16. Colette
COLETTE
T he morning frost bites through my mittens as I poke around under the hood.
Perfect. Just perfect
I stare at the mess of metal and wires like it might suddenly make sense. Who am I kidding? I can barely tell which part is the battery.
“Need a hand?”
I freeze at the sound of Hendrix's voice. Of course he'd show up now, while I'm bent over my engine looking completely clueless.
"It's fine." I wave him off without looking up. "I've got this under control."
"Yeah? Is that why you've been standing here for twenty minutes making faces at your engine?"
I spin around to find Hendrix leaning against my car, arms crossed and wearing that insufferable smirk. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Like Toronto?"
He pushes off the car and peers under the hood. "Try starting it again?"
Against my better judgment, I slide back into the driver's seat and turn the key. Click-click-click.
"Yeah, that's your starter." He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Had the same thing happen to my first car. You'll need a mechanic for that."
I lean my forehead against the steering wheel. "A mechanic? That sounds expensive.”
“Want me to call Tucker? His brother-in-law runs the shop in town."
"No thank you." I get out and slam the door with more force than necessary. "I can handle it myself."
“Are you sure? He can probably get you the friends and family discount.”
I look at him sidelong. “So… hypothetically… How long do you think a repair like that will take?”
He shrugs and closes the hood for me. “I guess that depends where the part comes from. I’d say two or three days probably.”
“Two or three days? I need to drive to Whitestone today."
"What's in Whitestone?"
"My cousin's cat."
"You need to get your cousin's… cat?"
I groan and explain the situation to Hendrix
"My cousin Michelle got stuck an extra few days on her work trip. Her neighbor was watching her cat but had to leave for a family thing, so now poor Khan is alone in the house."
"Khan?" His lips twitch.
“Genghis Khan. Don't start." I pull out my phone, scrolling through contacts. Maybe Daisy could... no, she's doing deliveries today. "I just need to get there, feed him, and bring him back. Simple."
"Your cousin named their cat Genghis Khan?"
"Is that all you took from that?” I sigh with exasperation. “He's a very intimidating Maine Coon."
"And the cat's just... sitting in an empty house?"
“The neighbor put the cat back at Michelle’s house with extra food, thinking she would be home in a few hours."
I bite my lip, weighing my options. Jessica from two doors down has a newborn, so she’s out. And now I'm actually considering asking the guy I stranded in Toronto yesterday to borrow one of his vehicles.
His Mercedes gleams in Grannie's driveway next to his pickup truck, both taunting me with their working engines.
"So..." I clear my throat.
Hendrix get this gleam in his eye, like he already knows what I’m about to ask him. “Yes?”
I catch myself. "Never mind. I'll figure something out."
His gaze bounces to Grannie’s driveway where I know he caught me looking. “Mmmhhmmm. I'm guessing you need a favor?"
I wince. "I was going to call Daisy..."
"Buuut you want to borrow my car." His eyes dance with amusement.
“Well, if you’re offering…”
"Let me get this straight." He crosses his arms, looking far too amused. "You want to borrow my car after leaving me stranded?"
"I was upset! You tricked me into thinking Liam wanted to see me."
"I didn't trick you into anything." He holds up his hands.
“I promise I'll be careful with your precious Mercedes. I'll have it back in two hours tops."
“My Mercedes! No way.”
“I’m a very safe driver.”
“I know you are. You were going fifteen kilometers under the speed limit the whole way to Toronto.”
“See? You can totally trust me. I’ll bring her back without a scratch.”
“I don’t care about the car, Colette. I care about you.”
I blink, not quite sure I heard him correctly. “Me?”
My heart skips at his words, but I quickly push that feeling aside. "What do you mean?"
"The Mercedes isn't built for country roads, especially not in winter," he continues, like he hasn't just dropped an emotional bomb. “Whitestone's pretty remote, and those back roads get icy."
He jingles his keys. "If you really need to borrow one of my vehicles, it'll have to be the truck."
