27
Late that evening, when Alec found himself back on Beulah Mountain—in yet another blizzard,
climbing snow-covered Penny Lane in the dark—he was struck with a weighty sense of déjà vu.
Hasn't this already happened?
It had… only this time he was on a snowmobile, with a decent coat, and had grown much more
acclimated to the environment.
If only I were on a horse named Brandy… with Tyler.
He squeezed the accelerator and the Titan climbed steadily through the falling flakes… only a
couple of miles to go and this long day would finally be over. It seemed an eternity since morning in Dupont Circle with Demarco and, as expected, there had been obstacles.
The layover in Chicago was delayed due to weather.Imagine that, he had thought. He felt like one of those cartoon characters that a storm-cloud follows around. He had spent the entire time on the plane, watching them de-ice the wings and praying for a break in the clouds, a window, anything that would not strand him at O'Hare, and send him to a complimentary hotel room for the night.
His prayers were answered, albeit at a snail's pace, and eventually, he was back in the air
headed west, three hours later than planned.
When he arrived in Missoula, he rented a car and made his way up the main road to Melody.
The snow was coming down hard now, but he would not be deterred. All he could think about was a
nice cozy bed… and sleep… and Tyler.
He had intended to go directly to Tyler's house and resolve whatever elephant had materialized
into their relationship. But the weather—
Blame It on the Weather… might make a good title for the book.
—had once again thrown a monkey-wrench into his plans, as if portraying an abstract character
in the manuscript of his life.
So he had finally arrived in Melody and the midnight hour was closing in… too late to show up
on Tyler's doorstep. Well, maybe not, but he would rather wait until he had some sleep and was not running on fumes. The cross-country travel in the past couple of days had taken its toll and it was 2
a.m. EST in his head. The only thing that had kept him going this long was junk food and Dr. Pepper…
and the caffeine had long worn off. He was groggy, bitchy, and needed some rest before he faced
anything, including himself, in a mirror.
When he had driven the rental through the empty streets of Melody, the buildings were dark. No
one was at Buddy's Bodega or Peggy's Diner. No. Everyone was at home, snug in their beds—
—with sugarplums dancing in their heads and all that other Yuletide jazz.
But that had not been the case at Al's garage. The lights were on there and he hadn't had to use
his key-card to get in and retrieve the Titan. Misty and Al were behind the counter eating something that looked suspiciously like Chinese take-out from Tupperware containers. He had asked them what
