Whiskey Weather

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Izzy

Finding a man who supports you in your career is not difficult. But in my experience, finding one who doesn’t at least complain about it after a few months is nearly impossible.

My now ex-boyfriend staring back at me through my phone screen is no exception.

It’s not a mournful emotion, realizing we’re no longer together. Hearing him murmur the words it’s over was better than taking off a too-tight bra at the end of the day.

Judging by the pained look on his face right now, he’s braced for impact, assuming I’d weep over the news.

On the contrary, I’m fighting a laugh by holding a closed fist over my mouth.

Probably not the most appropriate response to getting dumped, I admit.

But in my defense, a breakup over FaceTime is downright comical.

I’ve been brainstorming all week, trying to figure out how to let him down easy and end this myself anyway.

The fact that he beat me to the punch is a hilariously ironic twist of events I did not see coming.

I’m barely holding it together while I listen to him ramble on about how much better off we are if we go our separate ways . . . as if I need convincing.

I’m not sure why I dragged my feet so long or what I was so worried about. Hurting his feelings? A pointless concern, clearly. Here he is, ripping off the Band-Aid before I got the chance to slowly peel it away.

Hoping it’ll help fight the urge to laugh out loud, I take a cleansing breath of mountain air.

My focus shifts to the frozen body of water behind my phone instead of his face on the screen.

I’ve visited many parts of the globe and appreciate each one of them for their unique landscapes.

But there’s something about this place that feels more special than most. Maybe it’s the solitude.

No nearby skyscrapers or bustling crowds of tourists.

All crisp air and snow-capped summits. It’s a quiet beauty.

The faux fur lining around the hood of my coat blows in the frigid wind, and I pull the zipper up to my chin in an attempt to trap what little body heat I have left.

“Don’t cry. You’re so emotional,” he mumbles.

The grating annoyance in his voice reminds me of the reason I wanted to break things off with him in the first place. One of several reasons, if I’m being honest.

“I can assure you, I am not crying, Jonathan.”

“Your cheeks are red, and your eyes are watery.”

“It’s ten degrees here, and the wind is brutal,” I explain with a sniff as a gust of blustery wind threatens to knock the phone out of my hand.

I knew it was coming, but the winter storm is hitting much sooner than I anticipated. Sooner than my weather app guessed as well, apparently. It wasn’t supposed to pick up strength and completely blanket the area until the early hours of tomorrow morning.

Mocking the weather prediction, heavy flakes of snow pepper the sleeve of my plum-colored coat, making me regret the several stops I made on my way to my destination today.

I thought I’d have plenty of time to peruse the area.

Take some pictures and do some sightseeing along the way.

It’s obvious now that I should’ve kept driving instead.

“Right,” he deadpans.

I turn my attention back to him with an unamused glare. His fresh haircut is combed back perfectly, not a single strand out of place. The collar of his dress shirt is crisp and white, professionally dry-cleaned most likely.

In general, Jon is a nice enough guy. Cuter than most. Successful at his corporate desk job. All generally desirable characteristics for a partner, I suppose. Unfortunately, controlling eclipses every redeeming quality on his list of traits.

I don’t know why I agreed to keep things going after we met a few months ago. It makes me feel a little stupid just thinking about it. In truth, I think my wildly delusional side took over.

When he drunkenly admitted he’d like to have a girlfriend, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could finally settle down. I really thought testing myself to see if I could slow things down and commit to someone was a good idea at the time. A self-inflicted test, if you will.

The possibility of finding someone to spend my life with was exciting at first, but as it turns out, eight weeks was all I could take with a finance bro whose idea of a healthy relationship looked a whole lot different than mine.

“Sorry to end it over the phone, I guess. It’s just that we’re both gone all the time, Isadora. I can barely keep up with it. It’s exhausting. I want someone who’s going to be waiting for me when I get home.”

Gross.

My face drops at his use of my full name.

He thinks it’s a power move that will demand my undivided attention, and I hate when he does it.

He knows that. I care less now knowing that I won’t have to correct him on it again in the future, though.

