Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Nima packed his tools and belongings into his truck, then cleaned construction debris from around the house, which took hours. By the time he returned to the upstairs bathroom to finish his work, the sun had long set. A glance out the now-blackened second-story window confirmed the late hour.
He had to hurry . . . but he couldn’t get Mari out of his head. Instead of immediately hanging the bathroom door and gathering the last of his gear, he leaned against the counter and pulled out his phone to send her a quick message. He just had to do it.
Since arriving at Wildwood, friends had inadvertently copied him on group texts that included Mari. He’d determined her current number based on comments in the thread, but until now, he’d been too apprehensive to use it.
He typed, “Hi, Mari, it’s Nima.” Then blinked, staring at his messaging app at a loss for words. What could he possibly say over text besides, “I’d like to talk with you, if you’re willing?”
But he didn’t have a chance to write more before a noise from downstairs startled him, and he almost dropped his phone. Had Tseten returned?
“Roll the keg into the garage,” an unfamiliar male voice yelled. “I’m going to check out the house and see if whoever owns that truck is still here.”
Fuck! The yeti who owned the truck was still in the house, alright. And he didn’t want to out cryptids everywhere by being caught and captured on a phone camera.
Nima abandoned his message and tossed his phone into his tool bag on top of the drill. He scrambled to close the container full of screws, but the hinge broke, and screws scattered into the sink. Double fuck!
As he frantically scooped sharp screws back into the container, footfalls pounded up the stairs.
No time! Heart hammering, Nima shoved his bag to the far back of the counter where it might not be noticed, then crossed the room, turned off the light, and dove into the empty linen closet.
At least that had a door—of sorts. If anyone peered hard enough, they might make him out through the door’s angled wooden slats.
As the intruder pushed through the plastic sheeting in the bedroom, Nima wedged his blue fingertips between the slats on the top part of the door and clicked it shut.
A moment later, the lights came on in the bathroom, and shoes squeaked on the new tile. A guy looked around and then reached for the abandoned tool bag—the one that still held Nima’s phone.
Icy balls! His Carhartts had a million pockets suitable for a phone. Why hadn’t he jammed it in one?
The guy opened the squeaky cabinet door under the sink full of screws and tossed the tool bag—and phone—inside before shutting them in. Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving the lights blazing.
“No one’s here,” he shouted as he pounded back down the stairs. Someone whooped in response, and Nima let out a relieved sigh.
He’d remained undiscovered, but the lights made him vulnerable.
If he left the closet and someone came upstairs, they’d spot him immediately.
And that damn squeaky cabinet door. He should have oiled it already.
If he opened it now to retrieve his phone, he’d alert everyone in the house to his presence—even over the music that filtered up the stairs.
With his phone out of reach, he wasn’t able to fire off a message to Tseten.
Not that another yeti could do much to help his predicament, but they had human friends who might assist. This was not how Nima imagined his last day in Wildwood.
He pressed his forehead against the door.
He was stuck in a second-story closet of a house about to be filled with partying twenty-something humans.
And worse, way worse, Nima couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that he had accidentally hit send on his message to Mari as he nearly dropped his phone earlier.
What if he’d sent her half a text after a decade of no communication between them?
A greeting with no follow-up might make his nonexistent relationship with Mari even more painful than it already was. His gut ached at the thought.
Mari climbed into her cold truck behind the bakery.
After turning the engine over, she tugged her knit hat lower to cover her ears, then adjusted the heating vents to thaw her windshield.
She really needed to buy new batteries for her remote start so she wouldn’t have to sit in this frosty hunk of metal while it thawed out.
Aside from the cold, she didn’t object to a quiet moment without distraction to calm her mind. She’d bought a bakery. She was a business owner and responsible for employees now. Her career was flourishing.
And she’d just signed her divorce paperwork.
After all these years, she would finally put Nima behind her once and for all. At the thought, Mari’s traitorous eyes started watering. She couldn’t even blame the cold for her tears. She’d long since reconciled herself to never completely overcoming the loss of her first and only love.
A stupid tear trickled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.
Gah! Despite everything—her scarred and battered heart, the pending divorce—she put her truck in gear and drove to the Blackwoods to see Nima’s work for herself.
