ONE
MILA
The mountains don’t care about your five-year plan.
They don’t care that I had a color-coded calendar, a vision board, and a boss who used phrases like “lean in” and “circle back” like he was getting paid per syllable. They don’t care that I told myself I wasfineafter the breakup—fine enough to post a smiling photo with a latte and the caption New season, new me like a liar with great Wi-Fi.
The mountains only care about one thing:
Whether your tires are worthy.
Mine are not.
My SUV—affectionately namedDarlenebecause she’s dramatic and unpredictable—slides a little as I creep along a winding road with a sign that reads:
WELCOME TO TIMBER CREEK
Population: Small
Drama: Medium
Hearts: Big
I stare at it through the windshield like it just challenged me to a duel.
“Okay,” I tell Darlene. “We can do this. We are capable. We are safe. We are?—”
My phone pings from the passenger seat.
Mom:did you get there???
Mom:are you eating?
Mom:text me when you’re safe
Mom:M I L A
I don’t text back because if I do, she’ll call. If she calls, she’ll hear the tremor in my voice that says,Hi, I’ve driven three hours into a postcard and now I’m one snowflake away from becoming a cautionary tale.
Instead, I grip the steering wheel and focus on the view.
Timber Creek is the kind of place people describe as “charming” in a way that feels like a warning.
The town sits in a valley like it was placed there by someone trying to prove a point about cozy living. Smoke curls from chimneys. Warm yellow light glows in the windows of little shops. Pine trees tower like bodyguards. The whole place smells faintly of woodsmoke and cinnamon and the smugness of people who don’t have to parallel park.
A banner stretches across Main Street:
WINTER WEEKEND KICKOFF!
Hot Cocoa Bar! Ice Sculptures! Charity Raffle!
Of course Timber Creek throws a party for the weather that’s currently trying to murder me.
I follow the main road, passing a diner with a neon sign shaped like a pancake, a bookstore with a painted window display of snowmen reading romance novels, and a boutique that appears to sell nothing but plaid and optimism.
There are people out walking, bundled in hats and scarves like they weren’t aware it’sJanuaryand that the air hurts your face.
This is where I’m supposed to “reset.”
