They are clearly telegraphing all day long that I know the solutions to my problems and it’s my own fault if I don’t implement the solutions.
I sleep like crap, and when I realize at three a.m. that the massive snow dump that people have been murmuring about all week has started, I pull myself out of bed.
Can’t sleep. Can’t sit still. Can’t hear Sabrina breathing through the wall.
I know she’s home.
I heard her toothbrush again.
I got a boner over it again.
Debated again with myself if I wanted to switch rooms with Zen, then decided I like torturing myself.
But now, I’m up. If we get as much snow as predicted, Zen says they’ve heard it’s likely that half of downtown will be closed. It’s the responsible business owner thing to do to get into the café and plan on managing coffee and basic food for the few customers we’ll have in case the rest of the crew can’t make it through the blizzard later.
I leave Zen the car and a note, strap on the spikes that I bought myself at the sports gear shop downtown yesterday, and hike downtown.
Where I realize I can make a pot of tea, but I’m basically useless when it comes to running a cappuccino machine. Good thing I know how to YouTube.
Bad thing though?
There’s something about teaching myself how to use a cappuccino machine that sparks a desire to test a few things.
Like I’m back in a lab.
Not with bees—I miss my bees—but any chance to engage thewhat would happen ifpart of my brain has always made me happy.
I’ve finally gotten the hang of the cappuccino machine when everything inside me goes on high alert.
Not likethere’s a bear that just walked into the kitchenalert.
More likeI feel like Sabrina’s on the other side of my bedroom wallalert.
I almost dismiss it—when I’m in the middle of a puzzle, I lose track of time, space, my own name, where I am—but hope ultimately takes me to the back door.
And when I fling it open and take in the falling snow swirling around two dark figures rapidly approaching who come to a quick halt just close enough that I can confirm dog and owner, I can’t suppress a smile. “Sabrina. You’re early.”
She freezes like she’s been caught with her hand in the honey jar. “Good morning.”
“Feeling better today?”
There’s zero guilt in the look she aims my way. Wariness, yes. Guilt, no. “Yes.”
“Good.”
“Did you sleep here?” she asks.
“No.”
Jitter lunges, straining the leash and pulling her along until he can lick my hand. It’s second nature to lean the short distance required to scratch his back.
He’s a good dog.
“Did you stay awake here all night?” she presses.
Am I smiling bigger at her concern? Yes. Yes, I am. “No. I thought I’d get in before the snow and cover inside.”
She blinks.
