by Alexa Ross
Kenzie strapped her familiar real estate smile on her face once more, knowing it had an effect on men—but not betting it would alter this man’s opinion of her one bit. He seemed too firm in his beliefs, not interested in the opinions of others.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I’ve just rented a cabin about 15 minutes from here, and it doesn’t seem to be as advertised…” She trailed off, shrugging. “By that I mean—nothing inside the cabin works. And I don’t have any firewood to make a fire.”
The man considered her for a moment, taking in her words. Finally, after what seemed like years, he beckoned her inside. “Just let me get my boots on. I’ll bring some firewood and help you get it started.”
“Oh, gosh,” Kenzie said, feeling nervous. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to—if I could just borrow the wood—”
“No. I don’t want you to go all the way back down and not be able to start it,” he said, slipping his socked feet into his thick boots. “I can do it in just a few minutes. I’m guessing that will save you a few hours.” He looked her up and down once more. “Where are you from?”
“Concord, New Hampshire,” she responded, tilting her head and feeling the compassion from his words. It had been a long time since she’d met a kind stranger. “I’m just here for the week. To ski.”
“Ah. And you didn’t bother bringing anyone with you? Scary woods to sleep in alone,” the man said, cinching his bootlaces tight.
“Unfortunately, it’s just me for now,” Kenzie said. She allowed a long moment to pass before speaking again. “I’m Kenzie, by the way. Kenzie Harrington.”
The man got up from the couch and shook her hand, making intense eye contact. “Kenzie. I’m Bryce. Bryce Walker. It’s good to meet you. Now, let’s stop wasting time. It’s almost nine at night, and I have an early wakeup call.”
Was he being rude? Or just trying to save time? Kenzie couldn’t tell. But it was clear he wasn’t attracted to her, or perhaps hadn’t noticed her. Should she flirt with him?
Kenzie bounded after him, toward their cars in the driveway. Bryce revealed a small, dry arena beside his cabin where he kept large stacks of firewood. They began to pile the wood into the back of Kenzie’s car. Bryce informed her that he’d give her enough for a few days but that she’d better stockpile her own, from either the local town store or the branches surrounding her cabin.
“I won’t bother you every few days for wood,” Kenzie said, laughing and tossing some lumber into her trunk, on top of several real estate magazines. “I promise.”
“Good,” Bryce said. Kenzie couldn’t tell if he was joking, but his eyes twinkled as he gave her a final look before ducking into the driver’s seat of his truck. Perhaps there was a chance? “Lead me, okay?” he called out the window.
Kenzie drove down the mountain and out of the depth of the woods, toward her cabin, thankful she remembered the way. As she drove slowly, the truck followed several feet behind, giving her enough room to make mistakes. He seemed conscious of how careful she was, that she required an easy trek.
As she drove, she imagined herself attempting to build a fire alone that night, shivering and cursing, snapping her real estate nails against the twigs and growing dirtier and more frustrated with each passing moment. She suspected Bryce had had a similar image. She suspected he could see through her with those piercing blue eyes, which were tinged with loneliness. A loneliness that, Kenzie knew, she’d probably have to grow accustomed to.
They arrived at her cabin 15 minutes later, Bryce popping out immediately and gathering the wood from her trunk. In no time, he’d stockpiled it in a dry area of her porch and begun to construct a fire-friendly structure in her fireplace. Kenzie looked on from the side of the dank, slight cabin room, watching his arms move easily, lifting and adjusting the wood, before he snapped a match. The fire made his eyes twinkle. He lit some of the smaller twigs first, allowing the logs to grow warmer and drier. Then he struck another match, making the larger logs catch.
With a firm, small fire growing in the fireplace, Kenzie clicked her tongue. “I’m impressed, Boy Scout,” she said.
Bryce lifted himself from his knees, brushing at his dirtied jeans. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he said. “Especially if you’re going to be here for a week, you said?”
“Yep,” Kenzie said, scratching at the back of her skull. “I was hoping you could recommend some places in town? It’s what, 20 miles down the mountain?”
“Right,” Bryce said, his voice taking on a polite tone. “There’s a great grocery store. Hank’s, is what he’s called it. And the pub next door has half-priced pints on Tuesdays and Thursdays, if that suits you. Also, the Early Bird diner. The best breakfast I’ve ever had in Vermont, and for less than five dollars, if you can believe it. And there’s a tiny medical center down there. A single nurse, and a doctor that drives in about once a week. God forbid you need something like that, but it’s good to know it’s there.”
“Thank you,” Kenzie said, swiping her brown hair behind her ears. “You don’t know what this means to me. I’ve had a crappy day.” She gave him a slight smile.
“I know all about crappy days,” Bryce said, walking toward the door. He was suddenly in a rush, anxious to stop the conversation in its tracks. He seemed aloof, as if he’d already spent his allotted words for the day. “I suppose I’ll get back to my cabin. Keep the fire going, and put a log on every once in a while. It should hold all night and keep you warm.”
Kenzie watched as Bryce marched down the steps toward his truck. He looked handsome, if stooped, as if the weight of the world were continually on his shoulders. As she closed the door, she remained at the window, her fingertips against the pane, watching as he maneuvered back onto the winding road.
