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“Oh yeah… Yeah, that’s cool,” Michael said, sounding only mildly interested.
Peters chuckled again, warm and fond. “Sir, if you need anything else, please call me.”
Michael hung up and leaned his head against the cool window, watching the snowy Montana landscape roll by.
The gentle rumble of the truck engine and the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers made his eyelids heavy. Snow kept falling outside, soft and endless in the fading afternoon light. Michael leaned forward and gently tapped Meemaw’s arm.
“Meemaw?” he asked shyly. “Is it okay if I take a little nap?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, turning just enough to smile at him. “I’ll wake you when we’re getting close.”
Michael smiled gratefully, curled up a little smaller in the big backseat, and closed his eyes.
In the dream they were walking hand-in-hand through a glowing, magical forest. Isabelle looked like an elven princess — graceful and radiant, her long dark hair catching beams of golden light. Michael was dressed like Frodo, small and a little out of place, but she didn’t seem to mind. She looked down at him with the softest smile and whispered, “I’ve missed you so much, my love.”
Michael blushed hard, heart pounding. “Thanks, Isabelle… I missed you too.” He gathered all his courage and added, “I was thinking maybe… we could always stay together from now on?”
Isabelle brushed his cheek with gentle fingers, then leaned down and kissed him. A wave of pure, glowing joy filled his chest — warm and safe and right in a way nothing else ever had. He was just summoning the courage to kiss her back when—
“Michael… Michael, sweetheart…”
He blinked awake.
Meemaw was smiling at him from the front seat. It was darker outside now, the truck’s headlights cutting through falling snow.
“We’re about thirty minutes away, honey,” she said gently.
Michael smiled back, still a little dreamy and warm from the forest. “Thank you, Meemaw.”
He turned toward the window again, watching the dark trees and snow drift by. The dream lingered in his chest like a soft, glowing ember. He didn’t quite know what to do with the feeling — the way his heart had leapt when dream-Isabelle kissed him, the way he’d wanted to stay in that forest with her forever.
Michael smiled softly to himself and pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. The dream stayed with him, warm and glowing, as the truck carried him closer to Blackthorn Ridge. Closer to her.
He saw the diner from the road — warm yellow light glowing against the December dark, snow piled softly on the roof, the hand-painted “Mary Sue’s” sign that looked like it had been there forever.
Dale pulled the big truck over in front of the diner. Michael climbed out, throat tight with gratitude. He shook Dale’s hand solemnly, then Margaret pulled him into another warm hug. This time she held on a little longer, brushing imaginary snow off the shoulders of his hoodie and fussing with his collar like he was one of her own grandkids heading off into the cold.
“You stay warm, sweetheart,” she said, voice a little thick. She pressed the piece of paper with her number into his hand and cupped his cheek for a moment, eyes suspiciously shiny. “And you call if you need anything at all, you hear me? Anything.”
Michael nodded, eyes stinging. “Thank you. Very much, Meemaw.”
From the driver’s seat, Dale gave a fond, long-suffering chuckle. “Sweetheart, if we’re gonna make it to the motel before midnight, we really should get going…”
“I know, I know!” Margaret said, waving him off without looking away from Michael. “I just… I want to make sure he’s okay.” She gave Michael one last gentle squeeze on the shoulders, then finally stepped back. “Bye, honey. You take care of yourself.”
Michael stood on the snowy sidewalk and watched the truck pull away. Margaret kept waving through the back window until they turned the corner.
He stood there for a long moment after they were gone, snow falling softly around him. Then, quietly, he pulled out his phone and called Peters again.
“Hi… yeah, it’s me again. Can you… um… make it three million?” He paused, voice soft. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
He hung up, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and let out a small, shaky breath.
Feeling a little better, he turned toward the diner.
Through the big front window he saw her.
Isabelle.
