Page 1 of One Chance to Stay
WHEN THE UNIVERSE SPEAKS
“I’m living in a postcard.”
My boots crunched against the frozen ground as I walked from the tree line. The air almost burned as I panted. The sharp smell of pine reminded me of the candles at Valhalla. With each exhale, my breath formed a white cloud. The air found every crack in my flannel armor, reminding me that Maine didn’t need snow to be frigid.
The pines gave way to a rocky ridge. In this weather, I didn’t dare hike any higher up the mountain. Even at this height, I could see the valley nestled in the middle of a mountain range. I didn’t have words, not ones capable of summarizing the sheer immensity of Mother Nature. I had thought looking at a city from a skyscraper had been impressive, but this…
“Wow.” It came out in a tiny burst of white.
Even in winter, the pines of Maine maintained their dark green needles. They seemed to stretch on forever. I glanced to my side, seeing the steep climb further up the mountain. My thighs ached at the idea of climbing higher. Ice or not, I’d never make it.
I reached the edge, taking my seat on a small boulder. Even with jeans and a pair of thermal underwear, the cold crept in.The numerous plumes of gray smoke breaking through the trees suggested the people living in the valley felt the same way. After this, I’d put my feet up at the bed-and-breakfast and sip on hot cocoa until I could feel my toes again.
“You’re here.” Every word echoed before the wilderness swallowed it. I glanced to my right and then left. Spinning around on the rock, I stared at the trees I had hiked through. The small, worn trail vanished inside the forest. Two hours hiking here, and no sign from a benevolent god.
“Come on,” I mumbled. “Nothing? No revelation that solves all my problems?” I turned back in my seat and crossed my legs. “Disappointing.”
“Darling, you’re looking a little worse for wear,” I quoted Mabel. No gorgeous, or comment on my white cheeks shining in my chaps. When a drag queen turns polite, you know you have a problem. I thought winning the raffle and taking my first vacation in five years would bring some clarity. Maybe this wasn't just a getaway? Maybe it was time to ask the questions I had been avoiding? I wasn't sure I was ready for those answers. It looked like I needed to put in some effort.
“You’re smart.” I straightened my back. “You spend all day listening to people’s problems. This will be easy.”
My mind went blank.
“I'll figure it out, eventually. But first—a selfie.”
I pulled off my mittens, courtesy of Evie, my hostess at Valhalla. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed my phone. The text messages continued throughout my hike.
New Group Text
Amanda: There. You’ve been initiated.
Jason: Welcome to Firefly. You know you can never leave, right?
Jon: Stop scaring him.
Jon: Evie will take good care of you.
Amanda: Scaring? Simon. Chris. You!
Jon: Oh. You have a point.
Jason: Who wants to introduce him to Bingo?
Amanda: Just wait for a small-town disaster. It’s bound to happen.
I chuckled at the trio. They had given me a warm welcome years ago. Nervous to be working at a gay bar, they wasted no time inviting me into their inner circle. Every week, they’d pop in to dance the night away. Each of them had taken a stool and treated me as their alcohol-slinging therapist. Somewhere along the line, they moved from patrons to friends I looked forward to seeing every week. It made work feel less like a job and more like hanging out with a paycheck.
I snapped a selfie with the trees behind me. Then, another with the forest framing the shot. Okay, one more with the mountains. Or seven. I added a few to the group chat and clicked send. The status bar hung, searching for a signal. While the view was impressive, its Wi-Fi capabilities were not. I shoved it in my pocket, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
“Sounds like you’ve got a storm brewing.”
I had spoken that line to dozens of people sitting at the bar as they drank to forget. Turning it on myself, though? I could talk about other people’s problems all day. In fact, listening and offering words of support filled my proverbial well. Asking myself? I’m pretty sure I had the same face I made when I smelled the spoiled milk in my fridge.
“Stupid kiss,” I growled. I didn't want to think about it, and yet, it was part of what brought me here.
I didn’t make it through a shift without flirting. My tips depended on how well I enticed the clientele. I glanced down. My boobs weren’t quite what the lesbians were looking for. The gay men, however, I could play it up. Did I wear a midriff towork? A leather harness? Chaps showing off my ass? Yes, to all of the above. It had become an amusing topic. Even my ex-girlfriend had commented that I dressed up more for them than for her. Though, if she wanted me in chaps, she only needed to slap me on the ass and tell me to suit up. Everything had been so simple back then.
I had a simple rule while working at the club. Patrons stayed on their side of the bar, and I stayed on mine. The counter served as neutral territory where we flirted, but we never crossed sides. I had broken the treaty and taken a seat at a table. He looked like he needed a friend. With a relatively empty club, I thought I could sneak into forbidden territory without being noticed. I should have pulled my hand back when he grazed my fingers. It should have been a tactical retreat behind my fortress.