She sensed that he wouldn’t see anyone for another several days, that he normally lived in his head, safe from the dangers of the world. And god, Kenzie knew those dangers. As of today, she knew what it was like to open herself up to someone and feel like she’d been dragged through the mud. Remembering her mother, who’d been left after 17 years of marriage, she forced herself to begin forgiving the world, hopeful she wouldn’t follow a similar track.
She collapsed on the couch moments later, loving the feel of the tickling fire upon her frigid toes. She removed her soggy socks and undressed, donning a nightgown. She found several blankets in the closet and wrapped up, gazing into the fire, allowing her mind to drift back to Austin and Tori. She hadn’t received a single message on her phone, nothing to alert her that Austin was searching for her or worried about her.
Perhaps he and Tori were together at that exact moment, gazing into one another’s eyes, thanking their lucky stars that Kenzie had left town. Perhaps they were sleeping in her very bed, knowing they had several more days before she arrived home again.
Kenzie leaned back against the couch, gazing up at the low ceiling, which was cracked from the freezing winters and the bright summers, the wood stretched. Grateful for the fire, she cuddled against the back of the couch, her mind whirring with how nice and handsome Bryce was.
Even after dating Austin for two years, she couldn’t remember feeling that instant attraction, that sizzling in her gut that told her she felt something. Something important. Something that mattered. Rather, Austin had been convenient, at the office in which she worked every single day, flashing that smile at her and convincing her, after several months of working side by side, to go out for a drink with him. Starved for love and feeling lustful, she’d agreed.
Now she regretted it. She remembered thinking she was falling for him in ways she couldn’t have dreamed of before, but she’d convinced herself of that. Obviously.
After nearly an hour, Kenzie allowed herself to drift off to sleep, visions of Bryce still filling her mind. She had fleeting dreams about him, about them walking through the snowy woods together, hand in hand. There was such a warmth to him, a strength to him, that assured her everything woul
d be all right. They didn’t have to speak. They could just gaze into one another’s eyes in this other dream world and feel the tension, the spark, that their presence together created.
Kenzie awoke early in the morning and dropped another log on the fire, watching as sparks burst into the air. She shivered, rubbing her hands together, and then dropped her feet into her boots. She brought a bucket from the kitchen and gathered up some snow, anxious for something to drink. Holding the bucket over the fire, she watched as the snow melted into glittering water, and then she drank gratefully. Her scratchy throat felt cool and clean, and her mind was free from thoughts of Austin and Tori.
Realizing she was absolutely starving, having eaten nothing since the previous day’s bite of burger, she moved to her car and drove down the mountain, toward the small town. Stretching her fingers over the steering wheel, she imagined finding Bryce at the diner, tucking into pancakes and drinking coffee slowly, contemplating whatever weight he felt from the world. Perhaps the moment she entered, she would cause him to smile.
The tiny town held no more than 1,000 people. It was a strip consisting of the grocery store, the diner, the pub, and a liquor store, a single paved road running down the center. A few people stood outside the diner, smoking cigarettes and kicking the snow. With the nearest city an hour away, Kenzie couldn’t imagine who lived here on purpose. Surely there weren’t enough people to sustain the place long term.
She parked her car outside the diner, not bothering to lock it, and wandered into the small establishment, which looked like it had last been decorated in 1955. She grinned at the waitress, a stout woman in her late 40s with a bad blond dye job. “Hi, honey. Sit wherever you like. You want me to grab you a cup of coffee?”
“Please,” Kenzie said, taking a seat at the second booth, which had a good view of the mountains. Just two other couples were in the diner, both of them aging, eating toast slowly and allowing the crumbs to build up on the plastic table. They didn’t speak, but it wasn’t awkward. They’d get to conversation later, in time. There was always time.
Kenzie ordered a stack of blueberry pancakes, feeling giddy and childlike. She sipped her coffee after adding too much sugar and grinned to herself, looking forward to the ski slopes ahead. She hadn’t skied in nearly three years, when she’d gone with a few girls she’d met in downtown Concord. Then, she’d been uneasy, rickety on girlish knees. Perhaps today, as a 25-year-old, newly single woman, she would stand tall with her eyes toward the horizon and her skis racing over the fine snow.
She paid just four dollars, giving the woman a 100 percent tip, and then drove slowly toward the ski resort, growing more fatigued with each passing minute. The pancakes seemed to reaffirm that she’d had a difficult previous day, and that her sleep—although warm—had been fitful. Her eyelids began to droop as she waited in line to rent a ski lift pass. When her lips moved to speak to the attendant, she knew she was mumbling.
She forced herself up the mountain, though, knowing the slicing winds would wake her. At the top, standing near several pine trees, she gazed out over the slopes at the dots of dark trees surrounding her and the numerous, multi-colored coats whipping down the hill in front of her, each of the wearers seemingly pros. She leaned forward, feeling tentative, and felt her skis tilt over the edge. In an instant, she was going full speed, the wind biting into her soft cheeks and her brown ponytail whipping behind her.