My eyes close and I slowly shake my head, fighting to regain some composure.

Better to be exhausting than dull, in my opinion. And I’ll be damned if I’ll put less effort into my career to satiate a man who would like for me to be home waiting for him when he gets there.

I could tell him to kick rocks and admit I was going to dump him anyway, but that feels like a bitch move. Better to just go along with it and let the chips fall where they may.

“I get it. No hard feelings.”

His head tilts and he eyes me curiously. “Really?”

“Yep. I don’t think it was meant to be.”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

Judging by his surprised tone, he thought I’d have a more emotional reaction. He’s never had a big ego problem that I’m aware of, but I know a man who thrives on the upper hand when I see one.

Sorry, bud. You can’t bask in my nonexistent sulking.

Unbothered, I adjust the strap on my shoulder that’s attached to the camera hanging at my side and turn to walk the short distance back to my car. With the sun finally dipping below the horizon, I should probably quit scouting shots and get back on the road.

Jonathan squints as the mountain range now fills the space behind me. “I thought you were on some sunny island off the Gulf this week.”

I wait to reply until I reach the driver’s seat and shut the door, finally blocking out the white noise of the incoming storm. The stand on the dash clips around the sides of my phone, and my hands move instantly to cup around my mouth, searching for warmth.

“I was. I left yesterday to come up north.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to explain the details of my travels to him. It’s none of his concern anymore. “I should get going. Best of luck to you, Jonathan.”

“Oh, thanks. You too. So, this is it, then,” he suggests.

With not much else to say, I nod.

I’m not adverse to sticking it out through the tough times and making compromises for someone I care about.

I’d fight for love.

Bare my soul and ask him to stay.

Run to him and fall into his arms while pleading for another shot.

But I am not in love with this man, that much I know for certain. If I were, I’d be crying right now.

My index finger hovers over the circular red button at the bottom of the phone screen. Before pressing it, the corners of my mouth lift into a soft smile.

“Goodbye, Jonathan.”

“Bye.”

I let out a deep sigh and flip down the visor above me to apply some balm to my dry lips caused by this cold weather. Studying the look on my face, I search for a hint of sadness. It’s barely there, but it’s not because of Jonathan specifically.

I’d rather have someone along for the ride instead of micromanaging where and how I choose to spend my time like he did.

I’d rather have someone who doesn’t need a magnifying glass and a large print manual for navigating the female anatomy too, but that’s another can of worms.

No, the lingering dejection is because at almost thirty years old, I was looking forward to finding balance in my life.

Sure, I adore traveling and making waves with my job.

But in the pockets of silence between jobs with no place or person to return to, the mundanity of my lifestyle has begun to feel more lonely.

I close the visor, pull on my seat belt to buckle up, and then crank up the heater.

A surge of adrenaline courses through my body as I scroll to the maps app on my phone, resuming the previously saved destination.

The familiar feeling of excitement and adventure is the exact reason I choose to travel as much as I do.

New places to capture around every corner.

Appreciating the mountain range in front of me, I take advantage of the reminder of how grateful I am to still have the beauty of another stunning landscape and a blossoming career that takes me there. It’s the perfect life, even if I’m single. I don’t need a man in order to recognize that.

I smile, rubbing my thumb along the soft leather steering wheel cover.

Ambition and chronic wanderlust pair perfectly together, if you ask me. Jonathan couldn’t see it that way, and I guess that’s okay. Someone else will. This is the life for me, and I’m going to stop forcing potential romantic relationships that don’t fit into that picture.

Passing the trailhead sign, I gingerly press the gas pedal and pull back out onto the highway. The amount of snow on the ground isn’t too concerning yet, but it seems to steadily increase with every passing second.

I grip the steering wheel as the wind howls loud enough to nearly drown out the softly playing music through the speakers. Swallowing hard, I focus on the painted lines on the road, hoping that this last stretch of highway will miraculously stay clear enough for me to make it to the hotel.

Ten miles into the final leg of my journey, the check engine light starts blinking, and I realize the storm is no longer my biggest concern.