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If it gets icy, a steep driveway won’t help. Which makes me wonder if there was a threat. A steep, icy driveway would be a plus. I know better than to ask questions. There will only be vague answers for me, if any. Honestly, I’m so appreciative these guys went for the Oregon trip in the first place, I’ll let them do their job.
Pushing fear aside, I lean into the adventure of not knowing where we’ll end up tonight.
We pull up to a clearing, the trees parting to reveal a grassy field with a small cabin in the center. It has light-gray weathered siding and a swirl of smoke rising from the top of its chimney. The Pacific Northwest woods surround us, the scent of earth and pine enveloping me. Small pings of icy raindrops dot my cheeks as I gaze around.
I know immediately that this is the place he told me about—the home of the MMA fighter he and Damian met in New York.
As we step out of the van, I take in the serene beauty of the landscape. I can see why she chose this secluded spot, away from the chaos and noise of the city. It’s a stark contrast to the brutal fights that take place inside that cage in the city. I’ve heard of it, so vicious, the arena easily ten times the size of the competitive yet family-friendly vibe at the Pit.
My gaze is drawn to the small cabins scattered around the main house, each one built in a similar style. Perhaps they’re for guests or fellow fighters who need a place to decompress or train.
The men scatter, some taking posts in the woods, others dipping into the small cabins. I follow Sav toward the main cabin, my heart racing with anticipation and nerves. “What’s her name?” I ask. I still can't believe I’m about to meet a real female MMA fearless fighter, one who my cousin Damian was enthralled with.
He’s incredibly talented, so this woman must be as well.
“Anni. She’s Nordic. She moved to New York by herself when she was in her late teens to train.”
As we get closer, I can see a figure through the window, her back to us as she works on something at the kitchen counter. Her blonde hair is woven into a thin braid that hangs down her back. She wears a simple earth-toned green T-shirt and jeans.
Sensing our arrival, she turns to the window to greet us with a warm smile.
"Welcome," she says, opening the door for us, her voice low and stoic. She reaches out a hand, the muscles in her arm rippling from the simple gesture, a testament to years of training and fighting. "I'm so glad you could make it."
“Thank you for having us.” I shake her hand, having no idea what we’re doing here, how or when he contacted her, nothing, but the place is so magical, I’m not even caring.
I step inside, taking in the simple yet cozy interior of the cabin. The walls are adorned with paintings and photos, some taken during her fights, some of the beautiful nature surrounding her home. I feel a sense of admiration for this woman, who’s carved out an independent life of solace for herself in the midst of chaos.
As we sit down to talk, I can't wait to hear her story—I’m assuming the story of a warrior who found peace in the most romantic place in the world.
On the table, she places a cutting board of food that she was preparing when we walked up to the window. Slices of cheese, apples, and bread. She pulls a stout little dark-green glass bottle from her cabinet shelf, offering a mischievous smile that brings light to her serious eyes. “And a little something stronger to go with it?”
“Sure,” I say with a laugh. “A little warmth after a cold day on the beach sounds wonderful.”
She holds the bottle in one hand, capturing three short pottery cups with the fingers of her other. They’re glazed in warm colors, reds and oranges like the sunrise. She offers us both a cup, filling all three to the brim with a spicy-scented liquor.
“Apple brandy,” she says, lifting her glass. “I made it myself.”
“Thanks for sharing. I’m excited to try it.” I bring it to my nose, inhaling the cinnamon aroma. It’s delicious, warm and fruity. “Wow. That tastes like Christmas.”
“A high compliment,” she says. “Please. Take a snack.”
The crunch of the apple and tang of the cheddar cheese is the perfect accompaniment to the liquor. After the icy cold, windy day on the beach, the light meal is perfect. This small, cozy cabin, the fire roaring in the stone fireplace—I couldn’t have dreamt up a better way to cap off the day.
“I have a thousand questions for you,” I say. “I want to hear all about your career.”
She tips the last of her liquor down her throat. “A topic for tomorrow. While I’m training you. Tonight? I’m going to stay in one of the smaller cabins. You two take this one. It’s more suitable for two people.”
“No. We couldn’t. And I won’t bother you with training.” I take another slice of each item, piling them in a little sandwich.
“I insist.” A glow comes over her face. “It can get lonely up here. I might see if there’s some good company out there tonight.”
“Oh. Oh!” I say. I get it. A second too late.
Sav looks like he wants to chuckle at my innocence.
This woman is fiercely independent, and ready to go get her needs taken care of by a big, burly Bachman man. Good for her. I sneak a glance at the big, muscular man at my side. Wish I could do the same.
He clearly doesn’t feel anything for me other than a bit of lust, just as she won’t feel anything serious for whatever man she chooses to partner with tonight. I take another sip of liquid courage, mulling over the idea of pinning Sav to a bed and ripping off his clothes.