How could she still be so angry at the infuriating yeti and proud of him at the same time?
Cars packed the Blackwoods’ steep and snowy driveway.
She backed into a wide spot halfway up and then left her jacket, mittens, and hat in her truck.
Music thumped from inside the house as she approached the front door.
Considering the recent work Nima had done, she doubted the homeowners would approve of what was shaping up to be a rager.
If Mari were in their position, she wouldn’t want a bunch of college kids carousing in her newly remodeled house.
Partygoers crowded the kitchen and spilled into the living room.
Mari edged her way through the throng, angling toward a staircase in a mostly empty hall.
Orange flagging hung between the railings to block access.
With no one looking, she slipped under the tape and crept up the steps, passing through plastic sheeting so common in construction areas.
But it made her pause. If the sheeting was still up, did that mean Nima’s work wasn’t complete? Had the house-sitter arrived early? No doubt Tseten would have the answers if she asked.
The sheeting dampened the party noise below and gave way to a dark, mostly empty bedroom.
What she assumed was the room’s furniture, also covered with plastic, lay stacked under large, south-facing windows.
Light streamed from the bathroom off to the side.
She paused at the threshold, breath caught in her throat as she took in the vivid tile masterpiece at her feet.
Bright-green and red spawning salmon dotted the brilliant blues of a mountain stream.
Mari stepped into the room as her gaze led her forward, then immediately froze. Nima’s earthy scent permeated the opulent bathroom. She didn’t have the heightened senses of a yeti, but she knew Nima, and he’d either been in there working all day or had only left a little while ago.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she sucked in a deep breath. Tears threatened again. Damn it! Dabbing at the corner of her eye, she moved to the wall where green blades of tiled-grass gave way to gorgeously constructed lupine. Her favorite. She ran her fingers over the porcelain petals.
No one would know if she took a picture to study later. This visit would be her secret anyway. But when Mari grabbed her phone and swiped her screen, she noticed a new text message from an unknown number.
Hi, Mari, it’s Nima
She froze.
Nima had texted her.
After ten years of nothing, he’d written four words.
The timestamp was from less than an hour ago, around the time she’d been locking up the bakery. But why had he sent this, and why hadn’t he written more? Was he waiting for her to respond?
The message made her feel vulnerable as the reality of her situation sank in.
She’d snuck into a stranger’s house to see Nima’s work at a time she knew he wouldn’t be there.
She was ashamed of herself for still caring about him after the way he’d hurt her.
It was Helen’s suggestion to come, but Mari couldn’t help but wonder how her friends might judge her if they knew the truth. Fuck, life was complicated.
And it became even more complicated a moment later when she heard someone climbing the stairs.
Mari dashed toward the light switch and paused.
Whoever was coming would see the lights go off.
Frantically, she spun, looking for a place to hide.
She didn’t want to make excuses for crossing the flagging and sneaking upstairs, and she felt too emotional to face anyone.
Her panicked gaze fell on the linen closet.
She swiftly crossed to it and yanked the door open, only to stop in her tracks.
Her heart stopped as well. There stood her wide-eyed, estranged yeti husband, Nima.
The guy she hadn’t seen since their wedding night in Nevada a decade ago.
The guy who’d sent her one brief text during all that time, just within the last hour.
Mari didn’t have words, which was for the best, given the situation. Now she knew why the bathroom smelled so strongly of him. He was still here, hiding in the closet. He had seen her checking out his art. Fuuuck. Of all the ways to run across him after ten. Long. Years.
Nima seemed to mouth that he was sorry—for what? Spying on her? Surprising her? Breaking her heart? This was all so messy. He lifted his shoulders in a small, helpless-looking shrug as he glanced toward the approaching voices.
Mari inwardly groaned. She could close the door on Nima and then confront the people on the stairs, making excuses for her presence.
Or she could hide in the closet as originally planned.
Surely whoever was coming wouldn’t be here long.
Ugh . . . she should have just gone home to watch a movie as planned.
Mari stifled a sigh before silently sliding into the small space in front of Nima. With his large, warm, familiar body now pressed against her, she clicked the door shut, closing herself in with the yeti who’d broken her heart.