Page 6 of Words of Love

Chapter 2

Brooke tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pressed the accelerator harder. Her four-hour drive had been uneventful until she’d started up the narrow road winding into the Sierra mountains. The snowfall was getting thicker the higher she climbed, and the accumulation was heavy and deep. Her car’s tires crunched and scraped through the ice.

She shifted into second gear. The little hatchback slipped backward and then sideways. Her heart jammed into her throat. A couple inches of snow was one thing, but this was seriouswinter.

Dragging in a breath, she peered at the curved, one-lane road that she’d been navigating for the past hour. The online pictures of the log cabin had made it look like something out of an Americana painting—smoke curled from the chimney, sunlight glinted off the oval windows, and snow-dusted pines encircled the house like an embrace.

The website had said the cabin was “off the beaten track,” but it hadn’t said anything about “so remote you probably won’t be able to find it.”

The tires skidded again. She gritted her teeth, shoved the car into third, and pushed harder on the accelerator. Her high-school driving instructor hadn’t bothered teaching any of them how to drive in the snow—maybe because there never was any in Bliss Cove.

There! Her shoulders sagged in relief as the cabin finally came into view. She urged her car up to the front door and ground it to a halt. She pushed open the door and stepped outside, pulling up her parka hood against the cold, wet wind.

Despite the nasty weather, the tension from the long drive and harrowing climb up the mountain drained away. She’d made it. Now she had ten days alone to regroup and chart her life path, while welcoming the new year in blissful solitude.

She hauled her suitcase and travel bag from the trunk and clomped over the ice-packed pathway to the front door.

Her friend Aria had rented the Eagle’s Nest cabin for a getaway with Hunter, her hot significant other, but instead they’d decided to host the first New Year’s celebration on the historic Mariposa Street. When Aria had offered Brooke the cabin free of charge for the ten days after Christmas and into January, Brooke had seen it as a sign that a retreat was meant to be.

She’d looked at the online photos of the lovely little cabin and pictured herself curled up beside the fire with her notebook, a quilt wrapped around her legs, and a cup of hot cocoa at her side. She imagined taking morning walks in the peaceful silence, perhaps joined by a chipmunk or squirrel. She’d watch the sun rise, fill her lungs with cold, clean air, and recharge all her creative energies with ideas that had nothing to do with town council meetings or Artichoke Festivals.

The cabin was owned by Felix Milford, a longtime Bliss Cove resident who’d been working at Metalworks Hardware for thirty years. Since Felix had been away visiting family for the holidays, Brooke had gotten the details from the online website and the rental company.

Per the instructions, she found the key hidden in a fake rock beside the porch steps. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside.

A musty smell filled her nose. She fumbled for a wall switch before remembering she had to crank up the generator first. Luckily, there was still just enough daylight to see.

The cabin consisted of a single room overlooked by a platform loft accessible via a wooden ladder. A narrow sofa and worn armchair sat in front of a stone fireplace, and another door led to a kitchen only big enough for a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a two-burner stove. A square Formica table and two chairs were tucked against one wall next to a bookshelf holding a few paperbacks, board games, and what looked like an ancient CB radio.

It was perfect. Like a woodland cottage in a fairy tale, or a little hobbit hole.

With a laugh, she dumped her belongings on the sofa. A bit of exploring revealed the bathroom and a covered porch in the back stocked with firewood.

She brought in a few logs and found the generator in a little shed near the woodbin. She flipped the Run switch, and the thing spluttered to life with a belch of gassy air.

She hoped that was all she needed to do. She’d have to look for a manual, but first she had to call her mother. She went back inside, turned on the lights and heat, and checked her phone.

Fifty percent power, but no bars in her cell indicator. She frowned. A few walks around the cabin didn’t strengthen the signal.

Not so perfect. The website had said the cabin was “cell accessible.” Solitude was one thing, but she wasn’t stupid enough to want to be off the grid entirely. After setting up her cell booster, she tried again to no avail. She’d promised her mother she’d call when she arrived, so she had to get a signal somehow.

Maybe there was a better chance outside, but it was getting dark and the snow was falling harder. She’d better wait until tomorrow to search for a pocket of cell service somewhere in the woods. Hopefully, her mother would realize that service was spotty in the Sierras.

She made a fire to help heat up the cabin. The ladder leading to the loft was a little rickety, but she’d only need to use it at night. She climbed up carefully, testing each rung before putting her full weight on it.

She pulled herself up to the top. The loft platform contained a huge mattress and two-drawer nightstand with a lamp. There was a little window looking out onto the grove, and a wooden railing separated the bed from the drop to the lower floor.

After climbing back down, Brooke retrieved boxes of food, including a plentiful supply of animal crackers and iced tea, and her bag filled with bedding. She unpacked her groceries and tucked a bottle of champagne into the fridge for the day after tomorrow.

Already the little cabin was toasty warm. She made up the bed and arranged all her fluffy pillows, then changed into her fuzzy pink pajama pants and matching tank top.

She returned to the main room and set her unicorn pillow pet on the sofa along with her purple, faux-fur blanket. She stacked her self-help books and romance novels on the coffee-table. After heating up a package of ramen, she settled on the sofa with her notebook.

Story ideas. Click-baity features. First-person narratives.

An Insider’s Guide to Cutthroat Journalism.

Care for your Ageing Skin.

---