1
TEDDIE
The Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse looked like an emergency shelter.
I stood just inside the door, stomping snow off my boots, and took in the chaos. Every booth was packed. Every high-top by the windows had people crammed around it. A family with two little kids had set up camp in the corner, coloring books spread across a table littered with french fry baskets. A cluster of truckers sat at the bar, nursing beers and looking like they wanted to murder someone.
The interstate must have gotten worse overnight. These people had probably pulled off looking for food and shelter, only to find themselves stuck in our little mountain town while the roads stayed buried under two feet of snow.
I scanned the room for my friend Elsa. As usual, she was behind the bar, filling drink orders with calm, steady movements. But even from here, I could see the tension in her shoulders. Kameron, our manager, was nowhere in sight—probably in the back, dealing with some crisis or another.
Suddenly, I spotted him.
He was tucked away in the back corner alone, hunched over, scrolling on his phone. He was one of the new guys from the fire station—I’d seen him around but had never talked to him. Dark hair, broad shoulders straining against a flannel shirt, a tired expression that said he’d been up all night.
As if he felt me looking, his head came up.
Our eyes met across the crowded room, and something flickered in my chest. A little spark of recognition, even though we’d never actually spoken. His gaze held mine for one beat. Two. Then he looked back down at the screen.
Right. Okay then.
I shook off whatever that was and made my way toward the bar, dodging a harried-looking woman carrying a toddler on her hip. Elsa spotted me before I reached her.
“Thank god,” she said, sliding a beer across the counter to one of the truckers. “Please tell me you’re here to help.”
“I was just checking in. Meghan’s safe—she’s up the mountain with Wolfe.” I glanced around at the chaotic lunch rush. “But yeah, I can help. What do you need?”
“A miracle.” Elsa grabbed a glass and started filling it from the tap. “We’ve got twice the usual crowd and half the usual staff. Allegra’s been in the kitchen since five a.m., and I’ve been out here solo for the past two hours. Kameron’s trying to figure out if we have enough food to last another day if the roads don’t clear.”
“Put me to work.”
She didn’t argue. Within minutes, I had an apron tied around my waist and was weaving between tables, taking orders and delivering plates of nachos and burgers. The work was familiar—I’d helped Meghan enough times to know the rhythm of the place.
But the mood was different today. People were tired and cranky. A guy at one of the high-tops snapped at me when his order took too long. A woman complained loudly that the coffeewas cold, even though I’d just watched Elsa pour it fresh. One of the truckers kept making comments under his breath every time I walked past—the kind of comments that made me want to accidentally spill something on him.
The tension in the room was building like steam in a kettle. I could feel it pressing against my skin every time I passed through.
I glanced over at the firefighter in the corner. Still on his phone. His food sat untouched in front of him, and his brow was furrowed like whatever he was reading was causing him physical pain. Every few seconds, his thumbs would fly across the screen, typing something, and then he’d stop and wait, jaw tight, for a response.
Must be one hell of a conversation.
The family in the corner had reached their breaking point. The toddler was crying, the older kid was whining that she was bored, and the parents looked about two seconds away from losing it. At the bar, two of the truckers had started arguing about something—politics, maybe, or sports, or which route they should have taken to avoid the storm.
Elsa caught my eye and tilted her head toward the corner where the jukebox sat silent next to the small stage. I knew what she was thinking before she said it.
“No,” I said, setting down a tray of empty glasses. “Absolutely not.”
“These people need a distraction.” She wiped down the bar without looking at me. “You’ve got a voice that could stop traffic. Use it.”
“Elsa.”
“Teddie.” She finally met my eyes, and there was something soft beneath her usual cool composure. “I’ve heard you sing when you didn’t think anyone was listening. That thing you do when you’re wiping down tables at closing time. Please. Beforesomeone throws a punch or that baby’s screaming sets off a chain reaction.”
I looked around the room. She wasn’t wrong. The energy was volatile, a powder keg waiting for a spark. And the toddler’s cries were getting louder, which was making everyone else more agitated.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But you owe me.”
I made my way to the corner, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was stupid. These people didn’t want some random girl singing at them. They wanted the roads to clear so they could get back to their lives.
