Page 15 of Exception

“I hate spring storms,” I mutter. It never fails. Spring is within reach but winter has to give us the finger on its way out, dumping a mass of heavy, wet snow on our doorstep. Sets me back every year. I was sort of expecting it, but I was hoping it'd hold off until tomorrow… “Looks like I need to find a hotel.”

“Not likely,” Paul snorts. “There are only two, and they’re probably already full. They go quick when the road closes.”

“I literally just got the notice.” I hit the button to call the first one that pops up, getting only a busy signal.I haven’t heard one of those in years.

“Lines are probably jammed up with people trying to call. You gotta be there in person if you want a room. Guarantee there’s so many people in the lobby they aren’t even answering their phone.”

“Great. I guess it’s a good thing I keep a sleeping bag in the truck.”

“Nah, don’t do that. I’ve got a little cabin up the way.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I rent it to hunters and hikers, but no one’s in it now. You can crash there.”

“Yeah? I’ll take you up on that if you’re serious. I’d rather stay in a cabin than a hotel anyway.”

“I hear ya. It’s small but cozy. It doesn’t get a lot of traction in the winter, though, so it’s probably a little musty. I haven’t got it ready for guests yet.”

“No problem. As long as it’s got a bed, I’ll be good.”

“Bed, kitchen, even indoor plumbing. I’ll text you the address and code to the front door. Better swing by a grocery store first though. I don’t keep food in there.”

“I’ll just grab something for dinner. I’ll be out first thing.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. This snow freezes and the road will become an ice rink. I’d count on two days.” He rubs his jaw. “Maybe three.”

“Shit,” I groan. “Alright, I’ll stock up. Thanks.” We shake hands again and I head off to load up on supplies. I stick mostly to boxed and frozen shit that won’t go bad if I don’t need to use it. And whiskey – it seems disrespectful to stay in a cabin in the woods without some.

Groceries loaded in the car, I map the location of the cabin, but before I play the directions I see a diner across the street. I’m debating whether to eat my frozen pizza or order a sandwich to go when I spot a familiar car in the lot. Sure, there are lots of green Subaru Outbacks in Colorado, but not many have a pink license plate holder.What the fuck is Tiff doing so far from home?

Chapter 8

Tiff

Stirringmysodawiththe straw, I get lost in the swirling liquid. The way it continues to spin even after I’ve stopped forcing it to.I feel you. Even if I break away from the things controlling me, will I really be in control?

Sure, moving might bring anonymity, but will it bring peace? Security? Happiness? Or will I be just as chained to my circumstances as I am now, but lonelier to boot?

Predictably, the soda doesn’t give me any answers.

Taking a sip, I replay the interview in my mind. I had a good rapport with Jane, and the dance school was a nice place. Nicer than the rec center, though I can’t really say I felt at home there. Whether that’s just nerves or something deeper, I can’t say for sure. I definitely got the feeling I’d be locking myself into a dance career if I pursue this, at least for the foreseeable future, and I’m not sure that’s what I want.

Dance is familiar. Safe. I enjoy it, just as I enjoy sharing it with the kids in my class. But doing it for a living? That’s a commitment I don’t feel ready to make.

That, above all else, is my biggest problem. I know I want—need—a change. Beyond that… Whether it’s a change of scenery or as complex as a new career path I have no idea.

I wish I was like Lennon. Or Cora. Or Becca or Sloane or Hailey. All of them. Every single woman I know had a clear idea of what they wanted to do with their lives and they chased it relentlessly, finding love in the process. Then there’s me. Working the jobs that are available since I don’t know what else to do. Lusting after the one man I’ll never be able to have. Now, I'm just wandering aimlessly through life. I can’t even blame my overprotective mother for that. It’s not her fault I don’t have a passion.

“Tiff.” My head whips around as I hear my name, coming to rest on the face that helped start this little adventure. “What are you doing here?”

I feel my eyes grow wide as I struggle to answer. “I… I’m grabbing a bite to eat.”Duh – could you be any more awkward?

“I meant what are you doinghere, so far from home?” Deacon’s wary blue eyes search mine.

“Uh, visiting a friend.”

“What friend?”

“You don’t know her. Someone I grew up with. Why are you here?” I grasp at something to take the focus off me.

“I was looking at some stone at the quarry for the landscaping I have planned at the rec center.” He takes a seat on the stool next to mine and reaches for a menu. “So, this friend you’re visiting moved here from Katah Vista?”

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