Chapter 5
Chapter five
Chesteria
“Small-Town Groceries the same phone that had been blowing up nonstop the entire ride up. Every time I glanced over, it lit up again, persistent and attention-seeking.
“Work,” he muttered, swiping the screen away with visible annoyance.
I chose not to press the matter; I had no real reason to doubt him. Still… a nagging feeling in my gut had me casting discreet side-eyes his direction every few moments, wondering what kind of “work” could require so much attention.
As we stepped into the market, a little brass bell jingled cheerfully, announcing our entrance. The place smelled like pine cleaner and old gum wrappers.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” a warm, familiar voice called from behind a neatly stacked display of canned chili.
I turned, grinning wide. “Mr. Griffin.”
He wiped his hands on his blue apron, the fabric stained with a lifetime of service and walked from behind the counter with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes that spoke of years of kindness.
“I thought that was you,” he said, his arms open wide for a hug. “You always did have that ‘city girl pretending to be country’ walk.”
“Guilty as charged,” I laughed, pulling back to meet his friendly gaze.
“So, you’re here for the holidays?” he inquired, genuine interest lighting up his face.
"Just for the weekend,” I replied.
Mr. Griffin was used to seeing me alone... or with Bryce. So when he spotted Adrian, he gave him a quick up-and-down assessment; that telltale look that said, “he's new, huh?” but chose not to dwell on it.
“Mmm,” he hummed, glancing out the window at Adrian’s SUV. “Well, just to be safe, you might wanna grab more groceries than you came for.”
“Oh?” I asked, curious. “Why is that?”
“Supposed to get pretty bad out here in the next few days. A snowstorm warning went out this morning. You know them mountain roads can get slick faster than you think,” he cautioned, a hint of seriousness in his tone.
I raised my eyebrows. “I saw the alert, but I’m planning on being long gone before it hits.”
Mr. Griffin shrugged, straightening a slightly crooked bag of oranges.
“Still… I’d rather you be safe than sorry. The power went out for three days last time it hit.”
Adrian froze mid-motion as he deeply focused on a bag of beef jerky like it carried financial and spiritual significance.
“Wait, you think we might get snowed in?”
I quickly shook my head, not wanting to add fuel to either of our anxieties.
“No, no. It’s fine. It’s not supposed to be that bad this weekend,” I reassured him, though uncertainty crept into my voice.
I watched how rapidly he began blinking, as if mentally calculating how long he could function without Wi-Fi and steady cell service before losing his sanity.
Even though I planned for us to be in and out that weekend, I found myself grabbing a few extra items…
just in case. We wandered the aisles, tossing in everything we could think of—hearty soups, bags of chips, chocolate, bread, eggs, bacon, bottled water, orange juice, and of course.
... wine. I grabbed three bottles just for good measure.
“Just in case your ‘work emergencies’ follow us to the fireplace,” I said sweetly to Adrian, watching the mix of confusion and understanding flicker across his face.
He glanced at me with uncertainty, clearly debating whether I was serious.
Good.
As I turned the cart down a narrow seasonal aisle, something on the middle shelf caught my eye—a little snowglobe.
It wasn’t extravagant, nor did it appear to be new, with its glass slightly fogged over from years of dust. Inside was a tiny airplane poised at an angle that suggested it was ready to take flight into a swirl of white glitter.
I froze.
For a moment, everything around me fell into a hushed silence—the faint hum of the freezer, the distant chatter of other shoppers, and even Adrian rustling with a bag of plain Lays chips behind me seemed to fade away. All I could see was that enchanting little plane.
It reminded me of Bryce.
Not the arguments or the heartbreak… just the way he used to talk about flying and disappearing into clouds when life felt too heavy for him.
I swallowed hard.
I couldn’t explain why it tugged at me the way it did, but something within me whispered, buy it, and I’d long since learned to heed those subtle nudges.
So, with a gentle hand, I reached for it.
The snow inside swirled gracefully as I lifted it from the shelf, and tiny flakes floated around the airplane like a delicate storm in slow motion.
I placed it carefully in the cart beside the wine.
Adrian glanced down at it. “You like snowglobes, huh?”
“Today I do,” I replied, shrugging slightly, as I pushed the cart forward before he could pry any further.
When we reached the register, Mr. Griffin rang everything up on the same clunky machine he’d had since forever.
“That’ll be $168.22,” he said, bagging the last loaf of bread.
Adrian patted his front pockets… then his back ones… then his coat… then the front again like auditioning for America’s Got No Funds.
“Uh… one second.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I… think I might’ve dropped my wallet in that store we stopped at for gas before we headed out,” Adrian answered slowly.
He checked his coat again, apparently hoping determination would make it appear.
“I had it when we left. Damn.”
Mr. Griffin raised one eyebrow, tapping the receipt on the counter like that wasn’t his first rodeo—calm, but judging.
“You sure?” I asked.
“Positive. I had it when I got gas; that’s how I paid.”
I blew out a breath of frustration and pulled out my card. “It’s fine. I got it.”
There were people waiting behind us, and I didn’t want to stand there discussing a potentially missing wallet.
Mr. Griffin looked between us and cleared his throat. “Well… things like this happen to the best of us.”
Or a liar, I wanted to say. But he could’ve been telling the truth. So instead, I forced a little smile and replied, “Yeah, it does. One of those things you just gotta be prepared for.”
