“Somebody has to. The police can’t be everywhere, and if someone needs help, first responders need the roads as clear as possible. Besides, I’ve got the build for it.” I gestured at myself. “Cold doesn’t bother me like it does humans. And I know these roads better than anyone.”
Maya was quiet for a moment, cookie forgotten in her hand. “You saved my life.”
“I was in the right place at the right time.”
“Geoff.” She said my name firmly, making me look at her. “You could have stayed home. Stayed warm and safe. But you went out in that storm on the chance that someone might need help. You saved my life. I’m allowed to be grateful for that.”
The way she looked at me made my chest ache. “You’re welcome,” I said quietly.
“How often do you find people?”
“Not often. Maybe once a winter, twice if we’re having a harsh season. Usually it’s tourists who underestimate the weather or locals who push their luck.” I remembered the gut-wrenching fear when I’d seen her car, the sedan’s lights barely visible through the snow. “When I saw your car,” he paused, “I don’t know. Something told me to hurry.”
“Instinct?”
“Maybe. Yeti senses are pretty good. We have better hearing, a better sense of smell, better intuition about weather and danger.” I didn’t mention that her scent had hit me before I’d even reached her car, that some part of me had known it was her even before I’d seen her face. That felt like too much to admit.
Maya finished her cookie, licking chocolate from her fingers. “Tell me about being a Yeti. I mean, if you want to. I know I could just search online, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything?” She smiled. “But that’s a lot. Maybe start with the basics. I don’t want to make assumptions or be accidentally offensive.”
I thought about where to start. “Fundamentally, we’re not actually that different from humans. We form communities, have families, fall in love. We just look different and have some physical advantages, namely strength, cold resistance, enhanced senses.”
“How enhanced?”
“I can hear your heartbeat from here. I can smell the chocolate on your breath. If I went outside right now, I could track your footprints from a few days ago, assuming snow hadn’t covered them.” I paused. “It’s not creepy, I promise. It’s how I experience the world.”
“It doesn’t sound creepy. It sounds kind of amazing, actually.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “What about the cold? You said it doesn’t bother you.”
“Not the way it bothers humans. I can feel it, but it's more informative than uncomfortable. At around negative forty, negative fifty, I start getting cold.” I pointed to the window. “This is refreshing.”
“That's wild. I was dying out there.”
“You’re not built for it. All the humans I’ve met are tropical creatures. You need layers and shelter and heat.” I’d almost lost her to that, to her human fragility. The thought made my hands clench on the arms of the chair. “That’s why I was so worried when I found you. Hypothermia can set in fast.”
Maya studied me with her sharp, intelligent eyes. “You were scared.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”
“For me specifically, or just for whoever you’d found?”
I met her gaze. “For you specifically.”
The admission hung in the air between us. Maya’s expression softened. “We’re friends,” she said, her voice low. “Of course you were scared.”
Friends. Right. That’s what we were.
“Yeah,” I said. “Friends.”
She yawned again, wider this time. “Sorry. I slept earlier, but I’m still exhausted.”
“You’ve been through a lot.” I stood, taking the cookie plate. “Go back to bed. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Maya unfolded herself from the couch, padding across the floor in my too-big socks. At the hallway entrance, she paused. “Geoff?”
“Yeah?”
