Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
ALIX
The clerk at the car rental counter sighed, then turned the screen and gestured toward the massive white truck like she was unveiling a prize on The Price Is Right.
It was so big and so aggressively bad at gas mileage that Alix half expected a bald eagle to swoop down and bless it right there on the screen.
“You’re late, and we only have two vehicles left. Christmas rush, you know? It’s this, or a Ford Fiesta. Personally, I’d go with this,” the clerk said, clearly unfazed by the dichotomy of choices.
Grace’s brows inched up. “We’re just driving to your parents’ house, not invading it, right?”
Alix signed the last form and pocketed the keys.
“I’m not driving you anywhere in a compact car that apparently can’t handle a snowflake.
” They walked through the parking garage, where she was sure she saw a few AWD SUVs, but there was the truck.
She squinted at her reflection in the chrome bumper, which made her look about two feet tall.
“Think of it like a cultural experience. Denver may be a cool city, and hell, even Fort Collins is a college town, but Bellvue? We’re going to fit right in. ”
Grace muffled a laugh. “Does it come with an American flag shirt and a country playlist?”
“They’re pre-installed.” Alix tugged open the heavy door, helping Grace in on the passenger side. She walked around the other side, tossing her duffel into the back seat, then hoisted herself up like she was mounting a horse. “Welcome to Colorado, baybee.”
As Grace clicked her seat belt, she was still laughing quietly — an exhausted, melodic sound that landed somewhere deep in Alix’s chest. “What an experience already. We landed in a corn field, we’re driving a truck that feels like you need a special license, and I’m wearing an extreme amount of football fan gear.
Did you know this hoodie cost seventy-five dollars at that gift shop? ”
“Highway robbery,” Alix said, shaking her head as she connected to CarPlay.
The drive north out of Denver was a long stretch of dark toll road, each mile marker dragging them farther from the city glow and closer to the dark silhouette of the foothills.
Snowflakes blew across the windshield like confetti, melting into streaks under the wipers.
It had been a while since she’d driven in snow, but she took it slow and steady, hoping it was a skill that stayed forever, like riding a bicycle.
Alix’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
She hadn’t driven this route in ten years.
The muscle memory of it hit like a ghost as she merged onto I-25 — every turn, every billboard, every time her mom’s voice had filled the silence with advice she hadn’t asked for.
You could still finish college. You could still find a nice guy and settle down.
You’re wasting your talent on hair and your alternative lifestyle.
And then Alix had snapped. She didn’t remember the specifics of the fight, but she’d yelled some awful things, and her mom had yelled back, and then she was leaving, slamming the door and rushing headfirst into the world more determined than ever.
Now she was back, headlights catching the road signs that still carried the same names — Longmont, Loveland, Fort Collins — while her pulse kept insisting she turn around.
Grace shifted beside her, tucking her hands into her lap. “You okay?”
Alix blinked, realizing she’d been silent for too long. “Yeah,” she said, her voice a little rough. “Just getting reacquainted with the ghost of bad decisions past.”
“’Tis the season.” Grace smiled without pressing, an open invitation if Alix wanted to say more. She did… She just didn’t know how.
The heater hummed, a steady drone against the snow building along the shoulder of the road.
The truck felt too warm, the world outside too cold.
Between them, a familiar ease started to bloom again, the kind that made Alix want to reach across the console and thread their fingers together.
She didn’t. She kept both hands on the wheel, steady as the miles slipped by.
They’d been driving nearly an hour when Alix caught sight of Grace rubbing her hands together for warmth. “You cold?”
“I’m fine,” Grace lied. “I didn’t realize Colorado would be this… committed to the Winter Wonderland aesthetic.”
“Uh-huh.” Alix glanced down. Grace’s feet were damp, her thin flats and orange socks darkened by melted snow. “Maybe you can wear some of mine, or my mom’s. What size are you?”
“Six.”
Alix glanced toward Grace. “You have child feet.”
“I have normal feet,” Grace countered. “You just have ski attachments.”
“Well, I think we’re going to have to grab you something until your bags arrive,” Alix said.
Grace didn’t argue, which showed Alix just how freezing she must be.
Alix tried to remember what was in the small downtown of Bellvue’s neighboring town, Laporte.
Bellvue itself was too small to have any kind of shopping area, so most people “went into town” either to Laporte or Fort Collins for the bigger stores.
