The snowmobile appears like redemption wearing snow pants, and of course it's him. Ryder. Because apparently the universe has decided my humiliation needs a witness with storm-grey eyes and shoulders that look unfairly good in winter gear.
Ryder kills the engine, pulling off his helmet to reveal hair messily perfect in that way that takes normal humans forty-five minutes to achieve. His expression cycles through relief, exasperation, and something that might be "I knew this would happen" resignation.
"The waterfall's two miles that way." He points in the exact opposite direction from where I was heading. Of course it is.
"I was just—" I start, then give up. "How did you know?"
"Dotty called the firehouse. Said you'd been gone too long."
"I’m not lost—" The look he gives me suggests otherwise. "Fine. I got lost. Happy?"
"Ecstatic." His tone suggests otherwise, but there's something around his eyes that might be amusement. Or pity. Hard to tell. "Come on."
He extends a hand to help me onto the snowmobile, and his grip is firm, warm even through gloves. I settle behind him, trying to figure out where to put my hands until he reaches back, grabs my arms, and wraps them around his waist with the efficiency of someone who's rescued too many tourists.
"Hold on."
Sweet mother of North Face, he's solid. Like, unreasonably solid. My arms barely make it around him, and through his jacket I can feel muscle that definitely didn't come from just skating. He smells like pine and something clean and male that makes my brain static.
The engine roars to life and we're moving, trees blurring past while I try to focus on not falling off and not on how every bump presses me closer against his back. He's muttering something I can't quite hear over the engine—probably about city girls and their inability to read basic trail markers.
"I can hear you judging me!" I shout near his ear.
He turns his head slightly. "Good!"
But I feel more than hear the rumble of what might be laughter in his chest, and somehow that's worse than judgment. That's him being entertained by my disaster capabilities, and I absolutely don't want to know why that makes my stomach flip.
The trees open up to reveal the parking area where my rental sits alone, its passenger-side mirror still missing thanks to Morris's day-one snack break. He pulls up beside it, kills the engine, and waits while I ungracefully dismount, nearly falling when my legs refuse to remember how standing works.
His hand shoots out to steady me, gripping my elbow. "You good?"
"Perfect. Great. Living my best life." I fumble for my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock the car. "Thanks for the... rescue. Again."
"Maybe stick to locations with cell service."
"Maybe invest in better trail markers."
That almost-smile appears again, there and gone before I can properly document it. "Follow me back. Try not to discover any more ways to get lost between here and the cabins."
He waits until I start my car, then leads the way back on his snowmobile, checking his mirror periodically like he expects me to somehow take a wrong turn on a straight road.
When we reach our cabins, he parks and turns back to me before I can escape inside. "The waterfall's frozen this time of year anyway. Not much to see."
"Now you tell me."
"Would've told you earlier if you'd asked instead of trusting GPS in Alaska." He's already walking to his door, but calls back, "There's a map in Dotty's shop. The paper kind. Technology-resistant."
My door closes on his potential smirk, and I lean against it, still feeling the phantom pressure of his back against my chest.
I plug my dead phone into the charger and wait for it to come back to life. When it finally boots up, tons of messages from Dotty appear, along with one from an unknown number.
Unknown: Next time you want to find the waterfall, just ask. -Jax (got your number from Dotty, don't be mad)
I pull up my footage from today, scrolling through coffee shop warmth and hockey player chaos and Dotty's knowing smiles.But my mind keeps circling back to solid warmth and the rumble of maybe-laughter, to someone who keeps rescuing me while complaining about it.
I open a new post, staring at the blank caption space. Usually words flow like water, but tonight I can't seem to find the right ones for almost getting lost forever but being found by someone who smells like pine and sounds like safety, even when he's annoyed.
Finally, I type: "Day 3 in Ashwood Falls: Got lost finding a frozen waterfall, but discovered something better—the kind of community where people notice when you've been gone too long. Also, their coffee could make angels weep. 10/10 would get lost again."
