Chapter 10 Daphne
Chapter ten
Daphne
Andri is half-buried in one of the bathroom cabinets, muttering to himself like he’s on some kind of archaeological dig. Bottles rattle, doors creak, and there’s even the distinct clonk of something hitting his head.
“Ouch, shit!”
Seconds later he emerges clutching what looks like an antique treasure: a vintage first aid kit in a dented white-and-red tin, the edges slightly rusted like it’s survived at least three world wars and maybe a zombie apocalypse.
“Found it!” he yaps happily, holding it aloft like Indiana Jones with the Holy Grail. Without missing a beat, he snags the flimsy plastic bag out of the hotel ice bucket, then marches dramatically onto the balcony.
“Behold!” he declares, scooping two fistfuls of fresh snow. He crams it into the bag, twists the top shut, and reenters with a smug little grin. “Figured I’d save myself a trip to the machine. Efficient and eco-friendly.”
He laughs at his own joke, only to pause when he notices me shivering.
The storm wind is brutally cold, but of course the yeti wouldn’t notice.
His smile flickers into concern. Without a word, he shuts the balcony door firmly behind him.
Then, in a gentle whirl of movement, he drops onto the large ottoman in front of the couch where he’d set me down like I was precious cargo instead of the awkward klutz I am.
“Do you think you’re gonna wanna stay up, or should we head to bed?” he asks softly.
My brain short-circuits at the word bed.
“Oh—um—wow. Uh, you’re really nice, but I’m not sure I’m ready to… y’know, jump into bed with anyone? I mean, not that I’m not flattered—because obviously you’re… I mean, look at you—”
His hand shoots up, blue fingers splayed, his face flushing a suspicious shade of purple that’s probably mortification.
“I meant”—he clips the words as he struggles not to choke on his own embarrassment— “where do you want me to carry you before I go to bed. In my own room.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, covering my face with both hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—I just—ugh. Bed. The bed sounds nice. I’ll take the bed.”
Every syllable trips over itself like dominoes of humiliation.
Andri lets out a breath, then—because apparently he’s not just a beautiful yeti man but a gentleman yeti man—he carefully scoops me up again. Even flustered, his arms are steady.
He lays me on the bed like I’m glass, then pads back to the couch to collect a small fortress of pillows. With quiet concentration, he props up my injured leg. I wince at the new angle, my ankle already ballooning into something resembling a very sad grapefruit.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, glancing at it with a worried frown. “It looks pretty bad. Mind if I wrap it with some ice?”
He lifts the bag of snow and the ACE bandage like a chef presenting a main course.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, “that’d be super helpful.”
I’m absurdly thankful he doesn’t look me in the eye just then, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure both of us are blushing so hard that if the energy could be harnessed, you could use it to power the entirety of this idyllic little village.
But he powers through this weird embarrassment between us and gingerly lifts my foot, wrapping it tightly but proficiently.
“I guess this isn’t your first time, is it? With the ankle wrapping, I mean.” I’m quick to clarify, lest there be any more mortifying moments tonight.
“Decidedly not. I was a ski instructor before I took over the resort, and you learn how to wrap a sprain pretty quickly. Hell, you could have blown your Achilles and I would have known what to do.” He winks as he plops the cool bag of snow down onto my ankle.
“You can blow your Achilles tendon skiing?” I ask him in shock. “I didn’t realize that the sport was so inherently dangerous, like why do all the snobs do it, then?” I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that I’m being rude.
“You know, lots of people ski—not just your ex. And yeah, it can be really dangerous. Snow, ice, weather, skill or lack thereof all play a part.” He pauses, looking me dead in the eyes as he scoots up past my foot, his hip resting near my midsection.
“Can I ask you something?” He quirks his head to the side as he looks at me.
“Sure.” I gulp, and it’s unfortunately audible.
“Do you have any interest in learning to ski?” He eyes me as I bite my lip. “It’s okay if you don’t, you know.”
“I…I don’t.” It feels like a relief to say aloud.
“I’ve been convincing myself it’s something I need to do, mostly to fit in with my new…
well what was supposed to be my new family.
I guess now that it’s over with Gerald, I don’t have to lie to myself anymore.
I’m abysmal at sports, I always have been.
And honestly…that’s okay with me. I just don’t enjoy it in the least.” A weight has been lifted off my shoulders with the admission that I didn’t know I needed.
“I mean, not to say that there's no merit in it, a lot of people obviously enjoy that kind of thing. It’s just not for me.”
“We don’t have to keep trying then,” Andri chuckles. “I mean, we’re already looking at the injured reserve list with that ankle of yours, anyway. But now I’m curious, what do you like to do then?” He leans in, and I think it’s something he does subconsciously, just another trait of a good listener.
“Well, I liked my studies, especially in history. Not the big battles or wars, but the little day-to-day things that people forget. Like how the Tudors had a split sleep cycle, waking in the middle of the night for personal activities and then going back to sleep before work. Or how the Victorians loved to scrapbook different kinds of seaweed.”
“There’s a job market for weird history facts?” Andri cocks his eyebrow.
“I mean, there’s always the path of an academic career, right? God, I miss school.” The last part comes out of nowhere, like my comfort with Andri is unlocking all the truths I haven’t been able to admit to myself while I was with Gerald.
“So, go back?”
“It’s not that easy. I suppose I could since we’ve broken up.”
“I need you to know that you didn’t have to drop out before.
That was on him and his position of power.
Besides, it's an attainable dream—just sign up and go!” He pats my shoulder like someone would their little sister.
And while it’s probably good that he’s not trying to put the moves on me, part of me still hopes he will.
It’s not like you didn’t already turn him down when you thought that’s what he was offering. God, Daphne, get it together!
“Yeah, maybe I will.” I know it’s a lie, but I want him to think better of me than what he’s seen.
There’s no use going into the fact that I have no income and can’t even afford a place to stay, let alone credit hours.
I already shit on the reason the man has a business, I don’t need to bum him out more than I already have.
“I’m gonna let you get some rest,” Andri tells me, forcing the conversation to a stopping point. He gets up and heads back into the bathroom. There’s a quick blast of the bathroom faucet, and a rattle of pills before he comes back.
“Take this and thank me later.” He smiles, putting two ibuprofen and a small glass of water into my waiting hand.
I hold them for a long time after he leaves.
I think about every interaction I’ve had tonight, and how my entire world has been upended by my asshole of an ex-fiance.
How things could have gone so much worse than the situation I find myself in now.
I’ve got a roof over my head (for now) and a snowman who seems to give a shit about my wellbeing.
How long will this situation last? Who knows?
I’m used to the upheaval, and there’s something weirdly comforting about my future anxieties.
And while that thought is likely deeply related to trauma that I’ll have to unpack with a professional later—right now, it’s lighting a fire under my ass to stop relying on the kindness of strangers.
Tomorrow, I promise myself, I’ll find my own way for the first time in forever.