AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Why can’t I let you go?
Why don’t I want to?
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
SKYLER
Despite the forecast for tonight, Lola’s is packed.
Saturdays are our busiest day of the week, and this weekend is no different. If there’s anything I’ve come to learn in my time in Vermont, it’s that it takes a little more than a snow storm to uproot plans.
Not that I’m not unaccustomed to this. It snows a decent amount in southern Indiana. We’re just not as careless about it there, I guess?
Here, though, there could be a foot of snow outside, and life goes on as normal.
Okay, so maybe it was just the way I was raised. I’m learning there are a lot of things I grew up thinking were normal that apparently aren’t that common. Like the fact that the kids actuallyplayin the snow here. They get all bundled up and go outside and make forts and snowmen and stuff while the parents shovel.
Theparents…
Shoveling…
Byhand.
Okay, so some use snowblowers, but still. It’s theparents.
Not that I didn’t know people lived like this, it’s just…it was never how I experienced it, so I never gave it much thought. Figured it was one of those things glorified by Christmas movies.
To me, the snow was always just an inconvenience, one harped about by my parents and the weathermen droning on across the TV screen while the staff dealt with the winding driveway and sidewalks. Then it was the teachers and headmasters complaining, when they all but locked us up and forbade us from going outside until it practically melted.
And then there’s that time I was thrown into that wilderness boot camp. The snow wasn’t fun then. Not even just a mere inconvenience.
It was torture. Another tool to break us down.
But it’s not like that here.
Here, it’s either ignored—treated like nothing—or seen as fun.
And while it still leaves a sour taste in my mouth, remembering how awful it was, trekking through a snow-swept forest with too little clothes and men screaming horrible things at me…
I can’t help but crave to know what it’s like to be on the other side.
The door opens, blowing another wave of chilly air into the club. Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself, and make my way toward the other end of the bar, opposite of where the entrance is.
In nothing but my work-issued leather booty shorts and crop top, I’m far from dressed for this kind of weather.
Carlos—another bartender here—grins. “Cold?”
“No,” I mutter.
He and Micah share a look and laugh.
Assholes.
Despite being from a northern state, Indiana winters have got nothing on New England winters. And seeing as it’s only mid-December, I’ve a feeling this is just the beginning of what is going to be a very long, dark, frigid few months.
Still, I can’t find it in me to desire anything else. Not when I see and feel Nolan in every tree. Every mountain. Smell and taste him on every icy, pine-infused breeze.
Problematic? Very.
