Chapter 5 Este
ESTE
Four to eight weeks.
Nico called the rangers while my dad was giving me a rundown of the brunch they had when they realized their flight was canceled, and that’s their estimate for how long we’re going to be stuck here. A month, at least. Maybe two.
A month of no one expecting me to come back to work. A month of no one dancing around my feelings like they’re worried I’m going to break. A month of barely having to think, because beyond helping Nico take care of the cabin (if he lets me), I have zero responsibilities up here.
This is exactly what I needed.
A month of being stuck in a twenty-five-hundred-square-foot cabin with Nico. My dad’s best friend. Who I may or may not have dreamed about last night. A dream that was the polar opposite of a nightmare.
So, maybe I don’t need that part, but the relaxing part? Absolutely.
I relay the time frame Nico showed me on his phone to my dad, and he whistles.
“That’s a long time.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. It’s amazing up here. I love it already.”
“You might not love it after being stuck there for two months,” Pops says, his voice distant. They’re on loudspeaker, but he’s a pacer.
“Maybe not, but there’s not much I can do about it. I might as well make the most of it and use this time to relax—isn’t that what you’ve been telling me to do for months?”
Pops grumbles something about “fucking snow in April” under his breath.
“That’s a good attitude to have, honey,” my dad says.
“What are you going to do with your vacation time now that you can’t come here?” I ask. Sloane shouts, “Somewhere warm!” in the background, and my dad chuckles.
“We’ll see what flight options we have and figure something out. Pops and Sloane are hoping for the Caribbean.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that the only reason they’re able to go is that I can’t go with them.
We’d talked about planning a family summer trip to the Caribbean this year, but they refused to go without me, and I refused to fly.
At least now, they don’t have to feel guilty about going without me.
I’ve never been much for beach vacations, anyway.
“How have things been with Nico?” Dad asks, and I look up to watch Nico moving around the kitchen, making tea and breakfast. Earl is sniffing around, clearly hoping for scraps, and Nico tosses him a blueberry.
“He’s been great. Very welcoming. He’s fun to talk to.”
Pops makes a sound of disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“He’s not nearly as grumpy as I was led to believe,” I say quietly. I don’t think he could hear me from the kitchen, not that I can imagine it would be a surprise to him if people thought he was grumpy. He’s just a little out of practice with people.
“Good. That’s good,” Dad muses. “But remember, he’s not used to having people around, so he might find it difficult after a while.
It’ll be good for him to have someone around.
Maybe you could try and talk to him a little, get him to open up.
Not about anything serious, just… get him to talk. Take care of him, yeah?”
I don’t know Nico very well, and I already know he wouldn’t allow anyone to take care of him. But talking, I can do. Honestly, I don’t think I could do not talking for four to eight weeks, so he doesn’t really have a choice there.
“I will, Dad.”
“Good. And keep us up to date, okay? We want daily texts. And a lot of dog pictures. You can’t send too many.”
I snort. “Noted.”
As we’re saying goodbye, Sloane shouts that she’s going to video call me in a few.
I stand—much to Grey’s chagrin when he’s forced to move an inch to let me—just as Nico brings over a cup of tea and hands it to me.
It was easier to look at him before I dreamed about him on top of me, holding my hands down, and—
“Vanilla chai,” he says, and I sniff it with a groan. Sweet, spicy, cozy, caffeinated. Perfection in a cup.
“God, that smells amazing. Thank you. My sister’s going to video call me, so I’ll take it upstairs.”
Before I turn away, he says, “I’ll make you breakfast while you’re on the phone.”
“Oh, you don’t have to cook for me. I can throw something together when I’m done.”
Nico narrows his eyes. It’s an expression I’m already growing familiar with. It’s not angry or frustrated; I think it’s his version of curious. Like he’s trying to peek beyond the surface, determined to figure me out.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” he says after a moment, his tone leaving no room for argument. Not that that usually stops me. I’ve never liked being told what to do, especially by men. But Nico… something about it is weirdly calming.
