Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
LUCIAN
I pull into Evergreen Fuel & Mart, the SUV's tires crunching over fresh snow. The cold air stings as I climb out, my mind replaying Paige's final words: "We want different things, Lucian."
I shake off the memory and start filling up at the pump. The smell of gasoline mixes with the crisp scent of pine as I scan the station among the towering evergreens. I notice a woman leaving the parking lot and a group of locals chatting near the entrance.
"Biggest storm in years, they're saying," an older man in a worn flannel jacket announces.
A woman beside him nods vigorously. "My cousin in Denver says it's already hitting them hard. We're next."
I can't help but lean in, straining to catch more details. The forecast had mentioned snow, but this sounds far more serious. A familiar knot of anxiety tightens in my chest. I should have checked the weather more thoroughly before leaving. Classic overthinking Lucian is always unprepared.
"Hey there!" A cheerful voice snaps me from my spiraling thoughts. The clerk, a ruddy-cheeked man with a Santa-like beard, waves from the doorway. "You passing through or staying in town?"
"Just passing through," I reply automatically, then hesitate. "Though maybe I should reconsider, given what I'm hearing about this storm?"
He chuckles, a warm, inviting sound. "Might be wise, friend. We've got some cozy places to hunker down if you need recommendations."
I nod gratefully, mulling over the unexpected change of plans. "I might take you up on that. Thanks."
As I finish filling up, my phone chimes. A text from Paige: "Hope you're doing okay." I stare at it, a mix of longing and frustration washing over me. What am I even doing out here?
With a sigh, I put my phone away and head inside to pay. Perhaps this detour is precisely what I need—a chance to clear my head and figure out my next move.
The bell chimes as I push open the door, a gust of warmth enveloping me. Inside, the chatter of locals fills the air, their voices tinged with a mix of excitement and concern.
"...worst storm in decades, they're saying," an older woman in a bright red parka exclaims, her eyes wide.
"Roads'll be impassable by nightfall," a gruff man in a plaid shirt adds, shaking his head. "Anyone on the highway's in for a nasty surprise."
My stomach tightens. I'd planned to drive through the night, but now...
"Excuse me," I say, surprising myself. "How bad is this storm supposed to be?"
The woman turns, her face softening. "Oh honey, it's gonna be a doozy. You're not planning on traveling, are you?"
I hesitate, my carefully laid plans crumbling. “I was, but?—”
"Don't even think about it," the man cuts in. "Stay put in Evergreen. It ain't worth the risk."
“Any suggestions on where to stay?”
The clerk pipes up, "Martha's B&B on Pine Street. Cozy as they come, and she always keeps a room for emergencies."
I nod, grateful. "Thanks, I'll head there now."
As I hurry back to my SUV, snow begins to fall in earnest. Cooper whines from the backseat, sensing my unease.
"Change of plans, buddy," I mutter, brushing snowflakes from my hair. "Looks like we're staying in Evergreen tonight."
The snow falls heavily, blanketing Evergreen streets in white. I lean forward, squinting through the windshield as I navigate the unfamiliar roads. Cooper's warm breath fogs the rear window, a comforting reminder I'm not alone. "Pine Street, Pine Street," I murmur, anxiously scanning street signs. My knuckles are white on the wheel. "Where is Pine Street?"
A gust of wind forces me to slow down. As visibility and traction diminish, I spot a charming house with a sign reading "Martha's Bed & Breakfast."
"Oh, thank God," I breathe, relief washing over me.
The B&B resembles a Christmas card, with twinkling lights and a wreath on the bright red door. It's the opposite of my minimalist New York apartment, yet it feels inexplicably right.
"Well, Cooper," I say, turning off the engine, "looks like we've found our port in the storm. Ready to meet some new faces?"
Cooper's tail thumps against the seat in response. At least one of us is excited about this unexpected social situation.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies ahead. "Alright, let's do this."
