Chapter 1 Nora
NORA
Friday nights used to be my absolute favorite.
All my life, I would do mental gymnastics thinking of the countdown to the end of the week.
I’d plan movie nights, epic sleepovers with my best friend, complete with new nail colors and a fresh tin of cheddar popcorn.
Occasionally, my parents would plan big weekend trips, where after school we’d rush to pack the car so we could get an early start.
Friday used to be fucking magical.
Now, as a grown-ass adult…Fridays were pure garbage.
Shuffling in through my back door, the wood wobbled in my arms as the snow created an ice-like slickness under my snow boots.
I froze mid step. I nearly whimpered as my back locked into an agonizing position, and I considered how being frozen to the floor would be ten times better than slipping and breaking something vital… like my back or my face.
The howling wind flew in like a vortex behind me through the open door, tossing my hair into my face while I stood like a statue in the entryway.
I briefly recalled removing the rug out of my laundry room because I wanted to clean off all the mud that I had tracked in. Only, I had never put it back.
Fuckity-Fuck.
If I took a single step, I knew I was going to fall, and with my back already aching from cutting the miniscule amount of wood in my arms, if I fell, I’d just stay down.
I wouldn’t even get up, in fact, I was fairly sure I had a bag of nuts in my coat pocket.
I’d be fine until morning. Maybe if I slipped out of my boots first, it would be fine.
With the idea in mind, and exhilaration hitting my chest because my boots were loose and untied, I slid my left foot free. Sweet Jesus, it worked.
Once that foot was out, I did the same with the other and while my socks would be wet, at least I wasn’t going to fall. Once clear of the thick boots, I kicked the door shut and let out a relieved sigh. This homeowner shit was getting old really fast.
No one told me that I’d have to cut wood all winter to keep my living room warm, because I had overlooked the fact that there were no heating vents anywhere on the left half of the house.
The bedrooms were all fine, thankfully, but if I wanted to be comfortable in my living room while I binge watched Vampire Diaries, then I’d have to become comfortable cutting wood.
For the record, I was not. My logs all looked odd, like I hit the wedge at the wrong angle, or tried to mangle the lumber to death.
With the pile still in my arms, I walked with sopping wet socks into the living room and dumped it into the cute box my best friend Rae had purchased for me as a housewarming gift.
She wanted to cheer me up as soon as it became clear that this would be my lot in life once winter hit.
We had gone to a home décor show back in November, thinking the cutesy box would make cutting and gathering wood somehow more manageable.
In the grand scheme of things, it seemed ridiculous to pay fifty dollars for a bin that contained firewood.
I could be using a cardboard box for how much easier it’s made my life.
But I had thought with winter coming, it would be cute.
Cute.
Winter was not cute in any capacity, let me be clear.
Maybe I once thought it was, but as an adult homeowner who didn’t get to walk inside and magically have hot cocoa waiting for me, I detested the entire season.
Honestly, it could officially melt into the ozone for all I cared, and never show itself again.
To hell with droughts, and the world ending, and fucking all of it.
Now came the fun part of my night, when I kneeled in front of my gaping, cold hearth for eternity, trying to start a fire.
I swear if my life actually depended on lighting a fire, I would die.
Plain and simple. I had even watched a myriad of YouTube videos on how to set the wood up in a triangle, tepee shape, while stuffing kindling and paper inside.
But every single time, the entire thing would topple, and the spark would go cold.
How is it that I signed the papers for this house, got my keys, and all the powers at be seemed perfectly fine with the idea that I had never once dealt with how to build a fire, or how to buy a hot water heater, or what to do if the pipes froze.
No one would send a reminder to blow out my sprinklers or turn off the water to the hoses before they freeze and potentially flood the house.
And no, I didn’t learn these lessons along the way, most of this information was picked up from varying episodes of some PBS special where four old men helped distressed homeowners, like myself, fix their mistakes.
I started taking notes, and all I’ve learned so far is that I needed elderly men in my life to come assess my home and teach me how to fix it.
“Finally,” I said, once the fire ignited. I sank to the floor, rolling onto my back.
This was supposed to be easier. This was supposed to be the start of something amazing and wonderful for me, and all it proved was that I, Nora Petrov, was spoiled.
Spoiled. Spoiled. Spoiled.
My parents, who were second-generation immigrants from Europe, had made their own way in this town, owning not one but two businesses here in Macon, Oregon.
Peter and Lilly Petrov were two pillars in this small community and have created a wonderful life for me, and I took every opportunity the privilege provided.
I had purchased this house myself, like my car and the design business I launched.
So, it wasn’t as though I hadn’t taken steps to be free of my parents’ umbrella of safety, but living here in Macon with them, it was far too easy to call my dad to have him fix all the things for me.
Which was exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted him to come and cut enough wood to last me the rest of winter.
I wanted him to figure out why my pipes groaned when I turned on the water, and why it took forever to heat said water up.
I wanted him to fix it all, but they were leaving, and it wasn’t like I had anyone else to rely on.
I had to start handling this stuff myself.
Which was why I didn’t call either of them when the wind picked up.
Or while I knew my father’s right-hand man lived right next door, I didn’t walk over in the middle of the night to ask if this amount of wind was normal…
or if the swaying of the trees was any indication that I should be worried.
What even constituted being worried? How did other homeowners know when to panic?
Out of sheer anxiety, I ended up curled up on my couch, hugging a pillow to my chest.
Sleep came and went, as dreams of loud thunder and cracking wood pranced along my consciousness.
