Chapter 3
Geoff
I stood in the hallway long after Maya’s door clicked shut, listening to the soft sounds of her settling into the guest room. The creak of the bed frame. The rustling of blankets. A small sigh that might have been relief or exhaustion or both.
My hands shook.
I looked down at my massive, fur-covered hands and fingers, tipped with claws I kept carefully filed, and watched them tremble like I was some kind of nervous teenager instead of a thirty-two-year-old Yeti who’d lived alone in these mountains for the better part of a decade.
Maya was here. In my cabin. Wearing my clothes. Sleeping in my guest room.
Maya, who made me laugh until my sides hurt during midnight gaming sessions.
Maya, who had the driest sense of humor and the warmest heart and a tactical mind that consistently impressed me.
Maya, who I’d been halfway in love with for at least a year, maybe longer, and who I’d been absolutely terrified to meet in person because what if she took one look at me and…
And what? She’d seen me. All eight feet and several hundred pounds of me. She’d made puns about my username and called me her best gaming partner and looked at me like I was still me.
I needed to move. Do something. Standing in the hallway like a creeper was not a good look.
I made my way back to the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients for tomorrow’s meals. Cooking always helped me think, gave my hands something to do besides shake. Chicken for soup. My mothers words came back to me: ‘After a shock, go easy on the food.’
Maya would need something warming and easy on her stomach after the shock her system had taken. I’d make some bread because fresh bread made everything better. Maybe cookies, if I could find the chocolate chips I'd bought last month.
The storm howled outside, rattling the windows. I’d lived through dozens of blizzards up here. They’d never bothered me before. But now I kept glancing toward the guest room, making sure I could still hear her breathing, making sure she was okay.
She’d crashed her car and could have died. If I hadn’t taken the truck out to check the roads when the storm started looking bad, she would have died.
My stomach twisted. I’d almost lost her before I’d even really found her.
The chicken went into a pot with vegetables and herbs.
I set it to simmer, then started on the bread dough, kneading it with careful pressure.
With too much strength and I’d tear it apart.
Maybe that’s why I loved working with bread.
It was similar to the story of my life; always having to hold back, always having to be gentle, always aware that I could break things without meaning to.
Except Maya hadn’t seemed afraid of me. Surprised, yes. Thrown off balance, definitely. But when I’d caught her in the bathroom, when she’d stumbled and I’d acted on impulse, reaching out for her, she hadn’t flinched.
My mom would’ve said that meant something. She was big on reading signs, on trusting instincts. Dad would’ve been more practical. I could hear him now. ‘Don't get ahead of yourself, son. One day at a time.’
I wished I could call them, but they were in Alaska visiting my aunt’s clan, and cell service up there was spotty at best. They’d love Maya, I thought.
Mom especially. She’d been not-so-subtly asking about my love life for years, dropping hints about how nice it would be to have grandchildren, conveniently ignoring the fact that dating as a Yeti wasn’t exactly a thriving scene.
I’d tried, back when I first moved to Calamity Creek. Went to the community mixers, the integration events, the speed-dating nights that the town council organized. Met some nice people, both human and monsters. I even went on a few dates.
None of those relationships went anywhere, no matter how much I’d wanted them to.
A few of the humans fetishized me, as if they wanted to check “Yeti” off their bucket list. Others were forcing themselves to get past their discomfort. And with the monster women, nothing clicked. Maybe we had too many expectations, too much pressure to be a certain way because of what I was.
I was most comfortable online, where none of that mattered. Online, I was just YetiBeGood, a guy who liked RPGs and terrible puns and late-night conversations about everything and nothing. Online, I’d met Maya, and she’d seen past all the bullshit to who I actually was.
And now she was here, and I had no idea what would happen next.
The bread dough was getting overworked. I shaped it into a ball, put it in a bowl to rise, and covered it with a damp towel. My kitchen was spotless. I cleaned while cooking, wiping down counters that didn’t need wiping, organizing spices that were already organized.
Nervous energy, Dad would’ve called it.
I glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty. Maya had been asleep for maybe an hour. She’d probably sleep through the night; she needed time to recover and start the healing process. Which meant I had hours to kill and nothing to do but think.
Gaming. I could game. That's what I’d told her I’d do.
