12. Storm on the Horizon #2
And I knew exactly what she was getting at. Cassie's cottage sat in a little hollow surrounded by old-growth pines, beautiful and peaceful on a sunny day, but as isolated as the moon when the weather turned ugly.
"She's got heat," I said, running through a mental checklist. "Fireplace, electric baseboard heaters. Kitchen's stocked—I helped her get groceries last week."
"What about water?" Mom asked. "That cottage is on well water. If the power goes out..."
My stomach dropped. The cottage's water pump ran on electricity. No power meant no heat for the baseboard heaters, and if the pipes froze…
"I’ll check on her," I said, already knowing I had planned on doing exactly that. If my voicing it made them feel better, then by all means. I had even made preparations to bring her to my place, just in case.
"Levi, wait." Janet caught my arm. "You can't force her to let you help. If she needs help, she’ll ask."
"Not in the middle of a blizzard, she doesn't."
Mom suggested quietly. "Check on the cottage, make sure everything's secure. If she needs help, she'll ask."
I nodded, though every instinct I had was screaming that I should just throw Cassie over my shoulder and carry her to my place until the storm passed.
"My place is only a few hundred yards through the woods," I told them, pulling on my jacket. "If things get bad, I can get to her."
Outside, the storm was building. The wind was stronger now, bending the trees.
The road to Cassie's cottage was still clear, but I could see where tomorrow's drifts would form—in the hollows, against the fence lines, anywhere the wind could catch and pile the snow. By tomorrow night, this road would be impassable until the county plows could get through.
I pulled into her driveway and sat for a moment, engine running, watching the cottage through the gathering twilight.
It looked smaller somehow, more vulnerable than I remembered.
Yellow light glowed warmly in the front windows, and I could see smoke rising from the chimney, which was a good sign. At least she had a fire going.
Part of me wanted to march up to that door and demand to know what was going on, why she'd been avoiding me, whether she was really planning to stay in Everwood or if she was just waiting for the right moment to break my heart and disappear back to whatever life she'd had before her car broke down on that dusty road.
Instead, I did a slow circuit of the cottage, checking what I could see from the truck. The woodpile looked good—I'd stacked it myself just the other day. I didn't see any obvious problems with the roof or the gutters.
As I was about to leave, the front door opened and Cassie appeared, silhouetted in the warm light from inside.
She was wearing that oversized sweater she loved, the blue one that made her eyes look like summer sky, and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun with strands escaping to frame her face.
On her feet, she wore those ridiculous bear-feet slippers I’d bought her last time I went into the city.
She waved, and I rolled down my window.
"Everything okay?" she called, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.
"Just checking you’re okay for snow. Making sure you have wood." I called back. "You all set? Got enough supplies?"
"I'm fine, Levi. Really."
But she didn't invite me in, didn't suggest I come warm up by her fire or share a cup of coffee. She just stood there in the doorway, polite but distant, like I was a neighbor she barely knew instead of the man who'd been falling for her one day at a time for the past three months.
"Okay," I said, though nothing about this felt okay. "You've got my number if you need anything."
"I know. Thank you."
She went back inside and closed the door, and I sat there for another minute, watching the wind bend the trees around her cottage, feeling like I'd just been dismissed.
By the time I pulled into my own driveway, snow had already started to fall. I stood on my porch for a long moment, looking toward Cassie's cottage through the woods, fighting the urge to trek over there and camp out on her doorstep.
Inside, I built up my fire and settled into my chair by the window with a cup of coffee and my phone. The weather service app showed the storm would leave us with four feet of snow over the weekend.
I tried to read, tried to watch TV, tried to focus on anything other than the woman two hundred yards away who seemed to be slipping through my fingers like snow.
Around midnight, I gave up on sleep and moved to the couch, where I could see her cottage lights through the trees. They were still on, which either meant she couldn't sleep either or she was working late, grading papers, planning lessons, or doing any of the dozen things that kept teachers busy.
Or she was thinking about leaving.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. What if she were up there packing right now? What if she'd already made up her mind and was just waiting for the storm to pass before she loaded up that blue Ford Ranger and drove out of my life forever?
I reached for my phone a dozen times, started to type messages I didn't send. Are you okay? Can we talk? Please don't leave without saying goodbye.
Outside, it was a whiteout. This was going to be the storm people talked about for years.
And somewhere out there in the dark and growing cold, Cassie was facing the night before her first Montana blizzard alone, maybe making decisions that would change everything between us.
I settled deeper into the couch, pulling a blanket around my shoulders, and kept watch through the long night. Her lights stayed on until almost three, then finally went dark.