The thought softens something in me, just a little. Not enough to forgive the way he’s treated me, but enough to understand the pressure he’s under.
I find a jar of brown sugar on the counter, one of the items from his list. The pantry already has a spot for it, a specific place on the top shelf where another jar sits half-empty. I grab the old one to check the date and notice something.
There’s brown sugar everywhere.
Not literally, but as I look around the pantry, I see it repeated. Brown sugar oatmeal. Brown sugar ham glaze. A bag of brown sugar candies tucked behind the cereal. Even the coffee creamer on the counter is brown sugar flavored.
Huh.
It’s a small thing. A silly thing. But it makes him seem almost human. The grumpy bear shifter who yells at everyone and drives away every worker has a sweet tooth. He likes brown sugar.
I file that away and finish stocking the pantry.
The kitchen is done. The floors are clean. Time to find my room.
The hallway is narrow, with three doors leading off it. The first is open, revealing a small bathroom with a clawfoot tub and pedestal sink. Clean enough, though the mirror has water spots and the towels look like they haven’t been changed in a week.
I add it to my mental list of things to tackle tomorrow.
The second door is closed. His bedroom, I assume. I don’t touch the handle, don’t even slow down as I pass. Whatever’s behind that door is none of my business.
The third door is at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.
I push it open and step inside.
The guest room is small but functional. A double bed with a plain quilt, a wooden dresser with an oval mirror, a window seat built into the wall beneath a frost-covered window. The walls are bare, the surfaces empty. No one has stayed here in a long time.
But it’s clean. Cleaner than the rest of the cabin, like someone made an effort specifically for this room.
Maybe Derrick called ahead. Or maybe Tolin isn’t completely heartless, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise.
I set my bag on the bed and start unpacking. A few changes of clothes. Toiletries. The book I brought in case I had downtime, which seems laughable now. My phone charger, which I plug into the outlet by the dresser.
My phone buzzes as it connects. A text from Derrick.
Made it up okay? Storm’s getting bad down here.
I hesitate, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What do I say? That his friend is exactly as terrible as everyone warned me? That I already talked back to him and probably made everything worse?
Made it, I type instead.Roads were rough but I’m here. Starting on the pantry now.
His reply comes quickly.Good. Remember what I said. Call me if you need anything. I mean it.
I will.
I set the phone down and move to the window seat, brushing frost from the glass with my sleeve.
The view stops me cold.
Even through the swirling snow, I can see the mountains stretching out below. Trees heavy with white, the land rolling away in waves of forest and shadow. The sky is gray and thick with clouds, the last light of day fading fast. It’s wild out there. Beautiful and dangerous and utterly isolated.
I’m really stuck here.
The thought settles over me, heavy and strange. For the next few days, maybe longer if the storm is as bad as everyone says, I’m trapped on this mountain with a man who clearly doesn’t want me here. No escape route. No backup plan. Just me and him and whatever this is.
I should be scared. Or at least nervous.
But mostly, I’m just tired.
