"No worries, it makes this evening pretty interesting. All I was going to do was have some beef stew and chill in front of the fire."
Joelle pops into my brain, and I sit up with a start. "Oh, crap. Where's my phone? I should text my sister that I'm okay."
"Is it in your dress? Because you didn't have it on you when I carried you in."
"No. I don't think this dumb piece of crap dress has pockets. It must still be in the car."
"Say no more. I'll go check," he says, standing.
"I can go out in the snow. I can handle it," I say, feeling guilty.
"Not a problem at all. I'll be right back."
A few minutes later, Flint returns covered in snow, holding my purse and phone.
"Thank you so much," I say, taking it from him.
"Of course," he says, walking over to the table to clean up our plates.
I watch him for a moment. He has this rough mountain man exterior, and if I hadn't already interacted with him, I would assume he was a big grump. But he's been so kind and understanding so far.
"I hate to ask another thing of you, but is it okay if I use your shower before going to bed? I was driving from Vegas, and I need to wash the day off."
"Of course." He gathers a flannel and towels for me. "Wow. I didn't realize you had come that far."
Flint says goodnight and shuts the door behind him. I send a quick text letting my sister know I'm alive, then hop in the shower and stand under the steaming hot water for several minutes. As I wash up, I breathe in the scent of his shampoo and conditioner combo. It smells manly.
After drying off, I throw on the soft flannel he left out for me. It falls past my knees. I climb under the covers and check my phone to find my sister has texted back asking how the cabin is. I send a quick reply explaining what happened, and her response makes me laugh out loud.
Is he hot?
Rolling my eyes, I smile as I text back.
Very, but has a whole solitary mountain man vibe thing going on, so I want to get out of his hair as soon as possible.
I plug my phone into the charger I keep in my purse, then dig out the grimoire my aunt left me. Flipping through the pages, I release a sigh. Buddy always shamed me for practicing witchcraft. For some reason, I put up with it, and it's probably one reason I haven't felt like myself in a long time.
But now, turning through the pages of my aunt's creation, I feel a sense of myself returning. That's it. The two years with Buddy were just a hiatus from who I'm truly meant to be.
5
Flint
My middle-aged body is definitely not made for sleeping on couches anymore. I tossed and turned most of the night, mainly because I was uncomfortable, but also because a stunning woman with curves in all the right places was sleeping in my bed. I hadn't asked her why she was dressed in a bridal gown since she seemed to feel terrible that she was barging in on me, but I can't help but be curious.
I check my phone. 05:30 in the morning. I give up on trying to get more sleep and quietly get up, adding some logs to the fire until it's roaring again. It's freezing on the mountain.
I brew a fresh pot of coffee, and once I have a mug warming my hands, I plug in the tree and sigh, looking over at my mother's ornaments in the box. A pull to honor her comes over me. I take a few sips of coffee, place the mug on a table, and reach down for a shiny gold bauble. Placing it on the tree gives me a feeling of home, and my chest clenches when I think of my mom. I smile to myself.
I find Elvis' Christmas album on my music app and play it softly as I continue adorning the tree with my mother's ornaments. Christmas was always magical with her, and not justbecause she was a practicing witch. It was her favorite time of year. She always made sure we kids had plenty of holiday cheer, even when times were tough.
When I finally add the angel tucked away in the box's corner, I step back and take in the sight. Sheila would be over the moon if she knew I actually decorated the tree. I chuckle softly to myself.
Grabbing my mug, I realize it's gone lukewarm, so I head into the kitchen to dump it out and pour a fresh cup. The sunrise is lighting up the snow outside, and the way it sparkles reminds me of how my mother used to love practicing snow magic.
After taking a long sip of the hot coffee, I close my eyes, thinking back to a time when things were simpler. I was a pretty joyous kid who just happened to grow up to be such a grump, at least per Sheila and several of my friends. I've been told my grumpiness can be charming, but I'm not so sure about that.
I'm on my third cup of coffee, checking the news on my tablet, when the curvy runaway bride pads into the kitchen, her hair mussed as she rubs her sleepy face.
