Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
My second thought had been more along the lines of: how in the flying fuckballs am I going to afford that?
A couple of weeks later, with a little bit of help from my roommates, a lot of prodding and more help from my mom and Chase, and a savings account that I’d been trying to keep untouched for a far-flung future house, I realized I could scrape together the money for the trip out. But it hadn’t been an easy decision. Mom had taught gymnastics all throughout our childhoods, but after a very bad hip injury, she’d been saddled with surgery bills, medical bills, and joblessness ever since. Chase and I had spent most of our twenties slowly helping Mom out of a hole of debt while trying to stay afloat ourselves, but it hadn’t been easy. Chase was a TV cameraman who’d only started making much money in the last couple of years, and I…
Well, I fried eggs for a living at a diner.
But we were making it work. Slowly and surely. And even though I lived with roommates and squeaky pipes and paper-thin walls, I was deeply grateful for Mom’s health. For how close I lived to the beach. For being well-fed and relatively happy, even though I was so busy my romantic life was close to nonexistent.
I was genuinely happy for Chase and Adam, and I was determined to make the most of a snowy vacation I couldn’t afford.
Even if I didn’t fit in here at all.
As I finished my second lager, which I’d probably drank way too quickly, I looked up to see something that I didn’t understand. At first, it looked like a million tiny little flower petals must have been falling from the sky, collecting in little patches under the lamp posts by the pine trees.
But then I realized there were no flowers here, this time of year. And that I was definitely seeing another thing I’d never witnessed before in my life.
“Snowflakes,” I said, standing up and pointing toward the window. “It’s actually snowing?”
The few tired folks sitting around the bar looked over at me like I was losing my mind.
“Right. Forgot this happens here all the time,” I said.
The bartender gave me a polite smile. “Often.”
I reached for my puffy jacket and tugged it on again, nodding a thank you at the bartender before heading out toward the front doors of the hotel. They opened to a rush of colder air, but it felt nothing like the oppressive cold wind I’d experienced getting out of the cab earlier today.
Right now, in the still night air after I’d had a couple of beers, something almost felt good about the cold air in the beautiful, flaky snow.
Not good-good, of course.
Not as good as the beach. Or the ocean. The warm, endless waves.
But even I had to admit how peaceful and beautiful it was as I stepped out and walked down the stone path that meandered around the front of the hotel, past the drive-up lot and into small gardens surrounded with spruce trees. My boots crunched on the packed snow that had already been there, and I stopped in a little patch of pine trees, taking a long breath in, shoving my hands into the front pockets of my white coat.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting a few of the snowflakes collect on my face. Like raindrops, but softer.
I heard the faint sound of shoes on snow coming my way, and I knew my brief moment of solitude was nearly over.
As I turned to head back, I found out where the sound had been coming from.
“Oh. Hi,” I blurted out as I saw Landry sauntering down the stone path, stopping to look at me.
“Marshmallow,” he said, just as surprised as I was.
And if he’d looked good in the elevator, he looked about a thousand times better here, now, in the falling snow, after I’d had a couple of beers.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” he said, holding a hand out in the snow, the little flakes collecting on the perfectly tailored fabric of his coat. “Nothing more beautiful than snow on a still night.”
“I mean, high tide at the beach under the moonlight after a summer sunset is kind of hard to beat,” I said, “but yes. This is pretty wonderful, too. Don’t get a lot of this where I’m from.”
“Where’s home, for you?” he asked.
“Stellara Beach, California,” I said. “If you’ve never heard of it, you’re not alone. I don’t know if Chase has ever talked to you about our old town. It’s a tiny beach town mostly filled with hippies between Los Angeles and—”
“Between Los Angeles and San Diego,” he said, his expression softening into curiosity. “I drive through Stellara Beach all of the time. I’m from Los Angeles.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling awkward that I’d assumed he didn’t know. “That’s neat.”