The streets were mostly empty, the shops dark except for one still glowing with neon: Buckaroo Trading Post.
Grace peered at the wooden sign as they parked. “Is this a souvenir shop or a front for a cult?”
“A little from column A, a little from column B,” Alix said, hopping out and crunching through the snow. “Do you want me to carry you?”
Grace looked alarmed, her mouth opening and closing twice before she gasped, “No.”
Alix shrugged. “Well, then, come on. Let’s see if we can find you some shoes that won’t require amputation.”
A bell jingled as they entered, and a teenager behind the counter gave them the bored wave of someone whose soul had escaped mid-shift.
Inside, the Buckaroo Trading Post was exactly what it sounded like — part novelty store, part museum of outdated cowboy fantasies.
Taxidermy heads lined the walls. Shelves held everything from “Don’t Mess with the West” magnets to T-shirts of wolves howling at a neon moon.
Laporte really leaned into the rural aspect of its heritage instead of admitting it was basically incorporated into a large, liberal college town.
“Wow,” Grace murmured, walking past a rack of faux-suede jackets. “So this is culture.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Alix said.
They poked through rows of flannel shirts and beaded moccasin keychains. There was one sad rack of boots near the back, all in sizes that seemed to belong to the type of person named Big Earl.
The smallest boots were an impeccably shiny pair of chestnut cowboy boots with turquoise stitching. Grace picked them up, turned them over, and grinned. “You know what? I’ve always wanted cowboy boots.”
“Of course you have,” Alix said. “Every Miami lawyer dreams of going full Dolly Parton.”
Grace slipped them on, wiggled her toes, and took a few tentative steps. “They fit.”
Alix crossed her arms. “You look like a brand-new member of a country girl power trio. In a good way.”
Grace spun, the strings of her fluorescent orange Broncos hoodie flaring, and gave her a mock curtsy. “Then I guess I’ll need a stage name.”
“Gator Jones.”
Grace laughed, a real one that reached her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
Alix couldn’t help but smile. “We’re buying those.”
Ten minutes later, Grace left the store with her new boots and a tiny cowboy hat keychain she’d insisted on buying for Alix. Outside, the snow had picked up again — dreamy, giant flakes drifting under the streetlights.
As they drove the last few miles, the landscape widened. Fenced pastures stretched into the dark, punctuated by the occasional red barn or solitary light. Alix’s throat tightened. She’d forgotten how open it felt out here, how the sky seemed too big to belong to anyone.
“There it is,” Alix said quietly, nodding toward the faint glow at the end of a long gravel drive.
The farmhouse came into view — white siding, dark shutters, a wraparound porch buried in snow. The barn and stables beyond were shadowed, but the porch light glowed amber through the flakes.
Alix’s pulse kicked.
Grace tilted her head. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” Alix slowed, the tires crunching over gravel. “From a distance.”
She pulled up in front of the house and put the truck in park. For a moment, neither of them moved. Her hands stayed on the steering wheel, the engine rumbling beneath them.
Grace turned to her. “Hey.”
Alix glanced over.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.” She let out a small laugh that wasn’t funny. “Last time I was here, my mom told me I was wasting my life. I told her she could kiss my tattooed ass. It was… not our best moment.”
“Do you really have a tattoo on your ass?” Grace asked.
“It was a metaphorical ass tattoo.” Alix shrugged.
“Right.” Grace reached over and rested her hand on Alix’s knee, warm through the denim. “You’re allowed to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Alix said, which was, of course, a lie. “I’m just preemptively mortified.”
Grace squeezed Alix’s hand lightly. “We’ll face it together, okay? I’ll even take the blame if it goes south. I can fake a terrible stomachache.”
Alix snorted. “Let’s not make that a tradition.”
The porch light flicked on. A figure appeared behind the window curtain. Alix exhaled. “Well, too late to turn around.”
“Only one way to find out,” Grace said, smiling with encouragement. “C’mon, Scissors. Lead the way.”
Alix stepped out into the snow. It hit her boots with a crunch, instantly filling the cuffs of her jeans. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke, so sharp it almost hurt. She walked up the porch steps with Grace beside her, heart pounding like a drum against her ribs.
The door swung open before they could knock.
“Alexandra!” Helen’s voice carried the same exasperation it always had, but it was now tinged with a slight hint of warmth behind a wide smile. “You’re finally here!”