Chapter 4 #2
I frowned. “Possibly not the best idea.”
“They could come to you instead of you going to them.”
“I’d need a bigger table.”
“And a bigger door.”
“The door’s actually custom. Had to be, or I’d be stuck going through windows.” I finished my pancakes and started on another double stack. Yeti metabolism was no joke. “Most of the cabin’s been modified. Higher ceilings, reinforced floors, oversized everything.”
Maya looked around with new appreciation. “You built this yourself?”
“Not all of it. There’s a clan of Bigfoot around here as well. They did the heavy construction, but the finishing work was all me.” Pride filled my chest. “It took a while, but it’s exactly what I wanted.”
“It’s impressive. Also very cozy, which somehow I didn’t expect from a bachelor.”
“What did you expect? A cave with bones scattered around?”
Maya grinned. “If you’re in the mood to redecorate, you can do some cave paintings of successful hunts on your walls.” She pointed to the living room. “And there’s a place for a pile of furs to sleep on.”
“I have one fur,” I said, my voice solemn. “It’s in my bedroom. Ceremonial.”
She nearly choked on her pancakes. “You do not.”
“I absolutely do. Family heirloom. My great-grandfather’s.”
“That’s actually kind of cool.”
“It’s also very weird looking at it and thinking ‘that used to be Grandpa.’”
“Oh my God, that’s not… You’re messing with me.” Her eyes widened. “Please say you’re messing with me.” But she was laughing, and the sound filled the cabin in a way that made me want to hear it every day for the rest of my life.
It was a dangerous thought. Very dangerous.
I cleared the plates, loading them into the dishwasher while Maya watched. “So what’s the plan for today?” she asked. "Besides being snowed in and waiting for rescue.”
“Well, I need to dig us out to make sure the generator’s accessible, clear the vents, check the roof. But after that…” I paused, an idea forming. “You want to play something?”
Her face lit up. “Really?”
“Why not? We’re both here, both gamers. Seems like a waste not to.” I gestured toward my setup. “I’ve got two controllers, or I could set up my laptop and we could do co-op.”
“Geoff.” She said my name with something like wonder. “Are you suggesting we do exactly what we’d be doing if we were both at home, except in person?”
“I guess I am.”
“That’s perfect. Yes. Absolutely yes.”
The pure joy in her expression made something warm bloom in my chest. This was exactly right. I was taking something familiar and comfortable and letting it bridge the weirdness of our new reality.
“Let me go change into real clothes,” she said, sliding off the stool. “These are very comfortable, but I feel like I should at least put on pants that fit.”
“Your clothes from yesterday should be dry. I put them in the dryer last night before I went to bed.”
She paused halfway to the hallway. “You did my laundry?”
“They were soaked and you were asleep. Seemed like a practical thing to do.”
“That’s really thoughtful.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
After she disappeared into the guest room, I stood in the kitchen and tried to get my racing thoughts under control.
We were going to game together. In person.
Something we’d done hundreds of times virtually, except now I’d get to see her reactions, hear her laugh without electronic interference, maybe brush shoulders when we both reached for the same snack.
It was going to be torture.
It was going to be amazing.
I cleaned up the kitchen, then headed outside to deal with the snow.
The cold was bracing and perfect, helping clear my head.
I cleared the generator first, then the vents, then started on a path to the woodpile.
Physical labor was good. It gave me something to focus on besides the woman in my cabin wearing yesterday’s clothes and making herself at home.
I was halfway through clearing the porch when the door opened and Maya stepped out. She’d changed into her jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked warm and comfortable and completely out of place in the winter wonderland.
“Whoa,” she said, hugging herself against the cold. “That's fresh."
“Don’t catch a chill. You’re not in a jacket.” I leaned on the shovel. “What are you doing out here?”
“I wanted to see what you were up to. Also, I found your phone. You might want to check it. It’s been buzzing nonstop for the last ten minutes.”
I frowned, taking the phone she held out. Seven missed calls from Tank, three from my mom, and about twenty text messages from various people.
“You’re popular this morning,” Maya observed.
I scrolled through the messages. Most were from Tank, but the last three messages made me shake my head.
DUDE. CALL ME.
IS MAYA STILL THERE
I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T UPDATE ME
“Friend checking in,” I said, sending a quick text back. “Everyone’s worried about the storm.”
My mom’s message was more to the point:
Heard about the blizzard. You better be safe and warm. Call when you can. Love you.
I’d have to call her back later. Away from Maya’s hearing, preferably, because I couldn’t hide anything from her. Mom would know something was different and would interrogate me about it.
“Everything okay?” Maya asked.
“Yeah, you know. People.” I pocketed the phone. “Give me twenty minutes to finish out here and I'll be back in.”
“Need help?”
“Maya, you’re recovering from a car crash.”
“I can hold a shovel.”
“You’re also wearing inappropriate boots in knee-high snow.”
She looked down at her feet, which were already getting soaked. “Point taken. I’ll make hot chocolate?”
“Deal.”
“I can’t promise it’ll be as good as yours, but I’ll try.”
