Page 9 of Frozen Promises

IS THAT A YETI?

Catalina

Hiking back to the cabin after four hours of getting pampered and rubbed down with every oil and crème the lodge possesses makes me feel like I’m a seal slipping across ice.

Each precarious step is one wrong move away from falling flat on my face, and that would suck because the facial from earlier is making my skin glow like a disco ball.

“So, do you want to talk about the elephant in the room? Or the elf on the shelf if we’re being festive?” Santiago asks, also struggling to trek up the path to our cabins.

I shake my head, not quite ready to voice my thoughts. Honestly, I’m unsure if I could. Elias can’t be away from work; he can't possibly have time to come out here. But he's spoiling me to make up for his absence. The question is why?

If he’s trying to win me back, gifts are nice, but they aren’t an apology or an acknowledgment of my feelings. Gifts are a bandage on an open, bloody wound. I appreciate his effort, but this isn’t going to magically fix everything for us.

“Okay,” Santi says slowly. “Do you want to hang out in our cabin and maybe watch a movie?”

“You’re sweet, Santi, but I’m not butting in on anymore of your trip.” Before he can argue with me, I bump his shoulder, nearly toppling us over onto Noah. “Don’t tell me I’m not third wheeling because I so am. I want to just go back to the cabin and sort through my thoughts and emotions.”

“Perhaps not on a Live this time?” Santi grins sheepishly.

“I don’t regret that,” I say. “But no Lives this time. Just me.”

Shortly after and by some miracle, we reach the end of our trail, stopping at the fork separating our cabins.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Santi asks.

His heart is too pure, and I love him for checking in on me, but I want him to enjoy his Christmas vacation with his husband alone. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, I know where to find you.”

Santi assesses me, biting his lip once before nodding and pulling me in for a hug. “Love you. I’ll edit the content from the spa sometime today and schedule it to drop tomorrow at noon.”

“And then no work,” I reprimand, not wanting him to do this in the first place, but Santi insisted.

“You’re the boss.” He squeezes me one last time and pulls back. “Now hurry and go inside. It’s too damn cold out here, and the snow is piling up.”

He’s not wrong. At least a foot of fluffy white snow, if not more, blankets the ground. It looks like a scene from a Thomas Kincaid portrait; all it’s missing is a cute frozen lake.

Santiago and Noah wave one final time before heading back to their cabin hand-in-hand.

Not wanting to be lost in the snow alone, I hurry toward the porch, my boots crunching against the frozen ground.

As I reach the top step, I slow down, noticing something that makes my stomach twist. My hand stretches toward the front door and pauses mid-air.

The door is open just enough for the bitter wind to catch the edge and creak it back and forth like an ominous warning.

I blink, startled. That’s not right.

A chill creeps up my spine, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

I stare at the door, my fingers now trembling as they hover near the frame.

Did I forget to close it? No—I know I closed it.

I remember pulling it shut, turning the knob, and hearing the familiar click before we left. I had to have. Right?

But now . . . doubt worms its way in. Maybe I didn’t shut it all the way. Maybe I was distracted. Or maybe—no, that’s ridiculous. Still, I can’t shake the unease pressing down on me like the snow-heavy sky above.

I’m either walking into a snow cabin killer or another surprise from Elias.

Either way, I’m not ready.

Feeling like every dumbass character in a scary movie, I push open the door and brace myself.

I stop dead in my tracks.

In the middle of my cabin is an eight-foot-tall Christmas tree, decorated in ornaments—nothing with monetary value, only sentimental value.

I’ve collected these ornaments over the years on different trips, from family members who made them for me, or from when Elias and I made together before we had the money to buy our own.

The lights are a warm, white light against the forest green of the tree’s needles. The angel passed down from my mother rests on top. She’s seen better days, face nearly wiped clean and dress stained from years of adorning our tree. She’s just as beautiful as I remember from my childhood.

The tree isn’t the only new decoration in the cabin.

Tinsel and gold streamers dangle from the ceiling beams, catching the light and creating a shimmering effect like a sky full of stars.

Wrapped presents are scattered throughout the room adding bursts of color, and large red ribbons are tied neatly to the window frames, giving the space a festive, cheerful warmth.

A fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies sit on the table next to another gold letter. I take a tentative step forward, half expecting Elias to jump out of the shadows and surprise me. But he doesn’t. Because he isn’t here. He’s at work, and I’m alone in the cabin.

When I reach the table, I pick up the letter, turning it over to see Elias’s handwriting on the back. It’s not a long message. Just one short message.

I want to fix this. Leave your front door open at 8 p.m. Close it only if I’ve ruined us beyond repair.

I reread the words until I can make sense of them. Why would he want me to keep the door open? Does this mean . . . No, surely he’s not here. Never in our marriage has Elias taken a spontaneous trip and time off work.