I settled into my custom-built chair, one of the few pieces of furniture I’d had specially made, because trying to game hunched over a human-sized desk was a recipe for back pain, and booted up my PC.
The familiar hum of the system was comforting.
This was my space, my sanctuary. The monitors flickered to life, bathing the corner in blue light.
My friend’s list loaded. TankMaster87 was online, of course. That guy lived in-game. A few others were on too, probably hunkered down in their own homes riding out the storm.
A message popped up immediately.
Dude, you alive? Storm’s insane.
I hesitated, then typed back.
Yeah, I’m good. Actually something happened.
***
Maya crashed her car. On the mountain road. I found her.
There was a pause, longer than Tank’s usual lightning-fast responses.
WAIT. Maya as in YOUR Maya? GimmeAChallenge007 Maya?
She’s not MY Maya. But yes, that Maya.
Holy shit. Is she okay?
Bruised, shaken up, but okay. She's here. At my cabin.
She's WHAT
Roads are closed. Storm’s too bad. She’s staying here until it clears.
And she knows? About you?
Yeah. She figured it out pretty much immediately. Hard to hide when you're carrying someone through a blizzard.
How’d she take it?
I thought about Maya’s laugh when she’d realized my username wasn’t ironic. The way she’d looked at me over her hot chocolate, with curiosity and warmth in her eyes. The fact that she’d called me her best gaming partner without even hesitating.
Better than I expected. Better than I had any right to hope for, honestly.
Dude. DUDE. This is your chance.
My chance to what? She just crashed her car and nearly froze to death. I’m not going to hit on her while she’s vulnerable and stuck here.
I’m not saying hit on her. I'm saying you’ve been into this girl forever. And now the universe literally dropped her on your doorstep. Don’t waste it.
I’m not going to ‘waste’ anything. We’re friends. Good friends. I’m not going to risk that because of some feelings she probably doesn’t share.
You’re an idiot.
Thanks, man. Real supportive.
I’m serious. I’ve heard you two talk. I’ve watched you light up every time she logs on. If you don’t at least TRY
She’s been here for hours. Can we maybe give it more than three hours before I start making life-altering declarations?
Fine. But I’m watching you. And if you chicken out, I’m telling her myself.
You wouldn’t.
Try me.
I logged off before he could continue his campaign. Tank meant well, but he didn’t understand. How could he?
I pulled up a single-player game, something mindless I could grind through without thinking too hard. But my attention kept drifting to the woman down the hallway, to the closed door of the guest room, to the knowledge that Maya was here, in my space, and sleeping in my clothes.
Around ten, I checked on the bread dough and shaped it into loaves for tomorrow. Put the cookies in the oven, filling the cabin with the smell of melting chocolate and vanilla. I made myself a sandwich I didn’t really want and ate it standing at the counter, watching the snow pile up outside.
If it were possible, the storm had gotten worse. The wind had picked up, creating drifts that would be taller than Maya by morning. The windows rattled in their frames. I’d need to check the generator tomorrow, make sure we had backup power if the lines went down.
We. Like this was normal. As if having someone else here was something I did regularly instead of a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence when my parents visited.
I liked it; I realized. The cabin felt different with Maya here.
Less empty. The guest room door was closed, but I could still catch her scent when I walked past. Human, yes, but also something uniquely hers, mixed now with my soap and shampoo.
It made something in my chest feel warm and tight and terrifying.
Yetis bonded deeply. It was part of our nature, part of what made us such devoted partners and parents. We didn’t do casual well. When we cared about someone, we cared with everything we had. And maybe that was part of my problem with dating in town.
I’d been fighting that instinct with Maya for over a year, telling myself it was just a crush, just loneliness, just the intimacy of late-night conversations making me feel closer to her than I actually was.
But having her here, seeing her in person, hearing her laugh in my living room instead of through a headset, it was almost too much. Her presence brought all those carefully suppressed feelings roaring to the surface.
She’d called me her hero. Said I’d saved her life. Looked at me like I was something wonderful instead of something to be afraid of.
I was so screwed.
Around midnight, I heard movement from the guest room. Soft footsteps, the creak of the door opening. I was on my feet immediately, moving toward the hallway.