Chapter 2 #2
His clothes were comically large. The sweatpants had a drawstring I pulled tight, and even then they threatened to slide off my hips.
I was grateful for their looseness because my hip still throbbed.
The t-shirt hung to my knees, the sleeves falling past my hands.
The socks were impossibly thick and warm, meant for feet at least three times the size of mine, and I pulled them up almost to my knees.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror and almost laughed. I looked like a kid playing dress-up, drowning in fabric, my damp hair hanging in tangles around my face.
But I was warm. And alive. And about to have hot chocolate with my online gaming partner, who turned out to be a literal Yeti.
“You can handle this, Maya,” I told my reflection. “You’ve handled toxic teammates. You can handle hot chocolate with your good friend.”
My reflection looked skeptical.
I took a breath and opened the bathroom door.
The smell of rich chocolate and something spicy hit me first, followed by notes of cinnamon.
Now that my eyes weren’t blurred with cold, the living room was more visible.
The space was open-concept, with the living room flowing into a kitchen area where he stood with his back to me, stirring something in a pot on the stove.
The furniture was all oversized but not uncomfortable-looking, built for someone with his dimensions but with a homey quality.
Custom made, if I had to guess. Bookshelves lined one wall, crammed with everything from fantasy novels to survival guides.
And in the corner, a gaming setup that would make any enthusiast weep.
He had a top-of-the-line PC, the latest gaming systems, two monitors, a chair that looked custom built, and a headset I’d recognize anywhere hanging on its hook.
The same headset I’d heard his voice through countless times.
“You can sit anywhere,” he said without turning around. “Couch, the chair by the fire, wherever you’re comfortable. This is almost ready.”
I made my way to the couch, moving carefully so I wouldn’t slip with the oversized socks and my aching body.
Everything hurt less now that I was warm, but my body was making it very clear it had been through trauma.
I curled into the corner of the couch, tucking my feet under me, and watched him work.
He moved with confidence in his kitchen, his size somehow graceful rather than awkward in the space designed for it. The fur on his back was slightly darker than his front, I noticed, more gray than white, and it moved like water as his muscles shifted beneath.
“How bad is the storm?” I asked, needing to break the silence.
“Bad. Roads will be closed for days, probably.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you were supposed to settle into your new place tonight.”
“Better than being frozen in my car.”
“True.” He poured hot chocolate into two mugs. He handed me a normal-sized one, while his looked like it could hold a gallon. “Careful, it’s hot.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug, grateful for the warmth. The smell was incredible, rich and sweet. “You made this from scratch?”
“Easier than you’d think. Cocoa powder, milk, sugar, vanilla, a little cinnamon and cayenne.” He settled into the chair across from me, his own mug looking normal-sized in his enormous hands. “My mom’s recipe.”
“It smells amazing.” I took a tentative sip and nearly moaned. “Okay, it tastes amazing too. Why have you been hiding this recipe from me?”
“Didn’t want to make you jealous.” He was smiling, but there was still tension in the set of his shoulders. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness, nausea, blurred vision?”
“Thanks for asking. I’m fine. Bruised and sore, but fine.” I paused. “You know first aid?”
“Have to, living up here. The nearest hospital is forty-five minutes away in good weather.” His ears twitched again, and I thought it might be a nervous tell.
“I called the police station before I made the hot chocolate to let them know I found you, that you’re safe.
They’ll mark your car and tow it when they can get to it. ”
“Thank you.” I studied him over the rim of my mug. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, questions were piling up. “So. Geoff?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your name. Is it Geoff? I remember you mentioned it once, in passing. Or was that another misdirection?”
“No, that’s…yes. Geoff.” He set his mug down on the side table. “Geoffrey MacKay. My parents have a strange sense of humor.”
“It’s a good name.” I meant it. It fit him somehow. “Better than YetiBeGood, anyway.”
“Hey, that username is a classic.”
“It’s a terrible pun.”
“It’s a great pun.” Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. “Do you know how many compliments I’ve gotten on it over the years?”
“From people who thought it was ironic.”
"Still counts."
We fell into silence, but it was a more comfortable one.
I sipped my hot chocolate and tried to organize my thoughts.
Questions danced in my head. Some were practical, such as how long he thought I’d be stuck here, about my car and my apartment and the convention.
But underneath those were bigger questions, scarier ones.
Did this change things between us? Was I disappointed? Was he?
“You’re staring,” Geoff said quietly.
“Sorry.” I didn’t look away. “I’m processing. I’ve got questions and, well, you’re really real.”
“As opposed to?” he grinned.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I thought maybe I’d made you up.
Like, there couldn’t actually be someone who got all my references and made me laugh that hard and always knew what to say when I was having a bad day.
” I set my mug down, wrapping my arms around myself.
“And now you’re here. Well, no, I’m here. In your house.”
Geoff leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression serious. “Maya, I need you to know I wanted to tell you. So many times. But it’s complicated. Being what I am.”
“Complicated how?”
“People treat you differently when they know. I don’t feel it at all in Calamity Creek, but in the rest of the world there’s still…
” He gestured with the hand not holding the cup.
“Assumptions. Stereotypes. I’m either a dangerous predator or a gentle giant or some kind of mystical wise mountain man. Never me. Never just Geoff.”
I thought about his words. “And online, you could be you.”