She headed back inside, and I watched her go, taking care on the slippery porch, her breath misting in the cold air. She looked so small against the massive landscape, so fragile. So human.
And she was inside my cabin, making hot chocolate, planning to spend the day gaming with me like this was our normal routine.
My phone buzzed again. Tank, of course.
You're killing me here. Give me SOMETHING.
I sighed and called him. He wouldn’t stop until I answered him.
“Finally!” Everest answered before the first ring finished. “I’ve been dying. What’s happening? Is she still there? Have you talked? Have you kissed her?”
“Woah. Everest. Tank. Seriously, breathe.”
“Don’t tell me to breathe. You’ve been sitting on the biggest crush in gaming history and now she’s literally snowed in at your place. This is rom-com gold.”
“It’s not. We’re not.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m still shoveling. Later, we’re just hanging out. Gaming. Like we always do.”
“Except in person.”
“Except in person,” I agreed.
“And you’re still going to tell me you’re not going to make a move?”
I looked back at the cabin. Through the window, I could see Maya moving around the kitchen, probably searching for the cocoa powder.
“Everest, she crashed her car yesterday. She’s bruised and stranded and dealing with the fact that her online friend is a Yeti.
The last thing she needs is me making things complicated. ”
“Or,” Everest said slowly, “she’s already dealing with all of that, so adding ‘and also I really like you’ isn’t that much more complicated.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you won’t know unless you try.”
“I’m not going to risk our friendship because I’d rather have her as a friend than lose her completely.”
“Geoff.” Everest’s voice went serious, which was rare for him.
“I’ve known you for pushing twenty years.
I’ve never seen you light up the way you do when you talk about her.
And she’s the same. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.
You two have something real. Don’t let it slip away because you’re scared. ”
My hands tightened on the phone. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“At least you’ll know. And you can move forward.” He paused. "But I really don’t think that’s going to be the problem.”
“You don’t know her like I do.”
“No, but I’ve played with you both for years. I’ve heard the way she laughs at your terrible jokes. I’ve seen her wait for you to log on before starting raids even when we had a full group ready. I’ve listened to her talk about you when you’re not around.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, man. She asks about you. Wants to know if you’re okay, if you’ve mentioned her, if you’re seeing anyone. She’s into you.”
My heart was doing complicated acrobatics. “You’re reading into it. All common questions.”
“It means you should talk to her. Not today maybe, not right this second. But before she leaves. Before you go back to being voices through a headset and waste whatever’s building between you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“I have to go,” I finally managed. “More snow to shovel.”
“Coward.”
“Probably.”
“Call me later. And Geoff? Don’t screw this up.”
He hung up before I could respond.
I stood in the snow, phone in hand, staring at the cabin. Inside, Maya was puttering around in the kitchen. In a few minutes, I’d go in, and we’d start up a game. Everything would be normal and comfortable and safe.
Except it wouldn't be. Not really. Because Everest was right about one thing. Something was building between Maya and me. I’d felt it last night, in the quiet moments when we sat together. It was in the way she’d looked at me, and the way she said she was glad I found her.
The question was: what was I going to do about it?
I finished clearing the snow with perhaps more vigor than necessary, working out my anxiety through physical labor. By the time I headed back inside, I’d made exactly zero progress on answering Everest’s question.
Maya was curled up on the couch with two mugs of hot chocolate, my laptop balanced on her knees.
She’d found one of my hoodies, my favorite forest green one.
It was ancient, I’d had it since I was a teenager.
She looked adorable in it even though it was pulled on over her sweater. It swallowed her whole.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing at the hoodie. “I got cold and it was folded on top of the dryer.”
“It’s fine.” Better than fine. The sight of her in my clothes did things to my brain I was absolutely not going to examine too closely.
“So I was thinking,” she continued, patting the couch beside her, “we could play that co-op game you recommended last month. The puzzle one?”
I gestured at the collection of discs. “You’re going to have to get more specific.”
“That one.” She pointed at a case and handed me a controller as I sat down, maintaining distance between us. “I figure if we can coordinate through headsets, doing it in person should be easy.”
“You’d think,” I said, pulling up the game. “But actually being in the same room adds new challenges. Like the temptation to look at each other’s screens.”
“I would never cheat.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m serious! I have integrity.”
“You absolutely do not have integrity when it comes to beating me at games.”
She laughed, and just like that, the tension in my shoulders eased. This was us. This was what we did. The physical space between us didn’t change the fundamental nature of our friendship.
Except when she leaned closer to see the screen better, her shoulder brushed mine, and my breath caught.
Or when she got excited about solving a puzzle and grabbed my arm, her hand warm even through my shirt.
Or when our fingers tangled reaching for the same controller button and she didn’t immediately pull away.
Yeah. This was going to be a long couple of days.
But as we fell into our familiar rhythm with her calling out strategies, me making terrible jokes, both of us laughing when we spectacularly failed a jump, I realized I wouldn’t trade this for anything.
Storm or no storm, complications or no complications, Maya was here.
And maybe Everest was right.
Maybe I wouldn’t screw this up after all.