I push open the heavy wooden door, a gust of warm air and the scent of cinnamon enveloping us. Cooper's nails click on the hardwood floor as we step inside, shaking off snowflakes.
"Hello there!" A cheery voice calls out. "Welcome to Martha's!"
A woman with silver hair and rosy cheeks emerges from behind a corner, her smile is as warm as the crackling fireplace nearby.
"Hi, I'm Lucian," I manage, my voice rusty from hours of silence. "And this is Cooper. We're hoping you might have a room available?"
Martha's eyes twinkle. "Well, aren't you two lucky ducks! I've got one room left, and it's dog-friendly to boot."
Relief floods through me. "That's... that's fantastic. Thank you."
As Martha bustles about, getting us checked in, I can't help but notice the cozy charm of the place. Garlands drape across the banister, and a massive Christmas tree twinkles in the corner. It's a far cry from my usual sterile hotel rooms.
"Your timing's impeccable," Martha chatters. "This storm's only getting worse. You'll be snug as bugs up in Room 3."
I nod, my analytical mind already calculating our good fortune. "The forecast did look pretty grim. I'm glad we found you when we did."
Martha hands me an old-fashioned key. "Up the stairs, second door on your left. Breakfast is at eight, but don't worry if you sleep in. I'll keep a plate warm for you."
"That's very kind," I say, surprised by the personal touch.
As we climb the creaky stairs, Cooper leading the way, I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease. The door to Room 3 swings open, revealing a cozy space with a four-poster bed, a plush armchair, and a window seat overlooking the snowy street.
"Well, this is... unexpected," I murmur, setting down my bag. Cooper immediately hops onto the window seat, his tail wagging as he watches the falling snow.
I sink into the armchair, the events of the day catching up with me. The breakup, the hasty departure, the nerve-wracking drive... it all seems distant now, muffled by the thick stone walls and the presence of radiator heat.
"You know, Coop," I say, reaching over to scratch his ears, "maybe this detour isn't such a bad thing after all."
Cooper's ears perk up at the sound of my voice, and he abandons his snow-watching post to pad over to me. With a contented sigh, he curls up at my feet, his warm weight a comforting presence against my legs.
"At least one of us is settling in quickly," I chuckled, running my fingers through his silky fur. "What do you think, boy? Any other stranded travelers here tonight?"
As if in response, a muffled laugh echoes from somewhere down the hallway. I leaned forward, curiosity piqued.
"Sounds like we're not alone after all," I muse aloud. "Wonder who else got caught in this storm?"
Cooper's tail thumps against the floor, his brown eyes fixed on me with an almost knowing look.
"Don't give me that look," I say, grinning despite myself. "I'm not looking for anything, you know that. We're just... passing through."
But even as I say it, I feel a flutter of anticipation in my chest. It's been a long time since I've felt this—open to possibility. The cozy atmosphere of the B&B, the unexpected detour from my carefully planned life, it's like I've stepped into another world.
"You hear that, Coop?" I murmured, moving to the window.
Cooper's ears perk up, his head cocking to the side as he joins me. Through the frosted glass, I catch sight of headlights cutting through the swirling snow. A small car, its outline blurred by the storm, pulls into the B&B's parking lot.
"Looks like we're not the only ones seeking shelter," I muse, watching as the car's engine cuts off. "Must've barely made it before the roads closed completely."
I can't help but feel a mix of relief and curiosity. Relief that whoever it is made it safely, and curiosity about who else has been caught in this impromptu winter retreat.
"What do you think, buddy? Should I go down and say hello?"
Cooper's tail wags enthusiastically, but before I can move, a gust of wind howls past the window, rattling the panes. The storm's intensifying and I find myself hoping the new arrivals made it inside okay.
Stepping back from the window, my mind drifts to the warmth waiting downstairs—the promise of hot cocoa and the possibility of unexpected connections. For the first time in months, I feel a spark of something I can't quite name—anticipation, perhaps? Or hope?