Sofia looked up, and for a brief moment, Nat saw a flash of raw vulnerability in those whiskey-colored eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the now-familiar cool detachment.
"No, thank you," Sofia said, rising from her seat. "This is... sufficient."
As Sofia gathered her coat and made to leave, Nat felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to say something more, to offer some kind of comfort or connection. But what could she possibly say to this virtual stranger who appeared so determined to keep the world at arm's length? In the end, she settled for a simple, "I hope you have a good day on the slopes."
Sofia paused at the door, her hand on the handle. Nat thought she might leave without acknowledging the comment, but then she turned. "What's the weather forecast for the week?" she asked.
"It's clear for the coming two days. Perfect ski conditions," Nat replied. "But they are expecting a snowstorm after that. Nothing to worry about, it happens sometimes, but the slopes will be closed for the duration of the storm."
Sofia lingered as she absorbed the information. "I heard something about that," she said, her brow furrowing. "Can you please arrange a few books for me to read? You can charge it to my card on file with the chalet."
"Of course, I can arrange that. Is there any particular type of book you prefer?”
"Fiction," Sofia replied shortly. Then, after a brief pause, she added, "Classic fiction."
"Certainly," Nat nodded, making a mental note. "I'll have a selection ready for you before the storm hits."
Sofia hesitated as if debating whether to say more. Finally, she added, "I prefer to turn my phone off from now on, and I'm not interested in TV, so I appreciate it." Then, without another word, she grabbed her coffee and headed out, leaving Nat alone in the suddenly quiet chalet.
Nat began to clear away the breakfast dishes, wracking her mind over the book request. She could drive to the bookstore intown, but what would she get? The truth was, she wasn't much of a reader herself. She'd always struggled with dyslexia, which was the reason she'd gravitated towards cooking and eventually becoming a chalet girl, rather than pursuing a hospitality management job that might require more paperwork and report writing. In the kitchen, with recipes she'd memorized and techniques honed through practice, her dyslexia didn't matter. But facing rows of books, trying to decipher unfamiliar titles and author names, always brought back memories of struggling in school, of feeling "stupid" despite knowing she wasn't. The thought of having to choose classic literature for someone as educated and sophisticated as Sofia made Nat's palms sweat.
Nat pulled out her phone and sent a voice note to her sister, who was the bookworm in their family. "Zoe," she typed, "I need your help. What are some good classic novels? I need them for my guest.”
Chapter Five
Nat glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. 6:55 PM. Sofia would be back any minute, if she stuck to her usual routine. Nat had spent the last hour preparing a hearty winter meal – pumpkin soup to start with and roasted chicken and root vegetables to follow, accompanied by a green salad and a red wine she’d carefully selected.
As she arranged the place setting at the dining table, she wondered if Sofia would even show up for dinner. She'd been so adamant about her independence, about not needing her services, but she’d cleaned her plate last night and this morning. It was a small victory, Nat supposed.
The sound of the front door opening jolted her from her thoughts and she plastered on her best professional smile, ready to greet Sofia with her usual cheerful, "Welcome back! Dinner is ready whenever you'd like it." But the words died on her lips as Sofia stumbled through the door, holding... was that a kitten?
"Sofia?" Nat said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “What is…?"
Sofia looked up, her eyes wide with an emotion Nat couldn't quite place. Gone was her usual icy demeanor, replaced by something that looked almost like... concern?
"I found her on the drive," Sofia said, cradling the bundle of fur against her chest inside her open puffer jacket. "She was just sitting there, shivering. I don't understand how she ended up there."
Nat moved closer, peering at the little creature in Sofia's arms. The kitten was tiny, probably no more than a few weeks old. Its fur was a mottled mix of orange, black, and white - a calico. Its eyes - huge, round, and a brilliant shade of green that stood out against its bedraggled fur.
"Here." Sofia carefully handed the kitten to Nat. "Can you hold her? I need to have a shower and get changed but the kitten needs warmth - she's freezing and weak."
Before Nat could respond, she found herself with an armful of trembling kitten. Sofia was already shrugging off her jacket.
"I don't understand," she muttered, more to herself than to Nat. "Who would put a helpless little creature outside in the cold?"
As if in response, the kitten let out a pitiful mew, burrowing deeper into Nat's arms. She instinctively held it closer, feeling its heart racing against her chest.
“I don’t know. It must have escaped or something.” Sofia paused in the middle of removing her boots, her eyes softening as she looked at the kitten. To Nat's utter amazement, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of the kitten's head. "It's okay, little one," she whispered, her voice so low Nat almost didn't catch it. "You're safe now."
Then, as quickly as the moment of tenderness had appeared, it vanished. Sofia straightened up, her face resuming its usual mask of cool detachment. "I'm going to shower and change," she announced, already heading for the stairs. "Keep her warm."
And just like that, Nat was left alone in the entryway, holding a shivering kitten and feeling like she'd just witnessed something she wasn't supposed to see.
She looked down at the tiny kitten in her arms. Now that she could see it properly, she realized just how small and fragile it was. Its fur was matted and dull, clumped together in places from the cold and damp. It couldn't have been more than a pound or two, its little body fitting easily in her hands.
"Hey there, little one," Nat murmured, stroking its head with her thumb. "Let's get you warmed up, huh?"
She went into the great room, settling into the armchair nearest to the fireplace. The kitten was still trembling, but as the warmth from the fire washed over them, Nat felt it gradually begin to relax. Its rigid posture slowly softened, and it nestled deeper into the crook of her arm, its paws kneading against her sweater.