My dads taught me to question everything, to make sure my thoughts and feelings were always perfectly clear.
They knew I wanted to be a pilot like them, which meant they knew I was going into a male-dominated workspace where everyone was going to judge me by my last name, and they did their best to prepare me for it.
As a child, I was called “bossy” when the boys who acted the same way were “leaders.” As a teenager, I pissed them off to no end when I wouldn’t take no for an answer and tried to talk my way into everything.
But when I introduced myself on my first day at the Skylark Airlines Company Indoctrination program, and several of the other pilots commented on how nice it must have been to not have to try to get my job, I was prepared.
I was one of eight pilots who started that day. Only six of us passed our initial training, and only three of us are still flying—if I’m still counting myself.
Earl follows me upstairs and hops onto the bed as I close the door.
He hasn’t left me much space, but I squeeze beside him and open my laptop just as Sloane’s face flashes up on my screen.
She constantly changes her contact picture, and she has her tongue out in this one. I have no idea when she did it.
“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed off are you that I’m going to be lying on a beach in a few days, and you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere?” Sloane says, forgoing a greeting entirely.
“Uh… zero? I’m not a beach person. You know that.”
“Right. But you’re not a snow person, either,” she points out.
It’s true that I usually don’t like the extreme hot or the extreme cold, but Nico’s cabin feels different. “It’s cozy enough here that I don’t mind. I like it. It’s like something out of a Christmas movie.”
Literally. Wintermore is known for being featured in a Christmas movie twenty-something years ago called A Christmas Wish in the Mountains.
My dads love it, but I’m not much of a Christmas movie person, so I’ve never seen it myself.
There’s a sequel coming out this fall, and they’ve already been talking about throwing a watch party, so I suppose I’ll have to get caught up.
Sloane hums, tossing her hair over her shoulder and frowning. “Still, it’s shitty that we don’t get to have our vacation together. I was looking forward to some sister time.”
“We live together, Slo.” I laugh at her overexaggerated pout.
Sloane moved in with me after the crash.
At first, I stayed with my dads while I recovered from the physical stuff—I had a concussion, whiplash, and a dislocated shoulder, and my dads fussed over me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
They weren’t okay with me going back to my own apartment, despite it only being a half hour away, until I agreed to let Sloane stay with me.
She moved a bunch of her stuff in, then sent me half of my rent payment a couple months later and told me she was staying.
“Semantics,” she scoffs, waving me away. “Now, tell me every single thing that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I’m already having Este-withdrawals.”
I set my laptop down and lie on my stomach while I recount the mostly uneventful drive through Wyoming to Wintermore.
Sloane loves to chat. About anything and everything.
I’m not sure I’ve ever known her to be quiet for more than a few minutes—she’s a nightmare to watch anything with, and I can’t read when she’s in the room.
It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about, she’s completely engaged the whole time.
She’s been my best friend since the second she existed. People have come and gone over the years, but Sloane and I will always be each other’s person.
“Holy shit. How ironic would it have been if you’d survived a plane crash just to die driving your dumb yellow Mini Cooper.” Another reason I love her—she’s the only one who doesn’t pretend the plane crash didn’t happen.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking the whole time! And don’t call Mimi dumb. She got me up here.”
“True. Fine, I’ll consider not leaving as many empty takeout coffee cups in her for a little while to thank her for keeping you alive. So, what’s Nico like?”
“Nico is…” I search for something that’s not just me blurting out that I had a sex dream about him last night, and land on: “Intense. But in a good way.”
Sloane tilts her head, frowning. “What the hell does that mean?”
“He’s hard to explain, you know? I barely know him. He’s not chatty, but when he does speak, it feels intentional. And he has an authoritative energy that’s… interesting. Like, he makes you want to listen to him. Do you know what I mean?”
