I consider these changes as I slide into my coat and move to the wet room to change into my boots. At the last minute I duck back inside for an extra layer of warmth. You can never be too careful, especially with the wild weather we've experienced this season. If there's one thing I'm known for around here, it's a commonsense approach to safety. Some would say that makes me boring, but I think it makes me smart.
When I first leased these cabins there wasn't a caretaker. The owner was doing all of the running around and having to service all of the holiday makers. Once Luthor came on board, the whole setup ran a lot more smoothly. Now I respond to bookings faster, can order supplies and make sure we're always prepared because Luthor does the running back-and-forth and completes all of the maintenance for me. Occasionally we have to clean and prepare a cabin when we give the cleaning girls a holiday, like at Christmas, but that’s only a couple of times a year.
Adding Luthor and a cleaning crew to my team was my best decision since taking over the properties three years ago.
I reverse out of my garage fifteen minutes later and try not to think about my beer that’s now in the fridge awaiting my return. I carefully turn the car toward the roadway, ignoring the beeping it makes as I pass through my narrow gate. The cabin is only a mile away, but it really is cold, and I crank up the heat as I drive. The sun is low enough to be in my eyes and I adjust my speed, making sure to stay clear of the snowdrifts at both sides of the road. We had snow yesterday, but the forecast doesn’t predict any more until tomorrow. Which is an interesting situation because soft white snowflakes hit my windscreen almost as soon as I turn out of my driveway. The wind has picked up more than I realised. Wind usually brings a storm. Come to think of it, no wind was forecast either.
I sit up straight and peer through the windscreen, looking for signs of ice on the road. It really is cold, and I turn the heat to high and try to ignore the fact that I need to cross two bridges to get to the cabin. My bravado with Luthor was before I realised it would snow.
The car shakes as I turn into a wide drive and make my way toward the cabins. Number six is at the very back of the property, set against a large grassy area, and I’m immediately aware how much snow has settled here. When I step out of the car, I have to zip my jacket and thrust my hands deep in my pockets. A glance at the sky has me frowning again as I take the three steps to the door and knock a few times. I bounce up and down as I wait, then the door swings open and I’m greeted by something, that may or may not, be human.
Chapter Six - Brant
When the door opens it takes me a beat to work out what I'm seeing. Either a yeti has found its way here from the winter slopes, or I rented my cabin to the Michelin Man. A very round, very padded someone stands in front of me, the only clue that it's a woman are the large round eyes peering out from below a beanie, and above a snow jacket pulled over her face, the hint of a pink knitted scarf covering her nose. Those eyes, whilst made up, look tired. I do a quick calculation and remember this is a couple from Australia, and they probably travelled quite a way to be here.
To avoid unnecessary small talk, which always happens when Australians visit, I adopt my version of the local accent. “Hi, I'm the owner. You have a problem with the heat?”
She nods and even though I can only see her eyes, I notice the overall softening of her stance.
“I've never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life. Come in.”
She steps back and I make my way straight to the fireplace. The sooner I get the fire started, the sooner I can leave. I resist the urge to mutter under my breath as I lean in and check the flue.
“I did the flue-thing. And I tried the fire with it open and closed, but it didn’t light. I actually thought it would be a real log fire.”
“I put gas in to make life easier for tourists who’d never started a fire before.” Oh, the irony. I step back and remove the glass cover from the fireplace, before trying to light it. There’s a tiny spark but we do not have fire. “Seems like something is definitely wrong.”
“Did you doubt me? I told the caretaker it was broken. I followed the instructions and couldn’t get it to light.”
Her tone is defensive, and I raise my hands, turning to her and pasting on a smile. Best not to aggravate a holiday maker. They don’t forget that stuff when it comes time to leave a comment online. “Well, you're doing better than most. Usually we get these calls because people would rather someone do it for them.”
