I could still see my breath in front of me because it was so cold in the Yukon.
Ford was right about one thing: the Snowy Owl Inn was worn out. The walls were paper thin—thankfully, there weren't many other guests, but the guests who were there could be heard from every angle of my room. Since I hastily packed at Ford’s, I was saddened to realize I had forgotten Priscilla’s boots and jacket. I must have left them by the door. I was tempted to put out some newspapers for her to potty on rather than risk her catching a cold or getting frozen in the elements, but I didn’t want to start any bad habits, either. So, before bed, we grudgingly took a walk down the dark and dingy hallway to find an outside area. Thankfully, she was in and out, and my blow dryer would help warm up her frozen paws.
Priscilla's Inner Monologue
This mattress is lumpy. I wish to take it up with management.
The lighting in the room was dimmer than I’d hoped, and the front desk had mentioned as much considering the town's power was still out. They had asked if I was running a lamp and a TV at the same time as a blow dryer, to unplug one item, lest they might blow a fuse. But by the looks of the place,I didn’t think that had anything to do with the power being out but everything to do with the age of the building.
Later on, when Priscilla was warm and dry and sleeping next to me in the saggy, uncomfortable bed, I longed to be back at Ford’s. Swatting away those thoughts, I turned back to God, revealing my feelings and all of my heart.
When I awoke the next morning, the sky was clear for the first time since I had arrived. The constant stream of fat snowflakes had finally stopped falling. The temperature had risen by ten degrees from what it had been averaging. And after a moment, I could hear cheering from outside. I climbed out of bed; my legs were sore and stiff from all of the skiing but looking out the window and watching all of the excited skiers walk by—I wished for a moment I could join them. I opened the old window with its crank and listened to the cheers. From the sounds of it, the power had finally been restored, and the roads were reopened—right in time for the Winter Games.
I looked at my phone; my reservation at my chalet was good until tomorrow. What if I just went back there and slipped out for one last day of skiing today? Surely, the slopes would be less busy with so many attending the games. And what if, after skiing, I stopped by and was a spectator at the Winter Games?Honestly, it would be devastating to leave this cute little town on this note, especially without seeing the event that I’d been hearing nonstop about since before I even arrived. But, did I really want to risk seeing Ford? My mind was searching for a way to bring him up and then I had it,sigh.As self-betraying as it sounded, I did want to see Ford. I knew that he didn’t like me, and I didn’t care. Every bone in my body was drawn to him and not just for his looks. I meant what I said last night—I liked him. I cared for him. And I realized it was time to pray for him, right at this very moment.
In one hour’s time, the procession for the Winter Games would begin. I knew from watching it once before, many years ago, it was much shorter than the buildup to the Olympics, but also fun, with intricate takes on the sports included. There would be shots from the ice skaters, the ski racers, and the ski jumpers. Heck, Olympian Theo McCain was hosting the event—itwasa pretty big deal. No one would blame me if I wanted to stick around and watch. I could have always taken a page out of Ford’s book and worn a disguise. Ha! The idea sounded so silly and yet. . . I was racking my brain to figure out what that could be. Then it hit me: Ford didn’t know I was here. The roads reopened—I told him I was leaving if they were. Surely, he hadan early start this morning and was away from his chalet. I could have slipped into mine, cranked on the heat, and worn the other ski jacket that I brought in case of emergencies.
The emergency related to wearing white ski clothes of any kind almost always involved spilling hot chocolate on your coat or pants. It was always best to wear dark pants due to the risk of sitting in something, since the material of ski pants attracts stains. You sit in something once—doesn’t matter if it's food, drink or grease from a chair lift dripping from the metal ropes—ski clothes cling to it, absorbing the discoloring in every level of its fibers.
That’s why I always brought a second coat. Though I hadn’t been skiing in years, I found this bright cherry red jacket that was more of a puffer style than my last one. I also had different goggles, which I would wear today anyway because the pair I had been wearing were for low light. These others were more of a UV blocking for brighter light. It was perfect; Ford would notice me if I was wearing my white jacket and goggles that he had seen before but now, I was in a red coat and black goggles.
It didn’t occur to me immediately that it might have been strange to wear ski goggles to a spectator’s event, but Ididn’t care. My plan was still to ski beforehand, and that’s what I was going to do.
The Snowy Owl Inn checked me out in a dash, as they were pleased to get the room turned over for another unfortunate soul to experience, now that the highways had opened back up. They thanked me for staying with them and gave me a voucher for a free coffee at the shop next door, which I was grateful for since there was no coffee maker in the room.
“Oh, miss?” the front desk attendant called out to me while I was leaving, Priscilla in my arms and roller bag in the other hand. I turned back. “There’s a message here for you.”
Curiosity got the better of me as I wheeled my bag back to the front desk and took the note. The only problem was it wasn’t legible.
“I’m sorry, someone spilled their coffee on it.” The woman motioned to the man standing next to her as she rolled her eyes. The only word I could make out was “Ford.” My heart sank; could he have been trying to reach me to apologize? Was there any coming back from this?
I hoofed it the few blocks to where I had parked last night; the streets were much busier this morning with people trying to pile in and out—both those who had been stranded andwanted out and those dying to get into Sage Mountain. Once I loaded the Yukon and Priscilla was securely in her car seat, I made the short few minute drive to the row of chalets.
As soon as the chalets were in view, I saw Ford’s truck at the horse stables across the way. My stomach filled with nerves—both feelings of excitement and dread, simultaneously. He knew my vehicle. He would see it parked outside of the chalet. I had to think fast: Did it really matter if I was still here? Did it change anything?
After several moments of panicked reflection, I realized that it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to play games. He knew how I felt, and I knew how he felt. If my being here irritated him so much that he had a problem with it, that was on him.
So, I pulled into the chalet without fear. I didn’t make a big deal about unloading—I just grabbed my roller bag, Priscilla out of her car seat, and calmly walked to the front door. Punching in the key codes, I held my breath; but the door chimed and most importantly, unlocked.Thank you, Jesus, for electricity.
Walking in, the chalet had been working hard to warm up since the power was restored. It wasn’t too cold, and the heatwas on full blast. I stood over the vents and felt the warmth cut through my cold hands.
Priscilla acted as though she’d returned home after being stranded on the streets. I’d never seen her so happy; she was a spoiled dog who loved luxury stays. “What am I going to do with you, Priscilla?” I asked her. She tilted her head at me and pounced. I remembered her chew toy she’d been working on carving since we got here and retrieved it out of my purse.
One last trip outside for her and I was ready to go. I looked out the window and saw that Ford’s truck was gone from the horse stables.Whew.After last night's confrontation, I wasn’t ready for another one, no matter how much I yearned to see him. And that jawline of his.
Wearing her lime green sweater, Priscilla and I made our way outside, with me coaching her to be quick about it. The weather was still warming up, so I didn’t feel quite as bad about her being coatless and shoeless, but I still didn’t want her getting frozen paws. The second we stepped outside, Ford was standing on my porch to greet me, holding Priscilla’s shoes and jacket.
“Presley,” he spoke, breathless. His truck was behind him on the road and attached to it was a horse trailer. A man was in his passenger seat; I surmised it was likely his rider.
“Hi, Ford.” My voice shook as Priscilla went to him and begged him to pick her up. He hesitated for a moment, handed me her coat and shoes, and petted her on the head.
