Until now.
Things have shifted. We’ve both settled into life, as much as someone can, and it feels like the tides have turned.
And the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about? Our first kiss can’t be our last.
So, I created a plan—wrote it out on pen and paper—because if I didn’t, I was going to be panic snacking the whole way to Michigan. I gave myself something to do and thought if I wrote it out, it’d feel more doable.
Pulling out my phone, I click my messages and find Tyson’s name—he never responded, and according to Teague, his phone is off. So, here I am. Ready to put it all on the line. Or, that’s what I convinced myself on the plane.
Anxiety settles in my gut as I ring the doorbell and it’s only a second before it swings open, the smell of cinnamon and something sweet hitting me, and Tyson’s mom beaming at me.
“Sweet girl, you made it!” she says, smiling in a way that warms me, no matter how cold it is outside. It’s been snowing for a day or two, based on the snow piles from the plowed driveway. Sara kisses my cheek and wraps me in a tight hug, smelling like cinnamon. She always had a way of making me feel like I was one of the family.
“It’s so good to see you,” I greet her as she continues to hug me.
“Get in here. It’s freezing!” She gestures for me to follow her inside. “I hope you know that your jersey is at the top of my Christmas list.” Turning over her shoulder, she offers me a wink and I know she’s serious.
“I want one too,” Teague chimes in, wrapping me up in a hug as soon as I drop my bags in the living room. He shakes me back and forth, and says, “Or tickets, whichever.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I look around, trying to see if Tyson is here. I’m guessing not, considering he would’ve said something by now.
“He’s at the cabin. Walked over there an hour or so ago,” Teague says, like he’s reading my mind.
Nodding, I ask, “Does he know I’m still coming?”
Teague shrugs. “I think if you didn’t come, he’d be in a full on spiral. He’s struggling a bit.”
“Let me get you a coffee. We got some fancy beans from that coffee shop in town. And then Teague will drive you out there.”
“Are you sure he wants to see me?” My voice is quiet and I dip my chin into my chest.
“Yes,” they both answer in unison.
I rub my hand over my face, letting the stress of having to execute the plan I put on paper, for real.
I have a feeling that they know more than they are letting on but I absolutely don’t want to talk about it with them. I’m thankful they’re actually leaving it at “yes” and nothing more.
Sitting at one of the barstools, I watch as Sara makes my coffee. She puts the coffee beans in front of me to smell and my mouth is watering. It’s clear where Tyson gets his thoughtfulness from. This is the kind of family where you mention you like something once and they find a way to have it for you whenever they can.
“Here you go.” Sara hands me a tumbler of hot coffee, “Teague will take you.”
The windows showcase the snow falling steadily, and it’s gorgeous. “Actually, I’ll take a walk.”
It’sonlythesoundof my steps on the snow as I make my way to the cabin. It feels like a winter wonderland, an almost completely different world even from their home. I sip coffee, notes of nuts and vanilla hitting my tongue, and soak in the peaceful surroundings—a perfect comparison to the rock that’s in my stomach.
It’s clear that Tyson plowed the trail they take from the house, another nod to his thoughtfulness. When I see the cabin in the distance, smoke billowing from the chimney, I stop. Truly, it’s like a post card or the way you’d dream of a place like this to be. It’s an honest to God log cabin, built by hand when Tyson’s dad was a kid. When I’m close enough, I can see Tyson sitting inside, the curtains drawn on the expansive front windows.
My feet try to be quiet in the snow boots, not wanting to let him know I’m here yet. Needing a moment, I take a deep breath when I’m in front of the door. My fisted hand hovers before softly knocking. My lungs are tight, anxiety paired with the icy air, and my heart sprints from one beat to the next.
Here we go.
I softly knock on the door. A few seconds stretch between the knock, my gloved hand paused, like it’s frozen. Excitement and nervousness pull on me, an internal tug of war.
The door swings open and there’s Tyson. He’s wearing a long-sleeved Henley, forest green, underneath a flannel button-up. His other hand pulls at his chin, his fingers touching the short beard. The fire crackles from inside, the only sound between us.
“You’re here.” His voice is layered with confusion and it almost sounds like a question.
“Of course I am.”
