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Page 3 of Curvy Cabin Fever

ARIA

F leetwood Mac’s playing on the radio, and I can’t help singing along, fingers drumming the wheel. I swing the car into a parking space outside a little coffee shop.

Three long hours of driving without a single stop is enough to have me running for the bathroom, but I have to get out of the car first. I slide my seat back and groan as my legs stretch, then open the car door. Icy air greets me, and I reach for my puffy jacket before stepping outside.

“Wow,” I mumble, looking around me. I’m parked on a street lined with rustic buildings, all wooden exteriors and large glass windows exposing warm, inviting interiors.

I pull my jacket on and move toward the coffee shop; my bladder is fit to burst. A hand-painted sign boasts about cinnamon lattes, and my stomach growls.

I could do with a fat cinnamon swirl or something similar.

I’m starving!

But first, I need the bathroom.

The scent hits me the second I walk in—warm cinnamon, vanilla, and fresh bread—and it nearly sends me sprinting for the glass display packed with cakes and pastries. Behind the counter, a young woman looks up and greets me with a big, cheerful smile.

“Hi!” I say, glancing around. “Could you tell me where the restroom is, please?”

The barista—petite, with a messy bun of copper curls—points across the room, where I spot a hand-painted wooden sign that reads Restrooms in looping script.

I dart over, shooting her a grateful smile as I do. A few minutes later, I make my way over to the counter, my eyes drinking in the display of pastry heaven before the woman greets me again.

“Just visiting?” she asks, watching me with interest. There’s only one other person here, and she’s lost in a book, a steaming cup of coffee before her.

Another independent woman living her best life. I grin, knowing I made the right choice to get away.

“Yeah,” I reply, pausing to point at a raspberry croissant. “I’ll have two of those, please. Oh, and a cinnamon latte.”

I need all the sugar I can get. I had cereal back home, but then I slept for most of the flight and only had a candy bar to keep me going for the drive. A girl needs to eat.

“Sure!” The woman gets to work on my coffee and waves me to a table. “Pay after, if you like. You might want more!”

Gazing at the endless display of pastries and cakes, I can’t help but agree with her.

“Probably,” I laugh, turning to choose a seat. I opt for one by the window, and the woman brings my croissants and coffee over with a big smile and places them on the table.

“Are you staying locally?” she inquires, leaning on the chair opposite me. I sink my teeth into the croissant and groan when the berry explosion parties in my mouth, my eyes rolling. “Good, right?” She laughs, and I nod.

“Sorry, it’s been a long journey. And yes, I’m staying at a cabin in the mountains.”

The woman tilts her head with interest. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

Small town, Aria , I remind myself. They’re interested, that is all.

“Um,” I mumble through my croissant, but I can’t stop shoving it in my mouth. I’m so hungry.

“I’ll let you eat. I’ll come over when you’re done.” The woman, whose name tag tells me she’s called Trish, winks and walks away.

I relax into my chair and devour both croissants before she reappears, her smile bright.

“Do you want anything else?”

I shake my head.“No, thanks. They were beautiful, though.”

“Handmade by the bakery down the road,” she says proudly. “My cousin owns it. We’ve sold out of the apricot ones, but you have to try those next time. So, where are you staying?”

I sip my latte and groan with delight. “Ridgehaven?” I look up at her and don’t miss the frown that ghosts her brows.

“Ridgehaven? Huh. I thought the guys were there this week.” She shrugs, and I stare at her.

“The guys?” I echo as she shakes her head.

“The owner and his friends,” she explains as the bell above the door jingles, announcing another customer. “Maybe they were just stopping by. Excuse me.”

She flashes me a bright smile and heads to greet the customer who gushes over the infamous croissants, and I add them to my mental shopping list. Maybe I can check out the bakery before I leave. I’d love to try those for breakfast.

I sip my latte and gaze out the window, eyeing my Jeep. It’s bright orange, not my first choice, but hey, it’s a rental. There aren’t many other cars in the lot, but people are milling around.

Quite the contrast to Denver, anyway. What did Trish say about the owner? That she thought they were around?

I sure hope not. I don’t want to see another soul while I’m here. I need to get my creative juices flowing and get writing again.I stare wistfully out the window as my fingers wrap around my latte, the heavy feeling in my heart returning.

“It’s not working out.”

“We’re not right for each other.”