My eyes snap up to the nearest clock.

7:55 p.m.

Just five minutes.

Five minutes to determine my future. It doesn’t seem like a long time as a second passes with each tick of the clock, and I’m that much closer to my future. What does my future look like?

I want to continue to inspire and uplift plus-size women.

I want to travel and experience different cultures.

I want a family, not necessarily children but a few pets and someone that loves me.

I want Elias . . . but does my husband deserve me?

Two minutes have passed.

I don’t know if he does. I don’t know if we can fix everything that has been broken. There’s so much history between us. A love so fierce I never thought it would burn out. I still feel it deep inside me, begging to be let free again.

Another minute.

I stare at the door, knowing I could close it and walk away.

Choose a new path, a new purpose where I no longer have to fight or ache.

But the truth is, I don’t want a life without Elias.

I love him too much. I’m not willing to throw years of love and memories down the drain without fighting one last time.

Still, I can’t keep going down the path we’re on. If we continue like this—misunderstanding, hurting, drifting—he will lose me. Not in some sudden, dramatic way, but in slow, irreversible pieces. And that might be even worse.

But . . . maybe there’s still a chance. Maybe he’s finally listening. Maybe now, with everything out in the open, we can finally fix what’s broken.

My time is up.

I hurry to the window by the door and look out. A large, dark figure walks swiftly in the shadows, heading straight to my cabin.

This better not be a damn yeti.

The figure approaches, and the light from the porch illuminates the side of his face. My breath lurches, heart pounding in my chest.

Elias is here. Just beyond the door. I can hardly believe it.

I keep waiting to wake up, to find out this is just a dream conjured by longing and exhaustion. But it’s real.

He left work. He came for me. Dressed in black like some dark, brooding knight. my husband is standing only a few feet away. He looks heartbreakingly handsome, and the sight of him makes my chest ache.

Even through the haze of my raw anger and hurt, my heart reaches for him. I wish I could shut it off and silence the part of me that still loves him so deeply, but I can’t. Love doesn’t come with a switch. And right now, my love is tangled with pain, pulsing just beneath the surface.

He takes the stairs two at a time and stops at the top of the porch. I hold my breath.

I see him. His beautiful face twisted, no longer calm or collected. It’s a storm of emotion—pain, confusion, and something dangerously close to despair. Hurt and anger flash in his eyes like lightning.

He stands there, frozen in place as if he’s afraid that taking a single step forward might shatter everything between us.

Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he saying anything?

Then I notice it.

The door is closed. The wind must have pulled it shut behind me without me realizing.

Fuck!

I scramble back, running to the door. I’m hit with a jolt of cold air as the door swings open.

I stop inches away from Elias. He stares at me like he’s already lost me.

“The door was closed,” I whisper. It’s the only thing my brain can think to say to my husband of ten years. He feels more like a stranger than my husband, and that hurts most of all.

Elias doesn’t speak. He takes a step forward, and I take a step back. He doesn’t stop until he’s inside the cabin, his intimidating figure darkening the entrance. He shuts the door and sweeps his gaze around before falling on me again.

“Tell me you want me to go,” he says. Elias moves closer, and I back into a wall. His large frame cages me in, and my body shivers in anticipation and something else . . . like need.

“Tell me to go, Catalina,” he repeats. His warm breath hits my cheek. He’s so close, I can smell his peppermint aftershave and feel his warmth. It takes everything in my power to stand tall.

I need to say something—anything—but the words catch in my throat.

For a moment, I’m completely frozen. Elias is standing right in front of me, so real and close it makes my pulse stutter.

After all the silence and space between us, he’s here.

Today, he showered me with gifts—thoughtful, unexpected reminders that he still knows me.

He still cares, and now, he’s shown up in person when I needed someone most.

I’m still angry. Hurt. Confused.

A few gifts won’t fix our marriage. But his presence is so solid and familiar. Something inside me starts to soften, not enough to forgive yet, but enough to listen.

“Catalina—”

“I didn’t close the door,” I blurt out, watching him tense. It’s his turn to freeze, waiting for me to continue. “I was going to open it. I . . . I think the wind might have closed it.”

For a moment we look at each other in silence. Something fizzles between us that neither of us can control.

He moves first. Or maybe I do. Our lips come together in a heated, needy kiss that has me gripping his arms to keep myself up.

His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, making me moan.

I part for him, and he claims my mouth. He kisses me without restraint, like there’s nothing between us.

My body fills with pent up desire which I haven’t experienced in so long.

Because he has been neglecting me and our marriage.

The thought is a douse of cold water, breaking me free from my horny fog. I move my hands to his chest, hearing his deep intake of breath. I muster all my strength.

Then I push him away.