Page 9 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

“No, I am just going to enjoy being single for a while.”

He scoffed. “Enjoy being single? But you’ve always been single. Isn’t it time for you to settle down?”

I breathed out shakily. It always came back to this. Sometimes I wondered if he wanted to see me get married justso he didn’t have to think about me. So, in his mind, someone else would be responsible for me, taking care of me. “There’s no hurry. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself,” I choked out. “Iamtaking care of myself. I’m even—”

I caught a whiff of that distinct scent of something burning and whipped my head around. “Oh my god, I have to go,” I exclaimed, fumbling around in the drawer for another oven mitt since I’d misplaced the other one. “Dad, sorry, I’m baking and burning something—got to go.”

I hung up, nearly slipping on the floury surface of the floor as I raced toward the oven. Bracing myself, I opened it carefully.

Smoke poured out, causing me to step back. Hoping my oversensitive smoke alarm wouldn’t go off, I opened the nearest window.

Closing my eyes, I gripped the counter as memories flooded through me. The disappointment obvious in Mom’s eyes. The clenched hand that she quickly hid behind her. Biting her lip until I saw a trace of blood before she turned and fled the room. And then—

My heart in my throat, I shook my head wildly.Focus, dammit.

Ihatedburning things. I mean, no one liked burning a good batch of cookies. But for me, it was … well. I wasn’t going to think about that.

Focus, Hazel.

I cracked a window and put the overhead fan on, grateful the alarm hadn’t gone off yet. As the smoke dispersed, I walked back to the oven to remove the ruined cookies. Pausing for a moment, I wondered what to do with them until I remembered there was still some snow outside.

Outside they’d go, pan and all.

I sunk into a chair on my back porch, surveying the scene.

What a disaster.

It wasn’t even the burnt cookies.

Or the memories …

Or even the difficult conversation about my love life, or lack thereof.

But I bristled at the reminder that my dad was so enamored with U.S. holidays and all things American—yethe’d moved back to Japan. Left me here … and everything he loved about this country. Was I the reason he left? It was ridiculous, but the thought came unbidden at the worst times. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed deeper to prevent the tears from coming.

After my breathing returned to semi-normal, I gazed over at the house next door. Lights were on in several lower-level rooms, but the rooms upstairs were dark. I inhaled the cool evening air and gathered my strength to stand. Because I always keep going, no matter what. I don’t have time in my life to wallow, nor do I have the interest. Certainly not when it comes to my parents and, well, what a disappointment I must be to them.

Opening the sliding door to reenter my house, I sighed. Onward was the only path. Even when it hurt. I saw the notification light on my phone but ignored it, choosing instead to bite into a soft, gooey brownie. I thought about pouring some wine before remembering I’d thrown it out. Oh well, it didn’t sound that appealing anyway.

Who knows, maybe the new neighbor would be hot. From my view behind him earlier today, it definitely seemed possible.

Wait, you’re not dating. It’s better if he’s not hot.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter if he was hot. He was just a neighbor. And he probably had a wife and kids, maybe a dog … though I’d heard no barking all day. Maybe he liked exotic pets, like birds or snakes.

Maybe I should stop theorizing and find out. I laughed at myself while putting the treats in the basket and then grabbed my coat before sliding my feet into my thick winter boots.

I lugged the heavy basket using both arms as I carefully walked through the icy packed snow between my house and the neighboring house. Maybe I went overboard on the baked goods, but oh well. There were worse things, right?

It was fully dark out now, and I hoped the neighbor(s) wouldn’t mind a late visitor. Stepping onto the large, wrap-around porch, I walked up to the door and looked for a doorbell.

None.

Hmm.

But an ornate brass knocker featured prominently on the massive front door, so I reached out hesitantly, taking a steadying breath before rapping softly and then a bit harder.

As I waited, I looked more closely at the knocker and saw an inscription with fancy lettering.

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