“Exactly.” His eyes met mine, and there was such relief in them it made my chest ache. “You saw me. The real me. Not the packaging.”
“The eight-foot-tall furry wrapper.”
“It’s a distracting wrapper.”
“Impressive. Not distracting,” I said, and watched his ears twitch again. Was he blushing under all that fur? “For the record, I’m not disappointed. Surprised, yes. Completely thrown, absolutely. But not disappointed.”
Something in his expression shifted. “Really?” His voice sounded skeptical mixed with a tinge of hope.
“Really.” I pulled the sleeves of his shirt over my hands.
“I mean, I might need some time to fully wrap my head around it. And we should probably talk about everything. But the person I've been playing games with for three years, the one who sends me memes at two in the morning and helps me theory-craft builds and remembers my coffee order? That’s still you, right?”
“Yep. That’s still me.”
“Then we’re good.” I smiled, feeling it reach my eyes for the first time since the crash. “Although I have to say, your camera excuse was way more legitimate than mine.”
Geoff laughed, a deep rumbling sound that filled the cabin. “What was yours again?”
“Broken webcam. Which was technically true. I dropped my laptop once, and the camera got weird. But mostly I,” I shrugged.
“Didn’t want to deal with the inevitable questions about why I looked tired or the comments about my appearance or any of it.
Online, I could just be a username and a voice.
It’s tough being a woman who plays games. ”
“Same reason, different details.”
“Exactly.”
We looked at each other across the space of the living room, and I felt oddly content. This was weird, but it was also somehow exactly right. The voice matched. The mannerisms matched. The person I’d grown to care about was sitting right there, just in a very different package than I’d imagined.
I could work with different.
Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows. Geoff glanced toward the storm. “You should probably rest. It’s been a hell of a day, and shock takes time to process.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven.”
I blinked. It had been barely two in the afternoon when I crashed. Had I really been out that long? “I should contact my landlord. Let them know I won’t be there tonight.”
“Your phone’s dead. I plugged it in to charge.” He pointed to the kitchen. “It’s on the counter, but it might take a while.” He stood, stretching, and I tried not to stare at the way his muscles moved under his fur. “You can use my phone if you need to make calls.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
He retrieved his phone from the kitchen and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed, and I was struck again by how warm he was, how careful his touch was.
I called my landlord first, apologizing profusely for the delay. The woman was understanding. Apparently, half the town was stuck in the storm, and she’d already heard about the road closures. My apartment would be waiting for me whenever I could get there.
One crisis averted.
“Do you need to call anyone else?” Geoff asked. “Your family?”
I thought about my mother, who would absolutely lose her mind if she knew her daughter was stranded in a cabin with a Yeti and shook my head. “Nah. I’ll text them once my phone is charged. If I call now, my mom will somehow find a way to helicopter-parent me through a blizzard.”
“Gotcha.”
“She means well. She’s a lot.” I handed his phone back. “Protective. She didn’t want me to move, because she thought I was being impulsive.”
“Were you?” His gaze was intense. “We talked about it a bit, but you never went into detail, and I didn’t want to push.”
“Maybe a little.” I settled back on the couch, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with me. “But I needed a change. Needed to do something that was mine, you know?”
Geoff nodded. “I know. That’s part of the reason I stay up here. I could live in town, it would probably be easier in a lot of ways. But this place is mine. No expectations, no judgments. Just me and the mountain.”
“And now, me, apparently.”
“And now, you.” He smiled, but there was something uncertain in it. “Is that okay? I know this isn’t how you wanted to meet.”
“Geoff.” I waited until he looked at me. “You saved my life. You’re giving me shelter during a storm. You made me the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. I think I can handle spending a few days in a cozy cabin with my best gaming partner.”
“Best gaming partner?” His smile widened. “What about TankMaster87?”
“He talks too much during raids.”
“Fair point.”
I yawned, my jaw cracking with the force of it. Geoff noticed immediately.
“Guest room’s down the hall, second door on the right. Fresh sheets, plenty of blankets. Bathroom’s stocked if you need anything.” He stood, collecting our mugs. “Get some rest. We can figure out the details tomorrow.”
“What about you?”
He shrugged. “You know me. I’m a night owl. I’ll probably game for a while, maybe prep some food for tomorrow.” He paused. “Unless you want company? I know it’s been a weird day.”
I considered my options. Part of me wanted to stay out here with him, to keep talking, or maybe play a game. But I was more exhausted than anything, and I suspected tomorrow would bring its own challenges.
“I think I need to sleep,” I admitted. “But maybe tomorrow we could play something? If you’re not sick of me yet.”
“Maya.” He said my name like it meant something. “I’ve been waiting three years to meet you. I’m not going to get sick of you in one day.”
My heart did that stupid flutter again. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”
I stood, wobbling slightly, and made my way toward the hallway. At the doorway, I turned back. Geoff was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. I know this is probably not how you wanted our first meeting to go either.”
“I don’t know.” His smile was soft, genuine. “Getting to be your hero? That’s not a bad way to start.” He winked.
I fell asleep in a matter of minutes in a bed that smelled like fresh laundry and pine, in a cabin on a mountain during a blizzard, rescued by a Yeti who turned out to be the person who’d made the last three years of my life infinitely better.
It was the strangest day of my life.