“The last thing I wanted to do was call you out while it was snowing.” As if to emphasize her words a volley of snow crashes into the window behind us. She jumps and I cock an ear, listening to the wind. The drive home is not going to be fun.
“Well, I'm here now, so let's get this room warmed up and you can get back to your plans with your husband.” I turn away, not wanting to see the appeal of my statement. No doubt they thought they'd fall onto the bed and tear each other’s clothes off in an already cozy cabin. That thought leads to another, and I turn my head with a frown.
“Did you turn the heat off when you arrived?”
“What heat? This icebox is exactly how I found it. I thought the advertisement said it would be snug on arrival, which says to me you should heat it before we arrive. How long will it take to get warm in here, anyway?” She bounces on her toes, her shoulders hunched over.
I chew the inside of my cheek to avoid saying something snippy. She does have one thing right, though. The cabin should have been heated when they arrived. I cross to the control panel on the wall and tap it with my finger. I press the power button, but the display lights don't appear. Crap. Before I can give voice to my worry that the heating is more than a little broken, the wind above the cabin picks up and whistles a high-pitched squeal. We both raise our eyes to the roof but after a moment it dies down and when I look over, she’s staring at me.
Her eyes are brown pools of chocolate. There’s a tightness at the corners, but, besides her obvious sign of worry, her eyes are perfect. Mesmerizing. Her husband is a lucky guy.
Her husband. Stop staring at her before you leave this cabin with a black eye and a bad online review.
I step back and look toward the bedroom, breaking our staring competition. “Is your husband unpacking?”
“I don't have a husband. I came on this holiday on my own, which I'm fast beginning to regret. I thought we’d be a lot closer to the ski slopes and there’d be a lot more activity nearby. It’s pretty deserted here.”
“I guess you had dreams of schtupping a ski instructor, then?” I chuckle to myself and she shakes her head and flaps her arms.
She’s still dressed in full winter gear, and I wonder what she looks like under that woollen hat and half facemask. The pink scarf covering her mouth muffles her words and I have to lean closer.
“Schtupping? What kind of a word is schtupping?”
“It's just something I like to say when talking about the in-demand staff at the slopes. Ski instructors are usually the target of every unattached woman who comes here on holiday. Unfortunately, Christmas is family time in Vermont, rather than seeing a large number of tourists. The nearby resorts don’t have much nightlife. You might have to set your sights on someone besides a ski master.”
She lets out an exasperated sound in the back of her throat and steps over to the kitchen. I ignore her, going back to the display with a frown as I tap it again and beg the panel to come to life. Luthor and I repaired this system a month ago, but it appears it was temporary.
“Would you mind turning the light on? The switch is just there on the wall.” I point and she obliges, the dim light from outside now replaced by the two burning overhead globes. I hadn't realized how dark it had gotten until those lights came on.
An uneasiness coils in my stomach. I need to get her sorted out so I can get back home as soon as possible. Driving in snow on these roads is something I didn’t plan on and I won’t enjoy. The cabin is freezing cold, though, so instead of dwelling on the central heating, I turn my attention b
ack to the fire. “You tried all the troubleshooting in the book?”
“Yes, of course. Who else is here to try? I did each step, but it won’t light. The only thing I couldn’t check is the pilot light. Even if it’s out I have nothing to light it with.”
“You really do know a bit about gas fireplaces. That makes a nice change, I can tell you.” I keep my eyes away from hers as I let my semi-compliment hang in the air. I feel around in the chimney and tug on the lever that opens the flue. It moves freely, which eliminates the possibility that it’s broken. “I think you could be right. I have something in the car. Back in a sec.”
