She talks about her business: the routes she's tested, the markets she's worked, the dream of finding a permanent base that still lets her travel. Her face lights up when she talks about her social media following. She gestures with her hands, nearly spilling her hot chocolate twice.
I ask questions. Not because I'm particularly interested in the cinnamon roll market, but because I like watching her talk. Likethe way she leans forward when she's making a point. Like how she laughs at her own jokes before she finishes telling them.
And for the first time in a long time, I don't mind being stuck.
*****
She's easy to talk to. That's the problem. Most people require effort. Performance, maintenance, the careful calibration of what to share and what to hold back. Madison just... talks. Asks questions that actually interest her. Listens like my answers matter.
It's disarming.
By the time evening falls, we've migrated back to the bedroom with the fire and blankets. The temperature is dropping again, and the bedroom is the only room worth occupying.
"This is very Little House on the Prairie," Madison observes, huddled under a quilt. "Minus the prairie. And the little house."
"And the family of seven or whatever they had."
"You've read the books?"
"I've seen the show. Does that count?"
"Barely."
She throws a pillow at me. It's becoming a pattern.
"What do you usually do in the evenings?" she asks. "When you're not trapped with strangers?"
"Read. Work. Go to the bar in town sometimes."
"Very exciting."
"I didn't move here for excitement."
"What did you move here for?"
I consider the question. "Quiet. Space. Something that felt real."
"And you found it?"
"Most days."
She's quiet for a moment, studying me. The firelight makes her eyes look darker than they are.
"I can see it," she says finally. "Why you'd choose this over whatever you had before."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. There's something about this place. Like the noise gets turned down. Like you can actually hear yourself think."
"That's either a compliment or an insult to Wylde Mountain's entertainment options."
"It's an observation." She pulls the blanket tighter. "I don't usually notice things like that. I'm always moving, always planning the next stop. Quiet makes me nervous."
"And now?"
"And now..." She trails off, looking at the fire. "Now I'm snowed in on a mountain with a stranger and I don't actually mind. Which is odd."
"Should I be offended that you expected to mind?"
