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Mom: Sounds great. Be careful.
Levi: You know I always am.
Their long driveway has a few curves, so I take my time clearing the road. They built their house a significant distance from the main road so the heavy traffic from the farm wouldn’t interrupt their regular flow of life.
When my childhood home comes into view, I smile. The two-story log cabin is picturesque, surrounded by hills covered in blankets of white. Smoke billows from the chimney, and the tree lights twinkle through the front window. I should get Oakley to paint a canvas of this for my parents. She’s a talented artist, and I know she’d nail it. I snap a quick picture, so I don’t forget.
I park, then quickly shovel their sidewalk.
My mom cracks open the front door. “When you’re done, come inside.”
“Alrighty.” I chuckle, seeing my hot breath in the air.
Thirty minutes later, I go inside. It’s toasty so I shake off my coat, scarf, and gloves.
“Pumpkin pie?” Mom asks from the living room, wrapped in a blanket as she flips through a magazine. “Baked it a couple of hours ago.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“It’s on the counter.”
When I enter the kitchen, Dad’s sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading on his tablet.
“Anything mind-blowing in the news?” I ask.
“Nope. Nothing has changed.” He meets my eyes. “Did you finish plowing already?”
“Yeah, and now I’m ready for summer.”
He snorts. “And just think, the cold and snowy season has just begun.”
“I don’t usually mind it, but damn, that blizzard was a monster.” I grab a knife from the drawer and cut myself a big piece.
“I’ll take another.” Dad smirks as if he’s not supposed to have more, but I serve him one anyway. I plop mine on a plate, then grab the whipped cream from the fridge and add a healthy dollop on both.
“Wanna hear a crazy story?” I join him at the table as my mom comes in and starts a fresh pot of coffee. “Glad you’re in here, Ma. I was just about to tell Dad about my current predicament.”
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Well, I found a strange woman in my house, more specifically, in my bed the day of the blizzard.”
Dad gives me a look.
“No, I didn’t invite her,” I clarify before he can ask.
“Who is she?” Mom asks.
“Fallon Joy. She’s a journalist from Seattle who’s been assigned to write about the town.”
“That doesn’t explain why she was at your place,” Dad tells me.
“She claims she’d rented it online. But I found that out after she maced me.”
“Oh no, poor thing. I bet she was scared half to death,” my mom says.
“What about me? My eyes burned all night long.”
My dad chuckles. “So where is she now?”
