Page 16 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
It’s a cloudless day, and the trees she drives past are covered in icing-thick layers of snow, the reflected light glittering off of them like sun pennies, but she barely notices the scenery. She turns off the stereo of the baby blue BMW E3 that used to belong to her nana and makes a left onto a snowy side road. For a moment, the wheels slip and slide,but she slows down and avoids the ditch as her GPS’s chirpy, British-accented voice—she and Ivy have nicknamed her Chrysanthemum—directs her to the eco-cabin. Soon she’s pulling up the driveway, navigating the car into a parking spot that has been cleared of snow in anticipation of her arrival—or, rather, Ivy’s. A path toward the cabin has also been shoveled.
She turns off the car and takes it all in. The cabin is made of cedar, shaped like a sideways pizza wedge set on a snowy embankment. Each side is made of glass, and there are solar panels on the sloping roof. She gets out of the car and stands looking at it, her solitary retreat for two weeks. Behind the cabin, she can see rolling, snowy hills for miles, acres of trees covered in cottony-looking snow, the river a frozen, undulating line in the distance. She snaps a photo, and sends it to Ivy along with a message that sounds lighter than her heart feels:Here safe! It’s so cute—and the scenery! Gorgeous. xo.She takes another photo of a snow-dressed evergreen and sends that to Ivy, too, before she pops the trunk of the BMW and lifts out her duffel and laptop bags. These, some winter gear, and enough food for a basic dinner are all she has brought with her. She’ll drive into town for supplies in the morning.
She unlocks the door with the key code Ivy sent her and enters the cabin. Every square inch of the tiny space has purpose: the walls are lined with cushioned seating and bookcases, a compact woodstove is tucked into one corner, andpots and pans hang from the ceiling above a small kitchen island with cabinet storage. The cabin is constructed of rough wooden pillars and planks, with white walls. It smells pleasantly of cedar, and there’s a faint whiff of an ambery musk in the air, like a really good-smelling candle, although she doesn’t see any around.
At the back of the living area, there’s a ladder, which Holly climbs. She pokes her head above the loft floor to find a rough-hewn wood-framed double bed with a thick ecru duvet piled high with pillows. Another ladder leaning against the wall beside the window has folded plaid blankets on the bottom two rungs, and fresh white towels and facecloths on the top two. Holly fully climbs up and walks into the room. Out the window beside the decorative ladder she can see evergreens iced with thick layers of snow. Beyond that are rolling hills, a frozen river, and clouds turning pink as the sun climbs down the sky.
She descends the ladder with fingers that are now numbing with cold. The cabin has a warm, cozy design—but the temperature is freezing. She stands in the middle of the living room, blowing on her hands, looking for a heat panel. She finds one, but nothing happens when she turns it on. She approaches the woodstove, firewood lined up on a shelf beside it, and a bucket of what looks like large wine corks on the floor in front, but no instructions anywhere.
She finds the cabin manual—the cover appears to be made of birch bark—on the log coffee table and flips it open:“Welcome to your eco-friendly haven in the Hudson Valley! I’m your host, Aiden—and if you need anything at all, you can reach me here by phone or text.”
She flips past pages about things to do in the area and reads that there’s a solar generator that needs to be turned on outside, and that the woodstove is a hybrid that burns either firewood or wood pellets. The instructions for the woodstove are complex; maybe she can find some simpler instructions for this model on the internet. But when she flips through the book looking for a Wi-Fi password, she can’t find one. And inside the cabin, her cell signal is too weak to pull up the website instructions for the woodstove.
It’s starting to grow dim in the cabin, so Holly turns her attention to getting the solar generator running. She goes outside and uses her phone as a light, but although she follows Aiden’s instructions, she still can’t get the generator to start when she pulls the cord. She feels helpless frustration welling up inside her.
She thinks for a moment, then takes out her phone again. “Taking you up on that ‘if you need anything at all, you can call or text me’ offer, Aiden the eco-host,” she says as she types, wondering if this new talking-to-herself thing is going to stick, now that she’s alone.
Hi, it’s Holly.
She deletes that and retypes her name asIvy.
Just arrived at your place on the North Service Road but can’t seem to figure out the generator or woodstove. Any tips? Sorry to bother you!!
Immediately, response dots appear on Holly’s phone screen.
I thought when we emailed about the reservation you said you were an old hand at going off-grid?
Holly feels a tingle of irritation. Isn’t she—or, rather, Ivy—paying to stay here? Shouldn’t Aiden the eco-host be more polite to his guests? But the dots continue and a smiley face emoji appears on the screen.
Kidding. The system is a little complex. Just out in my truck and five minutes away—probably easier if I stop by and show you. Sound good?
That would be great, thanks. Sorry to bother you.
Not bothered at all. See you in a few mins.
It’s so cold in the cabin, Holly decides to wait outside and at least be cold with good scenery. The cabin property is perched high, and the tiny village she assumes is the nearby Krimbo is visible below, its lights sprinkled in the valleylike scraps of glittering Christmas tree tinsel. The air is crisp and clear, and everywhere there is silence—so different from the hustle of the city, so peaceful.
Solonely. How does Ivy do this every year? Holly tries not to think about how much easier it would be, how much warmer, how much less it would involve a woodstove and a generator, if she were in Hawaii right now with Matt. Except Matt doesn’t love her, she reminds herself—daring her insensate heart to finally feel this truth. The dull ache intensifies, but nothing really changes. That’s probably a good thing, because in the tranquil silence, she hears the rumble of tires on the driveway. It would be beyond embarassing to have dissolved into long-awaited sobs just as the property manager arrived.
She walks down the embankment to meet a white pickup. The truck stops, but the lights stay on. A tall guy wearing a red Canada Goose parka, his dark hair peeking out from beneath his black toque, hops out of the cab. “Ivy?”
“Yes! That’s me!” Holly says, trying to sound as convincing about her name as possible. It’s hard to see him, backlit by his truck’s headlights, but she can tell he’s eyeing her BMW.
“That’s your car?” he asks.
“No, it was here when I arrived.”
He frowns as he approaches her.
“I was joking—yes, that’s my car.”
“I thought I mentioned it’s better to have four-wheel drive on these roads.”
In fact, Ivy had mentioned that, too, but when she was getting ready to leave the city, all Holly had wanted to do was get out of town, and to do it in the comfort of her nana’s old car, one she was used to driving.
“It’s fine,” she says, trying to keep her voice confident and insouciant, the way she imagines Ivy’s would be when meeting what she now sees is a handsome stranger. His eyes are an icy blue, and his jaw looks like it was chiseled with a set of tools. Ivy would probably be flirting already, trying to melt this guy down. But how to flirt? Holly can’t remember the last time she did. Did she ever flirt with Matt, or did they just fall into the routine of their relationship?
“My car can handle anything,” she says, and hopes that sounds at least somewhat lighthearted and fun. He steps closer, looking down at her, still frowning, obviously impervious to her clumsy attempt at being blithe. “Okay,” he finally says, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s see about the generator and stove.” He gets a lantern out of the truck bed, turns it on, then leans into the cab and shuts off the truck’s headlights. “Follow me?”
