Matchmaker Backfire

So much I almost forget about breakfast.

“You need to eat a proper meal,” I remind her, remembering what she already told me.

Doing what I tell her, and always only for the best.

She eventually yields, letting me get up from our morning snuggle to fix her a proper breakfast.

Her dad’s left fresh eggs, bacon, and bread, as well as so many other things I’m spoiled for choice.

While the bacon sizzles and the eggs keep warm, I return to her on the couch, resting her wounded ankle over my leg and gingerly examining it.

“It’s sore, but I think I’ll live,” she admits, wincing through my delicate probing and taking off her bandage.

The swelling is zero now, and I’m happy it wasn’t a serious injury.

“We could still stay,” she says, hesitating before looking at the phone absently.

“No,” I tell her. “We’re getting out of here. I should’ve never let you come here in the first place… but then how could I? Then we would never have-” I remark, leaning over to kiss her again, apologizing for being so full-on.

“We’ll go, who knows what this weather will do anyway?” I tell her, getting up and looking out the window, even forcing the door against a solid foot of snow from under the porch.

“But how?” she asks the same thing her father would ask.

The same thing I’ve been asking myself since yesterday, weighing up each option and determined to try each one before giving up.

“I’ll find a way,” I comfort her. “A fat lot of good these hoteliers are leaving their guests to starve and fend for themselves,” I almost shout, stepping back from the door and making a pair of fists before collecting myself.

“It is weird,” she remarks. “I thought a ski lodge that was snowed in would have done more.”

But I think we both know we’re the odd ones out here.

“Maybe before your dad’s friend came back,” is all I can manage, remembering that sniveling desk clerk, his older relative, and that woman?

Somehow, they all managed to conspire against us once Serena’s dad was gone.

Part of her plan to blackmail me, no doubt.

“But that was yesterday,” I remind her and myself as I turn my attention back to the food, deciding to mix up the batter for French toast after all.

I don’t even mind if we make some mess now, it’s all gonna be behind us soon enough, I’m sure. And it’s not as if we’re in a hurry.

I’ll look after Greg’s gear, but this place could burn to the ground once we leave and I wouldn’t mind, not one fucking bit.

“I’ll radio a few friends from the truck’s radio,” I announce, flipping our second-course pancakes and making sure Serena eats her fill this time.

“I know a few guys who drive plows on these roads, as well as some who don’t,” I add cryptically.

“What do you mean?” she asks, making me kiss grease from her chin, happy now that she’s getting a proper meal.

“I mean… I know people who work these parts, old rigger guys. Most of them drivers or pilots now, hell, even guys who have those huge plows that clear roads in these parts. I’ll get us home,” I tell her matter of fact, smacking my own lips and enjoying ketchup for the first time ever over the most calories I’ve probably had for breakfast ever.

“But we’re snowed in,” Serena reminds me.

I kiss her lips, tasting her maple syrup from something else mixed with my ketchup which makes me laugh for some reason.

Laughing like I’ve never laughed before.

“Just leave getting out of here to me. And I’ll leave you being so adorable forever up to you, okay?” I bargain with her, hoping she never loses her ways from this day on.

But even if she does, I’ll love her more for it, I’m sure.

Not wanting to spend any more time in this place, I start to pack up our gear.

“If it weren’t for that damned lodge…” I remark, meaning the people who run it, and Greg’s matchmaker backfire still being there I know Serena and I would be happy here as long as the food lasted.

But I said I’d get us out and that’s what I intend to do.

I get halfway out the door with an armful of supplies when I hear Serena cry out in pain.

Spinning around, dropping everything, I rush over to catch her as she drops.

“What are you doing?” I ask her, taking her weight in my arms and trying to get her back to the couch.

“Bathroom?” she winces, and I realize she hasn’t had a bathroom break since I set her down on the couch.

Hasn’t moved from it.

“Oh.”

“I’ll be alright if you could just get me to the-” she starts to say, but I’m on it.

I lift her up and carry her, making sure she’s okay before giving her some privacy.