I wrench open the door and I’m two steps onto the veranda before the weather registers. I turn and yank the door closed behind me and carefully take the three steps to the driveway, which is completely covered in snow and ice now. I bend my body against the howling wind, regretting that I didn’t put my coat on. I dive into the car and sit in the front seat, shivering and peering through the glass into the almost dark evening that’s been taken over by wild weather. In the tool bag on the seat I check for the gas lighter, then hoist the bag onto my lap. I’m annoyed at myself. I should have taken it in when I first arrived. My arrogance had me thinking I’d find the usual visitors who are horrified once they discover what a break in Vermont in winter is really like. I hold on tight to the bag so I don’t drop the contents. The last thing we need is to ruin the one way we have to start the pilot light.
I brace myself against the biting cold and push my door open. I have to fight to get it open and once I’m out and it has slammed shut, I notice the snow piling against the car. I blink, then run for the house, my shoes getting wet in the ankle-deep snow that wasn’t here an hour ago.
Snowmaggedon appears to be taking a dump in Vermont.
Chapter Seven - Brant
I shed my wet shoes and jumper inside the door, glad of the extra layer I wore at the last minute. My tenant is staring from me to the window, and back again. She doesn’t say a word, just watches me light the pilot light. When it flickers to life, I waste no time following the process to start the fire and replace the screen. “There. That should give us some heat in just a few minutes. Now let me work out this internal heating.”
“Do you think I’ll have to move to another cabin? I’d already unpacked my things before I realized I had no heat.”
“I don't have any empty cabinets this week, I’m afraid. If the absolute worst came to worst, I could take you home with me.” Taking her home with me. The thought is strangely enticing. “It might not be your dream holiday, but it would save you from freezing. I have a large house where you wouldn't have to see me for a day or two while we got this sorted out.”
When I turn to see how she’s taking this announcement, I find her staring at me and slowly tapping a gloved hand against her leg. “Do you think that's going to be necessary?”
“I bloody hope not,” I say. “I had plans for a quiet Christmas spent on my own.” I open my tool bag and unscrew the plate attached to the wall. “Neither of us will enjoy driving in this.” I jerk my head toward the door, drawing in a deep breath to hide my apprehension over the weather.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asks. “A cup of coffee maybe? I'm having wine, so that's an option too if you want it. I have several bottles of red and four bottles of white.”
“I still have to drive home, so I'll pass on the wine, though I’m glad you’ve come prepared. That’s multiple bottles for every day you’re here, isn’t it?” I laugh, and our eyes meet across the room. She has a piercing gaze, and I quickly look away. “Coffee would be great, though.”
“Do you have any coffee here?” I glance at her again and she has one shoulder raised as though in apology. “I only have hot chocolate. I don't drink coffee.”
I haven't had hot chocolate since a Christmas in July party years ago that my ex Lisa insisted we attend in Melbourne. It's one of my favourite things and I take a moment to reflect on why I never make it for myself. “Hot chocolate it is then. Do you have marshmallows?” I joke.
Her answer is a complete surprise. “Of course. What kind of hot chocolate would it be if there were no marshmallows?” Her voice is filled with humour and for the first time since she opened the door, she’s maybe even a little bit relaxed. “I also have Tim Tams if you are interested.”
My hands still as I stare at her. Those eyes stare back, and I frown. “Tim Tams? You brought them all the way from Australia?”
“I did. I wasn't sure what kind of chocolate biscuits you had here, and so I made sure to bring my favourites.”
Now would probably be a good time to tell her where I'm from, but I've put so much effort into the accent that it feels kind of weird to come clean. It doesn't matter. I'll be leaving soon and with a bit of luck won't see her again before she checks out.
She ruins that thought almost as soon as I have it. “So, you’re Australian?”
I straighten and look at her, dropping the pretence. “My accent is that bad?”
“Oh, wow.” She covers her mouth with both hands and giggles. “That wasn’t your accent changing with years spent here? You were actually trying to pass as a local?”
She keeps laughing and I can’t help a smile before I reply. “I just wanted to fix your heat and get back to my dinner. Australians want to talk about everything. Where you’re from. How you got here. How often you go home. If you’ll ever leave. Sometimes it’s easier to blend in and avoid all that.”
