She pulled it out, thumb swiping over the lock screen. The signal bars flickered like a dying candle. The text was from Valerie, the woman who owned the dance school where Daphne had been teaching for the past six months.
Valerie: In Florida with mom. Studio’s being sold. Buyers lined up but can give you first dibs. Call me.
Her pulse fluttered, but her limbs felt like they were sinking into sand, a sensation she hated but one that had become more frequent lately.
She typed back:
Driving. Talk soon.
Then she silenced the phone and shoved it into her coat pocket. She didn’t have the physical or mental energy to deal with Valerie now. Brain fog had been her constant companion for the past few weeks, and she just wanted to get to the cabin and rest.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing I can deal with right now.”
Suddenly, a static sound came over the radio and he turned up the volume.
“This is an emergency winter weather bulletin from the National Weather Service. A severe blizzard warning is in effect for Shenandoah County and surrounding areas. The storm is intensifying and moving with sustained winds of 40 to 55 miles per hour. Whiteout conditions expected within the hour. Snowfall rates of two to three inches per hour will make travel dangerous. Wind chills will drop to -20 degrees Fahrenheit or lower overnight. Seek immediate refuge and prepare to remain indoors for 12 to 24 hours. Repeat: shelter in place and do not attempt travel. This storm is life-threatening.”
The two-story cabincame into view, and Daphne leaned forward. Its log frame, draped in fresh snow and tucked beneath towering pines, looked like something from an old Christmas movie. Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm lightshimmered behind frosted windows. A wooden porch wrapped around the front, its railing strung with holiday lights that blinked beneath the falling snow.
“It’s lovely.” She hopped out of the truck and breathed in air so clean it almost burned. Snowflakes spiraled around her like tiny prayers. Everything was quiet. Like time had slowed to a hush.
“Uncle Gage and Aunt Lily recently renovated it.” Abe came around the truck with a soft smile. “Used to be nothing but drafty boards, bad wiring, and mice.”
“Now it looks like a fairy tale.”
Inside, it was even better. The entry opened into a cozy sitting room with wood-beamed ceilings and an open hearth. The fireplace stood like a backbone between the sitting area and a bedroom beyond, visible through a rustic doorway. A knit throw hung over the arm of a leather sofa flanked by two cozy chairs. Everything smelled like pine, cinnamon, and cloves.
“The fire looks like it was lit a few hours ago.” She set down her overnight bag, pulled out her phone charger, and plugged it and her phone into the outlet near the coffee pot.
“Gage and Lily came up this afternoon. He checked the power while Lily put on fresh sheets. She likes taking care of people.”
Daphne took off her parka and wandered toward the kitchen while Abe brought in the rest of their things. The kitchen was small but modern, with soapstone counters, warm wood cabinetry, and a dining nook beneath a window dusted in snow.
She opened the fridge to find neatly packed containers with notes on each one.
Turkey chili – reheat slowly.
Sweet potato biscuits – best warm with honey.
Cocoa mix – use milk, not water.
She smiled. “Lily reallylikestaking care of people.”
“She’s the best cook in the county,” Abe said, coming in behind her with his emergency supplies backpack in one hand and her pink ballet bag slung over his shoulder.
“Abe, why did you bring in my ballet bag?”
Instead of answering, he set it on the counter and unzipped it.
Her stomach tightened when she saw what he’d packed.
Pink ribbons and elastic ready to be sewn. Darning thread and needles. And new pointe shoes, their soft pink satin gleaming and scuff-free.
“I wasn’t going to bring those,” she said.
“I know.” He met her eyes. “But your PT said you’re strong enough to dance on pointe again for more than a few minutes. That it’s time to start easing back into longer rehearsals.”
