Nathan
The snow’s coming down harder now, fat flakes catching in the headlights as I pull out of the Rusty Pine’s lot. Katy’s taillights disappear around the bend ahead of me, and I sit there at the stop sign longer than I need to, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
I liked her—more than liked her.
I liked the way she laughed bright, unselfconscious, like she’d never learned how to hold it back. I liked the way she looked at me like I was interesting instead of just another grumpy mountain hermit. The way her knee brushed mine under the bar, and neither of us moved away. And I really liked the way she said my name at the end, soft and sure, as if she already knew she’d be saying it again.
I liked her so much it scares the hell out of me.
The truck’s heater is blasting, but I still feel cold. I mutter a curse and finally turn toward the ridge road, tires crunching fresh powder.
My phone buzzes in the cup holder before I’ve gone half a mile.
Emily.
Of course.
I let it ring twice, long enough to pretend I’m debating whether to answer, then hit speaker.
“What?” I say, trying for gruff and failing.
“Hello, sunshine,” she sings. “How was your big night out? Did you survive human interaction? Did you growl at anyone? Did you—oh my God, you’re smiling. I can hear it.”
“I’m not smiling,” I lie. My mouth twitches anyway.
“You are. You sound different. Lighter. Tell me everything. Is she pretty? Funny? Did she run screaming when she saw the beard?”
I exhale through my nose. “She’s nice.”
“Nice?” Emily’s voice shoots up an octave. “Nice? Nathan James, try again.”
I rub the back of my neck, eyes on the snowy road. “Okay, she’s more than nice.”
Silence. Then a delighted squeal so loud I wince.
“Details! Now! I need details!”
“She’s a graphic designer. Moved here six months ago. Laughs a lot. Talks to birds.”
Emily makes a sound like she’s about to cry. “You’re in love.”
“I’m not in love,” I say too fast. “It was one drink.”
“One drink and you’re smiling like a fool on the phone. I know that tone. You’ve got the glow.”
“There’s no glow.”
“There’s glow, massive glow. Did you kiss her?”
“No.” I pause. “Almost. Outside. In the snow.”
Another squeal. “You almost kissed her! In the snow! That’s movie shit, Nate!”
“It was nice.”
“You keep saying nice like it’s a bad word. Nice is good. Nice is great. Nice is the start of something that’s going to make you stop being such a hermit.”
I turn onto the dirt track that leads to the cabin, snow crunching under the tires. “She’s bright. Loud. Full of color. Everything I told myself I didn’t need.”
