"All set?" he asks when I find him again, our basket full.
"Yep."
He pays and I slip over to another register to buy the gift.
We meet outside, and look up.
"Oh no," I breathe.
The snow is falling heavily now, thick flakes that land on our heads and shoulders. The friendly town that looked like a Christmas card an hour ago is starting to be overtaken by blankets of white, the sky darkening.
Harlon pulls out his phone. “Another front moved in.”
“Do we have to time to get back and head out?”
“Roads are already getting bad. They're closing the pass to Deepwood Mountain.” He looks at me, and I see the decision forming. “We need to stay here tonight. Trying to make it through in this would be stupid.”
"Stay here in town?"
"Yeah." His voice is careful, neutral. "I saw a place down the way, the Snowcap Inn. Hopefully, we can get rooms, and head to Deepwood in the morning."
He said ‘rooms’—plural.
The whole street is going dark…businesses closing early for Christmas Eve, locals hurrying home to be with family. The onlylights still glowing are from the Snowcap Inn, its windows warm and inviting against the white onslaught.
We drive through the heavy snow, not talking, both of us carrying the weight of what we're not saying.
The inn is small and charming, with a large stone fireplace in the lobby, wreaths on every door. At the check-in desk, Harlon taps the bell. A man with gray eyes appears from a back room. His scowl could rival Harlon’s.
"Last-minute travelers?" he grunts.
Harlon glances at me. "We need?—"
"One room," I hear myself say.
His eyes snap to mine, searching.
"One room," I repeat, more firmly this time. "If you have one available."
The man nods. "We do. King bed, mountain view, private bath."
"Perfect," I say before I can second-guess myself.
Harlon pulls out his wallet, but I hand over my credit card before he can. "My turn to contribute."
He looks like he wants to argue, but the man is already processing the payment. The guy hands me a key and points toward the stairs.
"Second floor, end of the hall. Enjoy your stay. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," we echo automatically.
We climb the stairs, Harlon carrying the bulk of our things. The hallway is dim and quiet, most guests probably already tucked in for the night. I unlock the door with hands that are shaking slightly.
The room is lovely, all wood and soft lighting with a huge bed piled with quilts and pillows, and a window showing nothing but white.
It’s romantic.
Intimate.