My ex-boyfriend’s words ricocheted around my fraught mind before the memory of him railing a thin blonde in our bedroom hits me. I swallow, tears stinging the back of my eyes before I squeeze them shut, willing myself to get through it.

Trevor. My Ex.

I can’t even think of his name without feeling nauseous, the prick. Cheating on me was bad enough but with that skinny bitch from work?

That was even worse.

I wince and stare down at the flakes left over from my two croissants. I can’t complain about her being skinny when all I do is eat. I’ve always been this way, though—I eat my emotions. It’s why I’m the size I am and why Trevor went for someone so…different from me.

“Would you like another? One for the road, maybe?” Trish’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I realize I’ve drained my latte.

See? I eat and drink my emotions. Speaking of which, I’ll need a bottle of wine and some chocolate.

“I’m good, thank you. I’ll get the bill if that’s okay?”

I settle the check and pull my jacket back around me, stepping outside. The temperature has dropped, and my ears sting with the chill.

Jeez, I wasn’t that long in the coffee shop, was I?

I hurry to the little convenience store next door, stocking up on supplies before searching for the bakery.

It’s closed. Dammit.

“I guess I’ll be back tomorrow for some of those croissants,” I say to myself before throwing the bags in the back of the Jeep. I check my map, estimating I have around thirty minutes or so to drive.

I pause, making sure I have everything I need before setting off again.

Snow flies at my windscreen, my wipers doing their best to keep my view clear.

As I drive away, I can’t help but notice how dark it is.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I notice the little town lights fade away as I follow the winding road into the mountains.

There are no lights on the road, so I flick my headlamps to full beam and drive slowly. The snow is falling heavily now, and I try not to panic as my wipers move at the fastest setting.

“It’s fine, Aria. You’ve got this,” I tell myself, chewing on my lip as the car climbs higher and higher into the darkness.

I’m gripping the wheel, my knuckles white, when the headlights finally catch a wooden sign— Welcome to Ridgehaven .

The knot in my chest unravels all at once.

My shoulders sag, breath loosening like I’ve been holding it for miles.

Relief floods through me so fast it’s dizzying.

I’m glad I stopped off in the town now because the snow seems to be getting worse. I intend to spend two weeks alone in a mountain cabin fit for a queen, and I don’t plan to leave once I’m there.It looks like the weather agrees with me.

But maybe I can make an exception for some croissants…

My headlamps guide me down a twisted, narrow road, and I squint into the distance, letting out a breath of relief when the outline of a large mountain cabin comes into view.

It’s made of weathered timber and stone and has the beautiful rustic charm that attracted me to it in the first place.

I stop the car beside it, glad I don’t need to drive any further.

I zip my jacket and grab my bags, glancing back at my suitcase. I’ll have to do two trips, I guess.

I take a deep breath, search my phone for the code to the key box that should be on the porch, and try to memorize it.

“0214. Got it.”

Holding my grocery bags in one hand, I push open the door and squeal when the wind and snow wrap around me, creating a mini blizzard.

Holy shit!

I shut the door and grit my teeth, cursing my shitty choice of footwear. These boots may look nice, but they’re not built for snow.

Why didn’t I check the weather?!

Because I just wanted to leave.

I make my way around the cabin, my fingers brushing against the wood as I turn, finally seeing the porch bathed in a soft light.

Thank god they left the porch light on.

I make my way there, barely able to lift my head with the force of the weather, slowly making it to the steps. Bracing myself, I hold onto the railing with one hand, trying not to fall or slip on the icy stairs.

Pity they didn’t salt them for me.

I spot the key box and hurry over, slipping and sliding on the wood as I do.

“Fuck!” I mutter as my fingers slip on the code, but after another try, the box opens, and I’m greeted with the key.

My teeth chatter and my fingers go numb in seconds, the wind slicing through my coat. I’ve been out of the car for maybe two minutes— what kind of icy hell is this?! I slide my key into the door and open it, hurrying inside as the wind howls behind me.

I drop my bags onto the floor and attempt to move my hair from my eyes.

The cabin is so warm!

I stamp my feet on the mat before sniffing the air. A delicious scent greets me—chargrilled meat and potatoes, I think, and it’s only then that I stop.

Leaving a porch light on is one thing. Making dinner is another.

A chill sets in, and it’s got nothing to do with the weather. I lift my head to see I’m not alone, and a yelp leaves my mouth.

Because there, in front of me, are three men.

And they’re all staring at me.

What. The. Fuck?