I shrug and turn back to the heating panel and she busies herself in the kitchen without another word. I wait for the inevitable question about the location of the kettle, which we don’t supply, but it doesn’t come. When I look back, she has two saucepans on the stove top and is stirring, while she stares out the window. I let my gaze slide past her and suck in my breath when I see heavy snow covering the glass.
Everything looks to be connected in the panel, and I screw the front cover back in place, frowning again as I stare at the old-fashioned heater across the room. I have no idea how to fix that, if indeed it’s the problem. I'm going to need Luthor to take a look, and that's not going to happen today. As I’m considering the very real possibility that she’ll need to pack some of her things and come home with me, a mug of steaming hot chocolate appears at my elbow.
“Here you go. I hope it's not too sweet.”
The mug warms my hands and I blow on the surface, smiling at the two fat floating marshmallows. They remind me of the hot chocolate my mother made for me when I was little. As I said, I haven't had this in forever and it brings back all kinds of good memories. Except for that memory of Lisa. It was at that party I first discovered her kissing another man under the fake July mistletoe.
I push the unwanted thought away and take a sip, closing my eyes as the chocolate luxuriates on my tongue. “Oh, God. This is the greatest thing I've ever tasted.” I turn to her, not even trying to hide how impressed I am. “What did you do to make it taste so amazing?”
“I make it with half chocolate—that's real chocolate melted gently—hot cream and the rest is milk. It might taste lovely but it's a heart attack in a cup, so be aware of that.”
I take another sip. “I’ve never had anything like it.”
“Want a Tim Tam to make it perfect?”
“It’s already perfect.” I laugh. “But yes, please.” She slides the plastic down a packet of biscuits I’ve not seen in over a year and offers the pack to me. I take one and bite both ends off as she takes her own. I rest it in my drink and suck the heated liquid through the sweet biscuit goodness, the experience going straight to my heart in multiple ways. I decide a heart attack would be worth it, as my mouth explodes in sweet chocolate and I grin at her, sighing as the warm treat travels down my insides. “God, that’s good. You’re my own Christmas miracle.”
She laughs and bites the ends from her own Tim Tam. “I’m so glad you know the correct way to do it. Aussies never lose that skill.” She pulls the scarf away from her
mouth and makes her own attempt to suck the chocolate through the biscuit. She chokes a little, but recovers quickly, biting the end of the biscuit and grinning at me as she chews. “I needed that. Even my insides were starting to freeze. I’m Cherie, by the way.”
“Sorry. Brant.” I know I’m smiling like a maniac, when half an hour ago I was trying to give the impression we had nothing in common. The sweet drink has unwound every knot inside me, as though she had laced it with rum. “Thanks again for this.”
I tip my cup to her as the fire makes a crackling sound and I cross the room to make sure it’s working correctly. When I squat down in front the welcome heat warms my face. I open the control panel and turn it to full, and there’s an immediate increase in warmth. It will take a little longer for the room to warm up, and it won’t reach the bedroom at all, but it should be enough to remove the need to take her home with me.
The front door rattles, drawing our attention and she crosses and grips the door handle. She finds out for herself how the day has changed when she drags the door open and a blast of freezing air hits her in the face. Snow flies into the room before she slams it shut and leans against it, her face flushed from the sudden cold. “What is that?”
“That, I’m afraid, is the start of a blizzard.”
Chapter Eight - Cherie
“That’s not what the weather forecast said for today.”
Brant has his back to me as he stares out the window, still sipping the hot chocolate I made him. We were laughing and getting along before I opened the front door, but now he’s retreated into his shell. The blizzard has put him off balance, somehow, and I hope it doesn’t mean he’s keeping something from me. The howling wind worries me. Is this normal weather for these parts?
We both peer out the window and I notice the snow has piled up on the veranda below the window. “Am I right in assuming you’ll be staying a while?”
Vermont Christmas Page 3