She careened over first one hill and then the next, her skis shifting quickly, right and then left in the form she’d begun to learn as a younger woman. “Be patient with yourself,” she whispered, her voice lost in the wind. “Give yourself time.”
After what seemed like forever, she reached the bottom of the mountain. She dropped her ski poles, leaned forward, and grasped her knees, coughing. A man appeared beside her, removing his scarf from his face to speak to her. At first, Kenzie felt certain the man would be Bryce—that he had followed her all the way to the ski resort just to be near her. But of course, this was magical thinking.
“You okay, champ?” the man asked her, smiling. Three of his teeth were crooked, but his eyes were bright, friendly—without that color of loneliness found in Bryce’s.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Kenzie said, rising from her stance. “Just not used to this anymore.”
“Been a while?” he asked.
“A few years, yep,” Kenzie said, her smile faltering. She could tell this man was flirting with her, and she wanted to brush him off, to return to her daydreaming about Bryce. “Sorry. I think I’ll just—I’ll go back to the lodge.”
“Do you need help getting back?” he asked, anxious to stay around her.
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head and waving her ski poles. “I’m quite certain I can manage. Thank you!”
She stabbed her poles into the snow outside the lodge and removed her large ski boots from the skis before stomping into the warmth of the lodge. A massive fireplace crackled in the center of the room, warming the feet of many wives and mothers, all of who were taking a rest while their men continued their outdoor trekking.
Kenzie ordered a hot chocolate and gazed out the window at the mountain, thinking she saw the man who’d just flirted with her as he took another sleek run down the slopes. His bright blue coat was obnoxious, flamboyant against the backdrop of the snow. She remembered the humble nature of Bryce’s clothes, the flannel, surely so warm and soft against his skin.
After 30 minutes indoors, Kenzie forced herself back onto the slopes for another few rounds, hating the wild feeling in her gut when her skis swept too swiftly down the mountain. She lacked control, and she was unable to stop when she wanted to. During her second round, she fell to her knees, watching as her snow pants took on splotches of chilly water.
Finally, during the late afternoon, Kenzie allowed herself to quit, feeling exhaustion creeping up her arms and legs. Her muscles ached as she removed her skis and snow clothes. She stood in black stretch pants and a black turtleneck, grateful not to feel the weight of her snow clothes and ready to return to her cabin, guzzle some wine, maybe, and fall into a deep slumber. If she was going to be single forever, there was no one stopping her from sleeping at least half of her life away.
She returned to her car and drove to the grocery store, where she bought several bottles of wine, some snacks, vegetables, cheeses, and meats, thinking she could spend the next few days alone in the cabin, nibbling on food and considering what to do next with her life—and whether or not she could, feasibly, quit her job in Concord.
As the woman at the grocery store scanned her items, she looked Kenzie up and down with fatigued, gray eyes. She spoke, revealing yellow teeth between her lips. “Darlin’, you been goin’ through something? You look tired as they come.”
Kenzie gave her an appreciative smile, inwardly hating that she looked tired enough to be called out at the grocery store. She piled her things into a paper bag and left, setting the bag in the passenger seat and taking a sip of cola for a jolt of caffeine.
The realization that the fire would be out struck her when she was about halfway home, her tires crunching over newly fallen snow. She hadn’t bothered to add extra logs to the fire that morning, not wanting to waste them. But she’d been away for hours, allowing the embers to cool, allowing the fire to recede. Surely, when she arrived home, the cabin would be dark, dank, the same cave dwelling she’d discovered the day before.
When she reached the cabin, she brought her paper bag in with her, slipping it onto the rickety table. She glanced toward the fire, affirming what she’d feared. The logs in the fireplace were black and gray, without a single spark of orange. It was a metaphor, Kenzie thought then, for her and Austin’s relationship. There was nothing left.
But Kenzie wouldn’t give up hope. Not on the fire. She turned toward the porch and gathered several logs, along with some twigs, remembering how Bryce had built the fire the previous evening. She piled the logs into a kind of teepee construction, with the twigs beneath, and tried t
o light them with a match. Each time, the twigs fizzled out without igniting the larger logs.
Frustrated, Kenzie wrapped herself in a blanket, beginning to jog in place to keep up her warmth. Darkness had fully fallen outside, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early that morning. The pancakes hadn’t stuck to her bones, not the way she’d hoped. She felt exhausted, on the fringe of collapsing. After a final try, after she watched the leaves on the twigs sizzle away, she rushed toward her paper bag, lifting a bottle of wine from the bottom. Moments before she opened it, ready to swig it deep into the night, drinking her sorrows and her chill away, an idea occurred to her.
Immediately, she knew it was her only hope.
She shoved her feet into her boots, donned her coat, and lifted the wine, knowing Bryce wouldn’t necessarily be surprised that she’d allowed the fire to go out. He might not be pleased, sure, but he was her only hope out here in the wilderness, a place that wasn’t so kind to tiny, 25-year-old city girls.
She drove toward the now-familiar cabin, 15 minutes away, looping down the road and blaring music, trying to ignore how nervous she was to see him. As she drove, the snow flurries from the early afternoon continued, tapping gently against her windowpane. It looked like a proper winter wonderland, like a dream.