I eye the massive pickup sitting in Grannie's driveway. It's practically monster-truck sized compared to my sensible Civic.
"Oh. Um."
"What?" He dangles the keys.
"I can't drive stick." I mumble the words, feeling my cheeks heat up.
"What was that?"
"I said I can't drive stick!" I cross my arms.
His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?”
I take a deep breath. "It’s fine. I'll figure something else out."
"I could drive you."
"No." The word flies out before I can stop it.
The thought of being trapped in a vehicle with Hendrix for hours after everything that happened... after that almost-kiss in Grannie's craft room...
"It's not a big deal," he says breezily. "I've got nothing else going on today."
"Maybe I'll catch a ride with?—"
"With who? Tucker's doing inventory and Daisy's got deliveries all day." He twirls the keys around his finger. "Face it. I'm your best option."
I press my lips together, glancing at my useless car, then back at Hendrix's stupid handsome face.
"Come on,” he says. “It makes sense. I know the roads, I know the truck, and bonus—I won't strand you anywhere." He grins at that last part.
"I deserved that," I mutter. "But still no."
"What's the alternative? Leave poor Genghis Khan alone and hungry?"
I glare at him. He knows I can't say no—not when there's a cat involved. "You promise no funny business?"
"Cross my heart." He mimes an X over his chest.
"Fine," I grit out. "But I'm picking the music."
I step out of Hendrix's truck, my boots crunching in the fresh snow as I hurry up Michelle's walkway. My cousin’s cottage sits nestled against the shoreline, looking like something straight out of a Christmas card with its frost-dusted windows and snow-laden roof.
Behind me, Hendrix whistles at the view of the frozen lake stretching out beyond the back deck.
"Your cousin's got quite the setup here."
I fumble with the spare key, trying not to think about how this is the third time I've been trapped in a vehicle with him recently. The universe seems determined to keep throwing us together in confined spaces. At least he was quiet on the drive up. The silence suited me fine.
"Storm's coming in fast." Hendrix points at the dark clouds rolling across the lake. "We should hurry."
I fish the spare key from under a garden gnome and unlock the door. "Khan? Here kitty!"
The house answers with silence. No meowing, no bell jingling from his collar, no massive Maine Coon appearing to demand attention.
"Khan?" I check the kitchen first - his food bowl sits untouched. The living room yields nothing but scattered cat toys.
"Maybe he's upstairs?" Hendrix suggests from the doorway.
I race up the stairs, checking each room. Empty. Empty. Empty.
"He has to be here somewhere." My voice rises with panic as I return to the main floor. "Khan doesn't go outside. He's strictly indoor-only."
"Maybe another neighbor took him in?" Hendrix peers out the window at the darkening sky.
I shake my head, wringing my hands. "The closest neighbor is Old Man Olsen, and he's over a mile down the road. He hates cats—actually, he hates everything.”
A gust of wind rattles the windows, and I jump. The storm's moving in faster than expected, dark clouds now completely covering the lake view.
"Khan!" I call again, dropping to my knees to check under the couch. Nothing but dust bunnies and a forgotten catnip mouse. "He has to be here somewhere."
"What about the basement?"
"There isn't one." I stand up, brushing off my knees. "Just a crawl space, but the entrance is sealed."
Hendrix opens a closet door, and a stack of board games tumbles out. "Sorry!" He scrambles to catch them, sending Monopoly money scattering across the floor.
The wind howls louder, and sleet begins pelting the windows. My stomach churns with worry - both for Khan and the increasingly dangerous weather.
"Khan! Come on, buddy!" I rattle his treat container, the sound echoing through the empty house. "I brought treats!"
A particularly violent gust shakes the whole cottage, and something crashes outside. Hendrix and I exchange worried looks.
"That doesn't sound good," he says, moving toward the window. "We should probably?—"
"Shh!" I hold up my hand. "Did you hear that?"
We both freeze, listening. There—a faint meow coming from... above us?
