“No. You don’t get to say that. You know people. Call them up. Call Ben. He would be up. He owns a bar.”
“Yeah, you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
“What? Who wouldn’t know that? He owns a bar that says open till eleven or twelve on weekdays, and then it has to be cleaned up and locked up. He’s not in bed yet.”
“We don’t have service out here. It’s something else we are working on.”
“Nice. Real nice, Chris. Top-notch place you have here.”
“It’s in the works,” I said, exasperated from constantly being on the defense with her. “If you didn’t get the memo, there isn’t service on most mountains. Anywhere in the world. Anyway, listen, there is a chalet not too far from here. We can stay there.”
“Fine. My feet are killing me.”
“Well—”
“—Shut up, Chris. Let’s just go.”
I mocked her in my head, thinking of the things I wanted to say back, but didn’t because it was late, and we needed to get to the chalet, and I was her boss. It was going to be one of the coldest nights of the year, and we couldn’t stay out too long before we’d freeze to death. “Come on, let’s get out of the car, it's only a half-mile from here.”
“Great. Can’t wait,” the disdain was dripping from her voice.
My door shut, then hers, and we were walking again. She sniffled, rubbing her nose on the sleeve of my coat, and glanced around like she was afraid something was going to jump out and bite her. I wanted to be able to make a simple conversation with her, like earlier, but it never lasted.
An owl hooted in the distance, at least giving us something else to focus on. When we got to the chalet, it was pitch−black, no lights, no sign of life, everything was still. It was eerie, but I knew once we got inside, there was red wine and smores. It was the one thing we put in all the chalets to make the guests feel welcome.
“My poor dog,” she said, climbing the steps to the front door.
“Your dog? That’s who is waiting for you?” a wave of relief washed over me when I opened the green door with a large window that let me see into the living room.
“He was abandoned. He needs me.” Her short heels clinked against hardwood when she strode past me with her head held high.
“Give him a few days. He’ll come to his senses.”
“Wow. It’s nearly one in the morning and even tired, you still know how to be a pain in my ass, Chris.”
“Someone has to be, sweetheart,” I said the name more as an insult, and she puckered her lips and blew me a kiss.
“You’ll find my ass to be quite nice then, honey.” She tossed my coat to the ground and stepped away, leaving it in a wet, useless heap.
“I’ll get it. Don’t mind me.”
“I won’t,” he said, placing a few logs in the fireplace, together with a few fire starters. The strike of a match sounded, and the flame glowed, illuminating her face before she tossed it, creating a roaring fire.
My skin went from cold to thawing, to warm in a matter of seconds from the heat radiating from the fireplace. Suddenly, the exhaustion of the day hit me, and I wanted to relax. “Alright, do you want a glass of wine? We have that and smores to keep us from dying.”
“Wine sounds amazing. I’ll get the marshmallows started if you hand them over.” She clapped her hands a bit too excited and with way too much energy for it to be so late at night.
When I poured the wine, I poured each glass to the brim. I had a feeling I’d need as much as I could to get through this night. Melinda was sitting by the fireplace, waiting for the marshmallows to melt, but instead, they caught fire. Watching her was amusing. I sat on the leather couch, placing our wine glasses on the iron coffee table and hid my laughter behind my hand as I watched her try to blow out the flame that had fully charred the poor white pieces of fluff.
“Crap!” she squeaked and flicked the skewer she had it on, sending the sticky goodness into the blaze.
I leaned back and placed my arms on to the top of the couch, chuckling. “Trouble?”
“Just working out a few glitches.” Melinda placed another marshmallow on the stick, and this time turned the skewer in her hand to get the perfect roast.
The only sound that filled the space was the crackling and popping of the wood. It was enough to make me forget about the wine and make my eyelids heavy.
“I can’t believe you’re not giving me a budget. I’ll have to call in a few favors to see if a few people I know can pitch in a little.”
