Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
10
Owen
That settles that. Being alone with me is worse than spinning out on a snowy road. Message received. Loud and clear. So loud, in fact, my head is throbbing. Stretching my arm up, I reach for the throw blanket on the back of the couch, pull it down, and turn the other way.
A rush of warmth fills the room.
Yup, we’re stuck here, and I’m so damn glad I never said a word to River about how I feel.
I rustle, flipping around in my bed. Blinking, I try to orient myself. Is it Monday? Am I late for work?
Shit, I need to get up now.
My eyes fly open.
Wait.
This isn’t my bed.
This isn’t my home.
Ohhhh.
Right.
My shoulders sag, and my chest squeezes with a pang of heartache.
I breathe out hard, scoot up on the couch, sitting now. How long did I sleep? Grabbing my phone from my front pocket, I rub my eyes, peering at the time.
It’s seven.
A text from TJ flashes on the screen.
TJ: You guys coming tonight still? Nisha was asking about you. She’s seriously worried. And she really wants you here.
I tap out a reply.
Owen: Shit. Sorry. Tell her I didn’t mean to freak her out. But we’re stuck here in Markleeville, waiting out the snow. Tell her we’ll try to be there first thing tomorrow, and I have some awesome farm veggies she’ll dig.
TJ: Ohhhhhhhh.
He adds a winking emoji.
Owen: Trust me. There is no ohhhhh happening.
TJ: I have hope, man. Enough hope for both of us. You can do it. Also, Nisha says have fun. I’ll echo that, but there are air quotes around my have fun. And I’m not talking about the vegetables. Maybe your eggplant though.
I send him back a middle finger emoji.
Shutting the message app, I glance around the cabin, my gaze landing on the windows overlooking the hill. A white blanket shines like sugary crystals.
I reach for my glasses on the coffee table and yawn.
Peering at the kitchen, I don’t see River there. Or here in the living room.
He’s probably already retreated to a room for tonight.
This is going to be so fucking fun.
Standing, I stretch, then spot my backpack by the door. Toothpaste and a toothbrush sound perfect right now, so I grab the bag and head to the hallway bathroom. After I take a leak, I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and leave my backpack there.
River probably took the upstairs bedroom anyway.
Rooting around in my bag, I fish out my phone charger, return to the living room, and find a plug. Might as well juice up this bad boy, so I can watch a show or read a book tonight. It’s not like I’m going to be hanging out with River, drinking hot chocolate and cuddling by the fire.
Ugh.
What a pathetic idea anyway.
But it’s a good reminder not to read too much into little moments. There were a few times when he gave off I’m interested vibes. The I’m bossy remark, the way he curled his hand over mine in the store, how he stumbled on words when the conversation turned a little heated.
But clearly that was just me wanting what I can’t have. Good thing I didn’t say a word. I pride myself on knowing when to talk and when to listen—it’s what I do for a living and I’m damn good at it.
I’m more grateful than ever that I listened to my instincts to shut up.
River and I were never going to happen, and this snow is simply slapping me in the face.
Which means I will definitely get on the apps when I return to San Francisco. Boyfriend Material is one I’ve been hearing a lot about, so when I plug in my phone, I go to the App store, download it, and set up a profile real quick. I’ll do the rest when I’m home, but this is the first step in getting over the guy I can’t have. I flop down on the couch when a door whisks open, and River sails in from the back deck.
“Popsicle. It’s official. I am a certifiable popsicle, but there’s a hot tub outside, and I bet if I were in it, I’d be a melted popsicle.” He’s draped in his outgoing bar owner persona again—only it’s not a persona. It’s just who he is. Happy, upbeat, fun.
Maybe he’s over our first big fight.
Sure seems that way, judging from the smile he’s sporting.
“Did you take a dip in it to practice your melting theory?” I ask, even though he’s fully dressed, and his hair is dry.
He shivers dramatically. “No way. It’s too cold on the deck. But I was checking everything out. Rooting around. You know me. I’m like a cat,” he says, walking toward me.
“Curious,” I say, my voice still a little empty, even as we slide back into banter. How does this work? Do we just snap back in place, like a rubber band?