As I paid, Adrian suddenly became very interested in the chewing gum rack.
Mr. Griffin handed me the receipt with a warm smile.
“It was good seeing you, Chesteria. Good luck up there. And if y’all do get snowed in, just remember… bears don’t knock.”
“Stepping Into Familiar Air… and Unfamiliar Energy.”
Roughly ten minutes later, the SUV crunched through fresh powder as the trees finally parted and the cabin came into view—big, bold, and beautiful against the snowy mountainside.
Adrian leaned forward in the passenger seat, squinting as though he’d just spotted a unicorn.
“Damn. You bought a cabin this big… just for yourself?” he asked, eyes wide with awe and lowkey disbelief. “You should be renting this muthafucka out.”
I gave a short laugh and shook my head as the car pulled to a stop.
“Nah… it’s too significant.”
I didn’t explain… I didn’t need to.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and smiled faintly. “Well, let’s get our weekend started.”
Adrian hopped out of the car a little too fast and made a beeline for the trunk, clearly anxious to confirm his suitcase had survived the trip. Usually, he’d open my door without a second thought.
Damn, did he forget?
Or maybe he’s just too excited?
Either way, I charged it to the moment and got out on my own.
The crisp mountain air kissed my face as I stepped out, boots crunching against the freezing ground. It wasn’t snowing yet; just cold enough for my breath to fog as I made my way toward the front door with the key in my hand and my heart tugging at the familiarity of it all.
I opened the door slowly, and the first thing that hit me was the smell.
It had been three months since I’d been there, and the same soft mix of pine, cinnamon, and old fireplace ash still wafted in the air.
The leather couch sat exactly where it used to, with that same woolen throw draped over the arm.
The tall bookshelf still leaned just a touch to the left, like it was shy.
My favorite mug, the one with the chipped handle and the words “Caffeine & Boundaries”, still sat by the kitchen window like it never left, but one thing was new.
There was a massive, ultra-mounted flat-screen TV hung on the wall.
It was way bigger than the old one, Bryce, and I used to fight over every Super Bowl.
I smirked.
Bryce, this has your name written all over it.
Before the memory could take up more space than it deserved, Adrian’s voice echoed behind me.
“Daaamn, it’s nice in here! Now this is what I call a cabin!” he exclaimed, walking in with only his bags.
He looked around, impressed, then dumped his bag onto the couch, treating my sanctuary as temporary housing.
The trunk? Wide open, like it was sick of being a trunk and wanted freedom.
The car door? Hung open like it was waiting on Jesus to close it.
My bags? Still sitting there like abandoned children.
The groceries? Bundled together like hostages trying to stay warm, probably shivering like they forgot their coats.
The wind? Blowing actively inside the house like it was giving a house tour.
“You uh… left the trunk open,” I pointed out.
“Oh yeah,” he nodded easily. “I left it open so you can get your bags.”
I blinked erratically.
Nigga, what?! So you weren’t gonna get them for me?
That was red flag number two.
I didn’t say it out loud, but the flag was noted, highlighted, laminated, and waving like a parade banner.
“Okay,” I replied calmly. “But the groceries are still out there.”
His eyes widened, caught in the kind of panic only a forgotten mama birthday can trigger.
He chuckled. “Damn. I should probably grab those.”
Ya’ think?
Adrian rushed back outside like he was suddenly in a race against frostbite.
I shook my head and let my thoughts settle into the quiet.
This place is my peace palace, my hideout, my emotional safe zone, my home away from home, and the second I let someone else step into it, I immediately feel like I made a mistake.
Parts of Adrian were starting to unravel—little traits I hadn’t noticed before.
Then again, we’d never stayed in each other’s presence longer than five hours at a time.
Whenever we crossed paths on campus, it was strictly professional—quick nods, fake smiles, like we didn’t know each other beyond the occasional orgasm and overcooked alfredo.
Whenever we went out to eat, we usually drove separately, which was my preference.
No man was about to leave me stranded at a restaurant looking like a side dish, and I refused to be the girl pacing the parking lot in heels, blowing up a blocked number.
And whenever we got a room, it was always “wham, bam, thank you, sir. I’ll see you when I need my next back-stretch and stress-release session… the kind Planet Fitness can’t offer.”
A quick little cardio session and a complimentary bottle of water was our rhythm.
I never wanted to stay the night. All that cuddling, pillow-talking, and accidentally breathing in sync brings feelings…
and feelings bring complications… and complications bring unnecessary situationships.
Adrian was the “come closer, baby,” type, and I was the “sir, scoot back, it’s hot” type.
Still… he was beginning to display the exact qualities I despised in a man.
When I was with Bryce, I never had to ask.
No reminders. No hesitation. No passive-aggressive “we’re equal partners” performances when effort was clearly lopsided.
Hell, he’d grab my bags before his own. But…
they say you find out the real about a person when money gets involved, when you get sick, when you need a helping hand, when you tell them no, you disagree with them, or when you set a boundary that inconveniences them.
You also see their true colors when life blesses you a little more than it blesses them, when y’all have even the slightest misunderstanding, when y’all move in together, how they treat you when nobody’s watching, and obviously when you take a damn trip together.
I looked toward the door where Adrian shuffled grocery bags and huffed, performing exhaustion for an audience of one.
I sighed.
This is gonna be a long-ass weekend.