After an entire night of rattling shutters and branches scratching at windows, I finally woke to a bleary room and a horrific crick in my neck.
Lying twisted in the thin blanket and half curled into the couch, my breath clouded in front of me. Glancing over at the cold hearth where last night’s fire had burned out, I registered that I shouldn’t have slept in the living room. A major miscalculation on my part.
Dammit.
Tugging the blanket over my shoulders and slowly twisting to the side of the couch, I barely let my thick socks hit the floor before a hiss came through my clenched teeth.
The wood floor was frigid.
Shivering under the thin throw blanket, I walked to the newer eco-friendly thermostat I had put in. Usually I could control the temperature directly from my phone, but at the moment I had no idea where my phone was.
Gasping while I tiptoed across the floor, I stopped cold when I saw that the screen was completely dark, indicating it was offline.
Shit.
That would mean that the power had gone out at some point during the night…which meant I was in a world of homeowner hell.
Once a-fucking-gain.
Miserable, I traded the blanket for my winter coat and then tiptoed to the back door to pull on my snow boots.
With my fingers still trembling, I pulled on a beanie and some gloves as well.
Once my body regulated, and I didn’t feel like an ice cube, I had to see if something had happened outside to cause the power outage.
As early dawn broke open across the sky, I trudged down the steps, watching as my feet disappeared into the deep snow. After I was clear of the stairs, I narrowed my eyes at the sky, realizing a little too late the significant amount of it that I didn’t normally see.
What in the—
Oh. My. Gosh.
My jaw literally dropped as I stared in shock at what lay in front of me. And as my mind spiraled out of control about what to do, I heard my neighbor’s back door slide open and his clunky work boots hit his porch.
Closing my eyes and exhaling slowly, I decided to face this head-on.
Right as I turned on my heel, I heard his deep voice call over the fence. “Did you know a tree fell in your yard?”
My surly, obnoxiously hot neighbor stood there on his porch, already dressed for work, staring over the brim of his coffee mug at me.
My face caught fire as his eyes leisurely perused my bed head, a coat that made me look fifty pounds heavier, and thanks to the tourist surge in the area, the world’s ugliest snow boots.
If Colson Hanes were just a neighbor, a mere man, I wouldn’t care…but to my utter mortification and dismay, I had a rather complicated obsession with said neighbor. I dreamed of marrying the man at night, but during the day—it was all stabby sensations and petty insults.
The snow crunched underfoot as I stepped toward his side of the fence.
“No shit, Sherlock.” It was too early to be mature and dodge his annoying comments that always seemed to dig at me in ways that shouldn’t.
He sipped from his cup of coffee, the steam billowing from the top of the mug. “Figured since you’re staring at it like it will just get up and go back into the ground, you weren’t sure.”
I hadn’t missed the massive pine sprawled out in the middle of my yard, its nose barely touching the edge of our shared fence.
I just couldn’t process that it had actually fallen.
Furthermore, I truly could not, would not, think of how the hell one got rid of a fallen tree in their yard. What sort of winter fuckery was this?
I chose to turn my anger on the man who was currently caffeinating.
“And instead of offering a helpful hand or any empathy at all, you chose to be a dick?”
He clicked his tongue, keeping his eye on the massive pine tree that lay like the bridge to Terabithia to our two worlds.
“You could start with an axe...you do know what an axe is, yes?”
Okay, so he wanted to hurl petty insults before I had a chance to caffeinate.
His funeral.
Hands on my hips, my eyes narrowed, and mouth primed with a bitchy retort, I watched as his jaw set in a firm line, as though he was expecting exactly this response from me. I let out a gust of hot air instead. He wasn’t worth it. Not today anyway.
Stepping closer, so I had a better view of him, I attempted to be civil.
“Look, do you have any advice, or any tips at all on how I might go about handling this tree?”
Up close, Colson Hanes resembled a winter deity, with blond hair tucked under his beanie and those crystal blue eyes, his normal surfer appearance looked that much better with winter gear.
Now he could be a model found in a snowboarding magazine.
I hated that I had fallen for him, and when I say fall, I mean down a dirt hill, into a rocky river.
I had actively worked to hate him since then.
Colson’s eyes moved, traveling from the pine in my yard to my face, and down to my boots.
I felt judged.
Very judged.
He probably had an actress model girlfriend tucked away in what I assumed was a massive bed, covered in silk and feathers. I had no idea why that image was the one that popped up when I thought of Colson and sex, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Well, you need to call the power company to come and take care of the downed wires, and then I guess you’ll need to chop up the tree…or call a tree removal service to do it.”
“Now if only I had a helpful neighbor who also happened to own a chainsaw.” I rolled my eyes, annoyed that he hadn’t already offered to help. I knew what our relationship was—a bunch of insults and bullshit. But deep down, I had always assumed if I actually needed help, he’d offer it.
Guess I was wrong.
Dipping his head, he made an exasperated sound, while a muscle feathered along his jawline. For two seconds, I thought he’d give me a break and say he was just giving me a hard time, but he only proved where we were in this neighborly relationship.
“Maybe try the neighbor on that side.” He lifted his mug, his eyes moving past me. “The one on this side has an early meeting. Good luck with everything.”
His lips twisted into a smug smile, and then he turned to leave.
Anger made the tops of my cheeks heat, but I wouldn’t show him. I wouldn’t even call after him or beg him to leave his cup of coffee behind. I narrowed my eyes at where he disappeared into the house, deciding I had finally hit my breaking point.