Page 7 of Snowed-in With The Mountain Man
I glance at Chellie, eager to see her reaction to this magical first. Her eyes are saucers, mouth a perfect O of wonder. She reaches out one mittened hand, catching a snowflake and watching it melt.
"Cold!" she exclaims, looking up at me like I've just shown her the greatest miracle on earth.
"It is cold," I agree, kneeling to her level. "Want to try walking in it?"
She nods enthusiastically, and I guide her down the porch steps. The snow is only a few inches deep, perfect for a first experience. She takes one tentative step, then another, leaving tiny boot prints behind.
The look of pure joy that spreads across her face hits me square in the chest. This moment. This perfect crystalline moment with a child experiencing snow for the first time. I glance up at Stella, wanting to share it with her, and find her watching us with tears in her eyes.
"You okay?" I ask softly.
She nods, wiping quickly at her cheek. "Just... happy. It's been a while."
I understand. Happiness has been in short supply for her lately.
Chellie toddles forward with increasing confidence, then suddenly flops backward, landing with a soft thud in a snow drift. For a heart-stopping moment, I think she might cry. Instead, she waves her arms and legs.
"Look! I swimming!"
Stella laughs, the sound carrying across the still air. "That's called making a snow angel, baby." She demonstrates, dropping into a clean patch of snow and sweeping her limbs wide.
Not to be outdone, I fall backward into my own spot, the cold seeping through my coat as I carve out angel wings beside them.We must look ridiculous, three snow angels of decreasing size fanned out in my front yard.
I don't care. I'd happily look ridiculous every day if it meant hearing Stella laugh like that again.
We build a snowman next, rolling progressively larger balls until we have a respectable figure. I sacrifice my scarf for his neck, and Stella finds pinecones for eyes and a row of buttons. Chellie insists on adding twigs for arms herself, stabbing them in with fierce concentration.
"He needs a name," I say, standing back to admire our creation.
"Frosty!" Chellie declares, bouncing on her toes.
"Very original," Stella teases gently. "But perfect."
As we admire our handiwork, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it while Stella helps Chellie add more detail to Frosty's face.
It's a weather alert from the county emergency system: "Severe winter storm warning. Expected accumulation 30-36 inches beginning tomorrow evening. High winds, potential power outages. Travel not advised."
I glance at the horizon where darker clouds are gathering, still a day away but unmistakable. This isn't just a snowstorm coming; it's a potential blizzard.
"Everything okay?" Stella asks, noticing my expression.
"Just a weather alert," I say, not wanting to worry her yet. "We might want to head into town tomorrow for extra supplies. There's a big system moving in."
"How big?" Her eyes immediately fill with concern.
"Big enough that we should be prepared to be snowed in for a few days." I tuck the phone away, trying to look more casual than I feel. "Nothing we can't handle, but we'll need to stock up."
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of snowball fights and more snow angels. By the time the light begins to fade,we're all rosy-cheeked and exhausted. Chellie falls asleep almost immediately after dinner, worn out from her snowy adventure.
I build a fire while Stella tucks her daughter in, trying not to notice the way Stella's damp hair curls against her neck when she returns, or how the firelight brings out the gold in her brown eyes.
"So tell me more about this storm," she says, settling beside me on the couch, close enough that I can smell the vanilla of her shampoo.
I explain what meteorologists are predicting—three feet of snow, winds up to fifty miles per hour, potential power outages, impassable roads for days.
"We'll be completely cut off," she realizes, and I can't tell if the slight hitch in her voice is fear or something else.
"We'll be fine," I assure her. "The generator has enough fuel for a week. The pantry is stocked. The fireplace will keep us warm even if power fails." I hesitate, then add, "Unless you're worried about being stuck here. With me."