"The attic," we say in unison.
I race to the hallway, yanking down the attic stairs. "Khan? Are you up there, buddy?"
Another plaintive meow answers me.
"How did he even get up there?" Hendrix asks.
"I don't care. I just need to get him down before this storm hits."
A massive grey shape bolts down the attic stairs, yellow eyes gleaming. Khan circles Hendrix, brushing against his leg, then stretches lazily, showing off his impressive size.
"Holy..." Hendrix stops short in the doorway. "That's not a cat, that's a small lion."
"I told you he was intimidating." I crouch down, holding out my hand. Khan considers it with regal disdain before allowing me to scratch his chin. "Such a good boy. Ready for a little road trip?"
I struggle to keep Khan's carrier steady while juggling his food and favorite mouse toy. "Just a few essentials," I mutter, trying to stuff everything into my oversized purse.
"A few? You've got half his kingdom in there." Hendrix peers out the window. "We need to move fast. This storm's getting serious."
The moment we step outside, bitter wind whips snow into my face. A fallen branch stretches across Michelle's front steps like a wooden roadblock.
"That must've been what we heard earlier." Hendrix kicks the branch aside. "These old trees don't handle storms well."
Khan hisses from his carrier, clearly unimpressed with the weather. I clutch him closer, following Hendrix's path through the deepening snow to his truck.
The engine roars to life, but even with the high beams on, I can barely see past the hood—white swirling hypnotically in the headlights.
"Maybe it'll clear up once we hit the main road?" I suggest, not entirely believing it myself.
Hendrix squints through the windshield, inching down the driveway. "Colette, if we don't turn back now, we're going to end up in a ditch somewhere between here and town."
"But—"
"Would you rather be stranded in a warm cottage or freezing on the side of the road?"
As if to prove his point, the truck's wheels spin briefly before catching. He throws it in reverse, backing us carefully toward the house.
"This is not happening," I groan, slumping in my seat. Khan meows in agreement from the backseat.
Back in the house, I rummage through Michelle's pantry while Khan supervises from his perch on the counter. "Let's see... canned soup, more canned soup, and—oh look, canned soup!"
"Well, we won't starve," Hendrix calls from the living room, where he's arranging logs in the fireplace. "Found any matches?"
"Top drawer by the fridge." I open another cupboard. “Ooh, hot chocolate!"
"Score!” Hendrix finds the matches and goes through a few before one strikes. “Does she have any marshmallows?"
"No such luck." I check my phone again - still no bars. "Great. No signal."
"Landline?" Hendrix suggests.
I spot the cordless phone on the counter and pick it up. Dead. "Of course not. That would be too easy."
A sharp crack echoes from the fireplace, followed by Hendrix's triumphant "Ha!" Orange light flickers across the walls as the fire catches.
Khan stretches and hops down, padding over to investigate the flames. He settles into a loaf position, clearly at home with the situation.
"At least someone's comfortable." I busy myself with opening soup cans, trying to ignore how domestic this feels. "How long do you think we'll be stuck here?"
Hendrix peers out the window at the white wall of snow. "If we're lucky, it'll clear by morning."
"Morning?" My voice squeaks. I was hoping it would only be a couple of hours. "But we have school tomorrow!"
"Pretty sure school will be canceled after this storm." He joins me in the kitchen, careful to leave space between us. "Look, I know this isn't ideal..."
"That's putting it mildly."
"But we've got shelter, heat, and..." He holds up the soup can. "Gourmet dining. Could be worse."
I can't help but laugh. "I suppose you're right. Though I should warn you—this may be the extent of my cooking skills."
"In that case..." He takes the can from me. "Let me handle dinner. I make a mean…” He checks the label. “Campbell's chicken noodle soup."
As he pours the contents of the can into a pot, I catch myself watching him move with easy confidence through the space. Kind of how he is on the ice—all competent and swift. Not that I’ll ever admit I sometimes catch his games on TV—you know, just while channel surfing.