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I’m about to retreat into the house when I see someone walking around in circles on the front lawn. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone tonight but I venture over in case it’s a guest to the inn and they need help.
The snow is no longer falling, but the wind has picked up. It gnaws at my face as I make my way across the lawn. Pulling my coat tighter, I try to bury myself in the collar so I can save some of the skin on my face from the bitter cold.
I approach the pacing figure as I would a lost animal, quietly and cautiously so I don’t startle them.
“Hello?” I say. “Everything okay over here?” The person pauses and slowly turns around. I blink, making out the familiar face. “Penelope? Is that you?”
Tears stream down her face. The tip of her nose is red and raw.
“Yep, it’s me,” she mutters. She stands still, stuffing her hands into her armpits, likely trying to keep them warm.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I say lightheartedly, trying to crack a joke. She doesn’t laugh. “Why don’t you have a coat on? It’s freezing out here.”
I approach her, shrugging out of my coat so I can wrap it around her. Her shoulders slump and she appears small and fragile with my coat swallowing her.
Instinctually, I begin rubbing her arms in an effort to warm her up faster.
“I kind of ran outside and forgot to put my shoes or coat on. And, well, here I am.”
“Let’s get you inside and by the fire. You don’t need to stay out here in the snow.” She hesitates, and it’s much too cold out here, so I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her up the porch steps.
We get inside. I close the door and shut out the world beyond the inn.
The warmth immediately embraces us. It’s a stark contrast to the bone-chilling cold outside. Penelope sits on the couch without removing my coat. I sit next to her.
Silence stretches on around us.
The tension unsettles me, and I clear my throat to break the silence.
“So, are you going to tell me why you are out here in the freezing cold in the middle of the night?” I ask, leaving out the part about her crying.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
I don’t want her to feel like shehasto share, but I want her to know that I’m here for her.
“I used your parents’ computer to check my emails and social media. I found something I wasn’t expecting.”
I glance at her as another stray tear falls from her lashes. I wait patiently, giving her the chance to share if she wants to.
Another few minutes goes by before she speaks.
“Remember how I told you the other night that my fiancé had cheated on me?”
How could I have forgotten that piece of information? That guy is up there on my list—right next to whoever first created the Winter Festival. Instead of saying anything, I nod.
“Well, when I went on my Instagram, I saw that a bunch of people had tagged me in posts, so I looked to see what they were.” She stops to clear her throat and take a deep breath. “There were dozens of pictures of my ex-fiancé with his arms around the woman who he cheated on me with. They’re engaged.”
Are you kidding?
I don’t say anything and let her continue.
“It’s been only a week since I even found out that he was cheating on me and now, he’s already put a ring on her finger. This is the man who I thoughtIwas going to spend the rest of my life with.”
Tears stream down her face, her body shakes from the force of her sobs.
I don’t even know what to say.
