Minus thirty degrees? My bones froze at the thought. I’d planned to spend two months in the cabin, thinking I’d be safe from bad weather in the high mountains until Halloween at least. Then I’d fly back to California to face real life again.
I glanced out the window, realizing my planning had been wrong, although it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be snowbound. The weather sites I’d looked at gave an average temperature in the high fifties for this month. Sure, it dropped to the thirties at night — I’d hoped I’d see a little snow. But this…
“Well, I guess I’d better hurry then.”
Mrs. Pop sighed and gave me a motherly pat. “All right, sweetie. You make your calls, and I’ll start gathering your usual supplies. Anything special you want me to add?”
I smiled, the backs of my eyes unexpectedly burning from her kindness. “Thank you, Mrs. Pop. I’ll just take the usual.” Back in L.A., the local grocers wouldn’t know my name and wouldn’t give a damn what I needed, let alone remember my preferences. Yeah… I liked it here. More than anyplace I’d ever been. Not that I’d been to many places, not really. Not enough to say I’d “been there.” I’d toured with Mom, skipping from one large city to the next. But I’d been taken more as decoration than anything. More as a temptation, I realized much later.
I shook my head, shaking away the depressing thought.
Stepping into the “computer room,” I smiled at the old Dell sitting on the heavy hand-hewn desk. I ignored it and pulled out the sturdy office chair, taking a seat, my eyes glued to the weather outside. Still only flurries. I’d be okay.
Swiping to my agent slash best friend’s number, I tapped the button to call.
“Zoe! How are you?” Leslie’s voice was like a warm cloak settling around my shoulders.
“Hi, yourself. I’m good. Getting some supplies before a big snowstorm heads my way.”
Her voice grew more concerned. “I saw that on the weather channel this morning. You going to be okay?”
I shook off Mrs. Pop’s warnings from only a moment before. “Of course. I’ve got the generator, and I’ll soon have plenty of food. It will be just me, my laptop, and a blanket of snow. I’m actually excited to throw my first snowball. From what they’re saying, I’ll get to make a snowman too.”
She laughed. Leslie was a Southern California girl too, but unlike me, had no yearning to leave the warm sun. “Take a picture and sent it the next time you’re in civilization.”
“I will.” I smiled, unable to keep the excitement from my tone. “I’ll sent it along with the rest of the book.”
She gasped. “Are you really almost finished? You still have another month before your deadline.”
I could almost see her entire face light up with happiness. A natural blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl next door, I met the pretty Leslie Wiseman my freshman year at USC, when I’d escaped Mom’s home and moved into the tiny dorm room. Unlike most girls who hated me on sight, Leslie had welcomed me warmly as her roomie, and we’d become immediate and fast friends. Even when I dropped out my junior year, we’d moved into a small apartment together. She finished college while I struggled through writing my first book.
Leslie worked hard, interning at the same publishing company through school. With four years of experience as their flunky, they hired her on as an assistant the moment she earned her degree. I became her first client and that debut novel did reasonably well, for a newbie at least. My second book did even better, my third better still. My fourth book was inches close to landing on the New York Times Best Sellers list. My best friend was certain “Come Closer” would send me into that stratosphere.
“Yep, I’m really almost done,” I promised her, unable to believe it myself. The words had just flowed, coming out of me with a fluidity I’d never experienced. “Then I need to go back through and spice up the sex scenes and make sure the characters feel real.”
She laughed. “I’m sure your sex scenes are amazing as currently written. I still don’t know how any woman still holding her v-card can write like that.”
I felt myself grow hot. I wasn’t a virgin, but only two other people on Earth knew that. I’d told no one else. Not even my best friend.
I kept my voice light, not wanting to go there. Not wanting to remember. “Why do you think my v-card hasn’t been punched? Sex is so good in my head that I’m sure no real man could ever match up.”
Images flashed in my mind. Sneering faces, groping hands, wet sloppy lips on my skin. My stomach curdled, and I leaned forward to keep the bile down, intent on keeping those memories suppressed in the deepest part of my mind.
“True that,” she said, still laughing, but it now sounded more forced. “My last date was about as romantic as a walk down the middle of the 405.”
I laughed. “Wow… I could use that in my next book.”
“Absolutely. His name is Richard and his Tinder profile was, let’s say, highly exaggerated. The moral of the story is to never date a Dick.”
I leaned back in the chair and pulled the wool cap off, scratching the place where the hat made my head itch before brushing out the tangles with my fingers. “Was he a fiction writer too? Or was he just an overly descriptive salesman?”
Leslie’s lips made a blubbering noise as she blew out a breath. “Maybe Grimm’s Fairy Tales. But seriously, I deleted my Tinder, Match, and eHarmony accounts and if I ever… ever… eeeever say I’m going to try online dating again, tie me down until I come to my senses.”
I pulled my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. “Sure thing. I still don’t see why you went that route anyway.”
She made a scoffing sound. “Well, if I looked like you and didn’t work sixteen hours a day, I’m sure my luck would be better.” The words didn’t hold an ounce of bitterness, but they still left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I didn’t want to look like me because that meant I looked like my mom. Exactly like her, everyone said. They weren’t wrong, which made them assume I acted like her too. In that arena, she and I couldn’t have been any more different.
I smiled into the phone, making sure Leslie heard the warmth in my voice. “You’re gorgeous inside and out, and when the timing is right, the perfect guy will come out of nowhere and sweep you off your feet as much as you sweep him off his.”
I felt her roll her eyes. “Yeah… in your book, maybe.”
I laughed. “Sure… but in my book, it will be a savage pirate sailing from afar to enslave you and make you his.”
“Will he rip my bodice?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure thing. And you can long for your captor’s kiss after he ravishes you endlessly.”
“Ya know…” I could almost see her wrinkle her nose. “All those historical romances gloss over one thing. The smell. Can you imagine a pirate, even a hunky, sexy one, getting off a ship after a three-month voyage and immediately wanting to ravish any part of you? Pee-yuck.”
God, I loved my friend.
“Well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about your smell either. Or shaving… anything.”