Another giggle fit roars from the passenger side. Now Ember’s howling too. I’m glad Charlotte’s enjoying the ride, at least. When she sees I’m not laughing, she tries to cover her mouth.
“You and Ember should take your show on the road.” I’m only half-joking.
“I’m sorry.” She waves a hand in resignation, choke-coughing. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a K-9 corgi before.”
“Because she’s the country’s first. Corgis have an elite sniffer,” I snap before I can stop myself for reasons unknown to me. “Which is actually ideal for detection work.”
Charlotte tries—and fails—to look serious. “Now that I think of it, Ember would fit into tight spaces. Under vehicles. Under train seats. Probably great for rescue. She’ll be an excellent police dog, Officer.”
“Whatever,” I mutter and compress my lips. Don’t try to clean it up now.
I can feel the weight of Charlotte’s apologetic puppy dog eyes. That used to always work on me. Not anymore.
I keep staring ahead, knowing she’s still looking at me. My lips curl upward anyway. Damnit.
The mountain road curves and finally, familiar log siding comes into view through the bare trees. I smile each time I see the big green sign. Mistletoe Mountain cabins. The place of most of my favorite childhood moments and now I live here every day.
Charlotte leans forward, her features light up in a way I haven’t seen today. “I’mobsessed.” She squeals with excitement.
“This you?” I can’t help but play along.
She nods like a bobblehead doll. “I took such a big risk buying this without looking at it. I got lucky with my real estate agent. She’s a bulldog and knows the area well. I fell in love with the pictures, but this is…this isperfect. It’s more like a cottagethan a cabin, but semantics.” The way she’s rubbernecking the property, you’d think she’d notice she’s at the wrong address.
“Hm.” is all I manage, gripping the wheel tighter. Only a fool would buy a house without at least touring it once. I keep that part to myself. Not everyone is fortunate enough to know the inner workings of the house they buy, as I did. Especially in this housing market.
I switch off my heated seat, which is no longer cozy, but irritatingly hot. “What’s your house number, again?” I take a sip from my water bottle to clear my dry throat. “I just want to confirm I’m going the right way.”
“I believe you did.” Her voice is chipper as she peers out the window in awe. She digs an envelope out of her purse and flips through a small stack of papers, rattling off the address written in the pen at the top. “This is the one.”
“Hm.” I glimpse her handwriting—chicken scratch. Her ‘1s’ still looks like ‘7s.’ The address has to be mixed up. “With a forest green door?”
She nods, basically mirroring Ember’s head out the window.
Ah. I remember reading that the cabins in this area were built around the same time half a century ago. Most owners forgo entryway renovations, as those doors are known to be a part of Mistletoe Mountain’s charm. Charlotte wouldn’t know about the area’s history like I do. Her confusion makes sense.
Shifting the truck in park, I wait as she unbuckles her seatbelt. Seeing Charlotte this excited, rather than the ball of stress from earlier, is refreshing. We’ll laugh about this later: our drive to “her” cabin up the mountain. Perhaps this is just the ice breaker needed that leads to smoother conversation.
To my surprise, Ember listens without fuss when I tell her to lie down in the back. We watch as Charlotte steps out of the truck and approaches the door. She’s been out of my vehicle for only a minute, and I already miss her presence.
“She’s still cute as hell,” I murmur to Ember, wedging my tongue between my teeth, smiling like an idiot, enchanted by her backside in yoga pants, the exact way I did when we were love drunk teens. Placing an arm over the passenger's head rest, I watch the sleeping beauty in front of me—because clearly she was unconscious when she wrote the incorrect address. Tiny snowflakes drift onto her hair before melting instantly. I flip my seat warmer back on and settle in. No point in unloading her boxes at the wrong place.
Whining and tiny stomps sound from the backseat. That didn’t last long.
“Alright. Let’s get you where you can see.” I reach behind me. Ember eagerly uses my arm as a plank to reach the center console. With all her might, she leaps into the passenger seat.
“Watch this,” I tell the passenger princess. Any minute, Charlotte will realize her grave error and sulk back to the truck. In lieu of popcorn, I unwrap a piece of hard candy and pop it into my mouth, satisfied by the buttery caramel swirling my tongue. We’ll laugh about this debacle over lunch while waiting for the tow truck, then go our separate ways. My brain replays our movie marathon dates.
Does she still like homemade hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream on top? I smile at the memory of her finger swiping the fluffy peak, us wrestling as she attempts to boop my nose and me pinning her against the couch. My thigh wedged between her legs. The heat from her center holding me captive as she lay underneath me. She’d slip her finger into my mouth and demand I lick it clean. Then we’d make out until our drinks went cold. I loved the way she moaned my name. Almost as much as I loved tracing my tongue along the hollow of her clavicle. We rarely finished a movie in her first apartment.
Warmth canvases my belly, snapping me to the present. Charlotte’s at the front door, fumbling with the lock. Obviously. A laugh slips from my mouth. Any second now.
She pushes the door open. I freeze.
What?
My eyes go wide at the key sticking out from the lock. Did she—did she really just walk into my house? How the fuck?—
“Wait. Charlotte!” I yell through the glass, but she doesn’t hear me. “Hey!” I shove the truck door open and sprint toward the porch. Ten steps in, I stumble, tripping over a thick root poking from the ground. “Damnit,” I hiss. I knew that was there. A problem for later.
