AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER 3
***
Bea
The forecasted storm approached quicker than anticipated. Aster Winslow announced the farm’s early closure over the PA system a half hour ago. It’s been hectic ever since. The last of the day’s guests picked up their purchases from the front desk moments ago, leaving me free to straighten up and go home.
I’ve been in a funk all day. Roman all but confirmed my fear this morning. I’ll forever be a pain in the ass, little kid in his eyes.
That revelation was the kick in the pants I needed to get my butt in gear. I’ve wasted too much time swooning over the big lug. It’s delusional to entertain thoughts of Roman swooping in like a romance novel hero to sweep me off my feet into his bed.
I tidy my desk and gather my things as unease grips my gut. I’ve been through plenty of winter storms in Snowflake Falls through the years. Many while visiting my grandparents at the cabin, too. But this is my first storm and Christmas living in the cabin since their passing. I’ve put off decorating for Christmas, afraid it won’t be as cozy as it had been when Grandma was around. She had a gift for making everything perfect. I only hope I can follow in her footsteps and carry on the traditions of the past.
The employee entrance door chimes as I slip into my coat. The echo of boots stomping in the foyer travels through the empty corridor leading to the front office. I peek down the hall to find Jasper Winslow frowning with snowflakes nestled in his beard and patches of snow clinging to his knees and elbows. Holly peeks over his shoulder, snickering as she brushes more snow from his shoulders.
“Tree’s in the back of your truck, ready to go,” Jasper gruffs while swatting at Holly’s busy hands. “It’s an eight-footer. Think you can wrestle that into the cabin by yourself?”
“He’s only asking to soothe his ego,” Holly titters. “Mr. Grumpy Pants took a dive in the snow while trying to manhandle the poor thing.”
Jasper harrumphs. Holly doesn’t give Jasper a break, ribbing him every chance she gets. I think him being her boss only eggs her on.
“Thanks for taking care of the tree. I’ll manage.” I smirk, holding back my amusement. I’ve hauled plenty of firewood into the cabin over the years. I think I can handle a Christmas tree. “The snow day will finally give me time to decorate. Best get a move on before the weather gets worse. You two be careful out there.”
I excuse myself, leaving Jasper and Holly to their nitpicking and grumbling. I dig through my bag for my keys and notice the blinking notification light on my phone. A giddy thrill bubbles to the surface when I read Roman’s name on the screen. He messaged me an hour ago.
Roman:Plows are running slow. Blakes out on a tow call. Asked me to check on you. Wait for me after work. I’ll see you home.
My small falters and the giddy goosebumps that were ready to burst forth as I opened the message dissipate quickly. Roman’s only checking in out of obligation to Blake.
Me:Too late. Leaving now.
It’s a waste of time to argue with Roman. I slip the phone into my pocket, not expecting an immediate reply. Roman’s probably beneath a car covered in oil and grime with a socket wrench in one hand and a grimace on his face. That’s where he’s in his element. Cars are the one true love of his life.
The phone buzzes as I step into the cold and lock up behind me. I hurry to the truck and start Laurel’s engine before checking the notification.
Roman:I said stay put. Roads are bad.
Me:If they’re so bad, you should stay off them in that death trap motorcycle. I don’t need a babysitter.
I wait for a heartbeat, but my phone goes silent. I plug the phone into the charger and blow into my cupped hands, warming them with my breath while Laurel warms. A niggle of guilt weaves its way into my gut and heart. The weather is much worse than predicted. I shouldn’t fault Roman for carrying out Blake’s wishes.
Part of me wants to wait for Roman and allow him to see me home. But the fantasy of him coming to my rescue and sweeping me off my feet is just that–a dream. I shift into drive with my headlights and wipers on and carefully make my way down the long drive to the main highway.
When I approach the turnoff from the main highway to the farm road that leads to the cabin, my stomach ties itself into worried knots. The asphalt is hidden beneath a blanket of snow as the wind whistles outside Laurel’s drafty windows. The windshield is smeared with slush. The wipers struggle to keep up with the snow accumulation.
Roman’s motorcycle is no match for this kind of weather. I should have done as he said or at least meet him at the garage. What if he’s out in this mess?
I pull carefully to the shoulder, but my phone is already out of cell range. Dammit. I gauge the storm and weigh the consequences of pushing through to the cabin or returning to the farm to wait for Roman. The least I can do is turn around until I’m within cell range. I pull back onto the highway, heading back toward town.
Laurel’s headlamps cast a weak glow onto the road, glistening in the flurry of snowflakes, mesmerizing and beautiful. The light catches arcs of light, creating mini rainbows and fluctuations of light. Winslow Farm’s sign flashes in the distance, lit by multi-colored twinkling lights. Some of the tension in my shoulders and tummy dissipates as I approach the gate, but a blinking red light buried in freshly disturbed snow off the shoulder catches my eye.
Guilt riddles my body as I slow, hoping against hope whoever or whatever’s buried beneath the snow isn’t Roman or his motorcycle. Regardless of who it is, I can’t leave them stranded in the elements. I park on the shoulder and step onto the slippery slope, calling out into the windy void. The silhouette of a tire and blinking red lights is barely visible in the snowy landscape. Panic strangles my windpipe.
