Page 72 of Love Me Steadfast
“Sixteen inches.” As usual, I have to hurry to keep up with her.
“You’ve seen snow before,” Charlotte says with a frown.
I grunt. “Sure, last winter.”
When I get to the door first and open it for her, she gives me a curious look, but I glance away. I would help her up but that feels like maybe crossing a line. And we’re still within view of her front window.
“But you’re from Alaska,” she says.
“Coastal Alaska. As in sea level.”
Once she’s settled, I shut the door and high-step through the plowed berm of snow to my side and climb in.
“Every picture of Alaska shows snowy mountains everywhere,” she says as I start the engine.
The heat comes blasting out of the vents along with the radio. I turn it down. “Every now and then it snows in Storm Harbor, but it’s like wet concrete, and it rarely lasts.”
She tugs off her hat and reaches for the stereo. “Okay if I play DJ?’
I check the mirrors and pull away from the curb. “Sure. I only have radio though.” A new Bluetooth setup is like four hundred bucks. Maybe I can get one after next summer’s paycheck.
“Do you miss Alaska?” She settles on a country station then unzips her coat and tugs it off, revealing a peach-colored sweater that accentuates her narrow shoulders and perfect tits.
I force my eyes back to the road. “Uh, I don’t miss playing in pissing-down rain all the time.”
Her smile turns thoughtful. “I love the rain.”
“Why?”
Her soft “Hmm” is like the brush of her fingertips across my shoulders. “It smells good. And it makes me want to curl up under a blanket and daydream.”
I give her a curious glance. Where has this romantic side of her been hiding?
Though this is only our second lesson, Charlotte is starting to catch on. So much so that she doesn’t need my help shifting, which should not stir me up inside. But it does, and it’s pissing me off.
After a few trips up and down Morning Star, she pulls over as the road starts to ascend up the side of the valley.
“Why not keep going?” I ask her. “We can put it in four wheel drive.” I point at the lever on the right side of the footwell. The streets got plowed so I haven’t bothered with it yet, but the road ahead is covered by compact snow and probably some icy spots.
Her eyes brighten. “Okay, let’s go.”
I coach her through the steps to engage the four-wheel drive, and then we’re underway again. The view opens up to reveal the base of a wide bowl at the head of the basin, and though the clouds are still thick above us, everything except for the gray river in the center of the valley below us is covered in white.
The radio turns to static, so I shut it off. The whine of the engine and the occasional gust from the alpine breeze fills the silence. It’s not awkward, but I rack my brain for something good to talk about.
“Have you been working on any new songs?” I ask as she shifts into second, her focus on the snowy road ahead flanked by leafy hemlock and tall spruce.
“Yeah, plus I finished ‘Nesting Box.’”
I give her a curious look.
She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, then flicks her gaze to mine. “The last song from theparty.”
“It wasn’t done?”
She shakes her head.
“And you still played it?”