“No. I have no idea what you mean. What are you trying to say, Es?”
“He’s really hot.” I blurt it out before I can stop myself, and Sloane’s eyebrows shoot sky-high.
“Huh.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh, pressing my palms into my eyes.
“How hot are we talking? Do you have a picture?”
Why the hell would I have a picture of him? “No, I don’t have a picture. I’m not in the habit of meeting people and immediately pulling out my camera. As for how hot… very? Like, hot enough that I dreamed of him last night. He’s not your type.”
“He’s an old man, so no, I’d assume not.”
I roll my eyes, my cheeks burning. “He’s not old. He’s the same age as our dads.”
“So, what you’re saying is he’s old enough to be your dad?”
Jesus. Does that make him hotter? Maybe.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“What I’m saying is that he isn’t an old man.”
“Agree to disagree, but fine. You had a sex dream about him? Interesting.”
“I didn’t say it was a sex dream.” Sloane gives me a skeptical look. “It was, though. Like I said: intense.”
“Okay, so you think he’s hot. What are you going to do about it?”
It takes me a second to process her question, because she can’t possibly be asking what I think she’s asking. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to do anything about it. I’m going to pretend it isn’t happening. What else would I do?”
“Come on, Es. You’re both single and snowed in together. I know what kinds of books you read—I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.”
“I cannot have sex with our dad’s best friend.” No matter how much I would like to. “This isn’t a book.”
“Dad told you to take care of him!” She’s lost her mind. That’s the only reason I can think of for why she thinks I’d ever be on board with this.
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what he was talking about, Sloane.” In fact, I’d bet money it wasn’t.
“Dad wants you to relax. And god knows you need a little fun. You know what’s relaxing and fun? Sex. Something I know for a fact you haven’t done since you broke up with Randall.”
She wrinkles her nose at the mention of my ex-boyfriend.
Sloane never liked Randall. First, for his name—Randall Clarence Mush—which I can admit might be the worst full name in history.
Second, because he was possibly the dullest person either of us had ever met.
Something I didn’t notice until I thought I was about to die, and my life flashed before my eyes.
He was barely in it, and I realized that, if I did die, I would die Randall’s girlfriend, which would have been embarrassing, frankly.
The sex was surprisingly good, given how boring he was in every other avenue.
But good sex isn’t enough to be content in a relationship.
“I’ve been a little preoccupied to think about sex since I broke up with Randall,” I point out.
“Which is why it’s a big deal that you had a sex dream.
Duh. Look, you know I love you, and I understand why you’ve shut the world out since the crash, but the longer you do, the harder it’s going to be to get back to the Este you were before.
Which is a nice way of saying you’ve gotten a little boring lately. ”
It should probably sting that my sister thinks I’m boring, but I know she’s right, and I’ll never be upset about her speaking her mind. She held back at first after the accident, until I begged her to stop treating me differently.
“This whole conversation is a moot point. There’s no way he’s interested,” I point out, and Sloane scoffs.
“Please. The man is a hermit. He probably hasn’t had sex in two decades. You’d be doing him a favor.”
“Hey. Don’t talk about him like that,” I say, glaring at her. “He’s not as weird as Pops implied. He’s actually really nice.”
Sloane holds up her hands. “Whoa. Defensive much? My bad. All I’m saying is you’re stuck with him for a few weeks, and you might as well make the most of it. You’re probably never going to see him again. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“What if I try, and he says no? We’re stuck together. It’ll be awkward.” I don’t know why I ask—I have no intention of trying.
“Then it’s awkward. You’ve survived worse. Besides, you’re hot, you’re twenty-six, and you’ll try pretty much anything if you’ve read about it. He won’t say no.”
I sit up and sigh, patting Earl when I jostle him a little. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter because I’m not going to sleep with our dad’s best friend. That would be a monumentally bad idea.”
Sloane rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you don’t get to be mad when you do, and I say I told you so.”