For a second, I consider calling Hank. Should I have him bring the car here? But with the amount of arrivals we’re having, everyone at the main house will be busy. My guess is it’ll be much quicker for me to run up there and get the car myself.
No use taking the golf cart. Those tiny tires definitely won’t cut it on the slick road.
Cursing the day I was born, I pull up my hood, hike a bag over each shoulder, and start walking. It’s barely five o’clock, but it’s already pretty dark, and I have to squint to see through the snow. The path is mostly uphill, and as I huff and puff, my lungs and heart burn from the cold air. The snow is coming down sideways, blowing inside my hood. My curls are already wet, and I can tell my jeans are gonna be soaked by the time I get to my car. This bums me out more than it should.
Still, I keep going.
Think about what a great story this will make, I think to myself, legs aching. You and Blue can tell your grandchildren how you literally had to walk uphill in a snowstorm to meet him.
That’s dangerously naïve, but hey, my hair and my outfit are already ruined, and I don’t want my eye makeup to go too. So I do what I must to keep from dissolving into tears.
The snow is coming down so hard now I can barely see two feet in front of me. The realization, sudden and awful, settles like a brick in my stomach.
This date isn’t going to happen.
It’s just too risky trying to make it down the mountain in weather like this. The narrow road connecting Blue Mountain to the rest of civilization is precarious in even the best weather. In snow like this? It’ll be downright treacherous.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, my rational self is telling me it’s no big deal. Blue and I will just reschedule. The disappointment is temporary. If the date is meant to happen, it’ll happen.
Still. The disappointment may be temporary, but damn is it crushing. I blink against the sting in my eyes, embarrassed that I’m crying over a scrapped date with a virtual (heh) stranger but too exhausted to give myself another pep talk.
That’s when I see an unfamiliar pair of headlights moving my way. They’re halogen, so bright it hurts to look at them. An enormous black SUV materializes out of the darkness. I take one look at the shiny gold rims and know—oh, shit—it’s Samuel.
My stomach plummets. I tug my hood over my eyes and keep my head down. A beat later, I hear the whirr of a window rolling down, followed by—wait, is that Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love” I’m hearing?
“Emma? Is that you?”
I hold up a hand but don’t stop walking. “Hi. And bye. I don’t mean to be rude, but I gotta go.”
A beat. The idling engine of his truck throbs.
I hear him change gears, and the next thing, I know he’s reversing the vehicle, following me.
Yeah, that’s definitely Van Halen. For a second, my stride falters. What are the chances Samuel’s listening to the band that always comes up in my chats with Blue?
Speaking of blue—Samuel’s still wearing that cobalt suit. And he said he had a date tonight.
Now it’s my heart that’s faltering.
No way.
No way Samuel is Blue. Right? Samuel may have come around to kindness recently, but Blue has been excellent from the beginning. Samuel was rude and narrow-minded and didn’t listen. Blue always listened. Blue always had an open mind. More than that, Blue has a grip on who he is and what he wants. Samuel didn’t, at least when we met. I’m not sure he does now.
My heart starts beating again. They can’t be the same person. It just doesn’t make sense. The music and the suit and the date—they’re coincidences, that’s all. For all I know, Samuel lied about having a date to make me jealous. Let’s not forget his history of being a dick.
Right.
“Where are you going?” Samuel asks.
“The main house,” I say.
“Why?”
I go with the truth. A version of it, anyway. “My power went out.”
“It did? Dammit. I’ll give maintenance a call. In the meantime, let me give you a ride.”
I’m freezing and tired and wet, but getting even more freezing and tired and wet is preferable to Samuel seeing me on the verge of tears in the close quarters of his truck. Who knows what will happen if I get in?
If I keep walking, I’ll make it to the main house. If I make it there, I can dry off and maybe warm up by one of the fireplaces while I shoot Blue a message to reschedule our date.
“I’m good, thanks. You’d better get where you’re headed anyway. It’s bad out here.”