“They’re awful.”
“They’re exquisitely awful.”
And just like that, we were smiling at each other across his kitchen, the tension from before long gone.
“So,” he said. “We’re admitting there’s something here? Something between us?”
“I think we have to. It’s kind of there whether or not we admit it.”
“Fair.” He moved closer, around the kitchen island, until he was standing in front of me. “For the record, I’ve been into you for at least a year. Maybe longer.”
“Really?”
“Really. I figured you wouldn’t want a relationship. Yeti, human, online friendship. Seemed like too many obstacles.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re here. And you’re wearing my favorite hoodie. And you said I’m basically perfect. Which is fantastic for my ego, and I might never let you live that down.” His smile was soft, hopeful. “Now it seems like maybe the obstacles aren’t as big as I thought.”
I reached up, hesitant, and touched his arm. His fur was incredibly soft under my fingers. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? About being a Yeti?”
His expression grew serious. “Fear, mostly. You were the only person who just saw me as me. I didn’t want to risk that. And I knew once you knew what I was, everything would change.”
“It hasn’t changed.”
“Hasn’t it? You’re looking at me differently now. Touching me differently. Being careful.”
He was right; I realized. I was being careful, but not because I was afraid, but because I was now aware of him in a way I hadn’t been through a headset. Every detail felt significant, from thetexture of his fur to the warmth of his skin beneath. The way his breath hitched when my fingers traced up his forearm.
“Maybe it has changed a little,” I admitted. “But not in a bad way. It’s more now.”
“More?”
“More real. More…” I searched for the right word. “Present. You’re here and no longer a voice through my headset and I can touch you and see you and it’s overwhelming in the best way.”
His hand came up to cup my cheek, so large his palm spanned the entire side of my face. “You’re overwhelming me too," he said, his voice low. “I’ve imagined meeting you a thousand times, but reality is so much better. You’re so much better.”
We stood there in his kitchen, sandwiches growing cold, soup cooling on the stove, the storm’s aftermath glittering outside like a winter wonderland. For the first time since the crash, I felt like I could breathe properly.
While this wasn’t how I’d planned to meet him, maybe Heidi was right. Maybe the universe knew what it was doing.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“Now we eat an even later lunch before it gets completely cold.” He stepped back, the moment breaking but not shattering. “And then maybe we talk about where we go from here. What we could be.”
“I’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We ate our lunch at his oversized dining table, sitting closer than necessary, knees brushing under the table. The conversation flowed. We talked about everything imaginable, about the convention getting rescheduled, about my new apartment in town, about his search and rescue work.
After lunch, we migrated back to the couch with the plan to continue gaming. But we ended up just talking instead. I askedso many questions about his childhood in Alaska, about my family and my lack of knowledge of cold weather, about the first time we’d met online and how neither of us could have predicted where it would lead.
