Page 1 of Grumpy on the Mountain

Chapter One

Molly

My car makes a sound like a dying walrus before the engine gives one final, dramatic shudder and dies completely.

Yeah. That seems about right.

I sit in the sudden silence, snow pelting my windshield like nature's passive-aggressive way of welcoming me to my new life.

Through the white chaos, I can just make out a wooden sign that reads "Welcome to Stone River Mountain" in cheerful carved letters, complete with a little pine tree that's probably adorable when it's not being attacked by a blizzard.

"Well," I say to my steering wheel. Apparently talking to inanimate objects is where I am in life now. "At least you waited until I got here to die. That's... progress?"

I actually laugh. Out loud. Like a crazy person.

Because here's the thing… this is avictory.

I made it.

Sure, I have no money. No fiancé. No job. No life.

And okay, maybe my car just committed vehicular suicide in what appears to be the opening scene of a horror movie about city girls who make spectacularly bad decisions.

But I fuckingmade it.

Out of my old life, away from Riley and his controlling bullshit, away from the apartment that felt like a beautifully decorated prison, away from the endless stream of jobs that never quite fit because nothing in my life has ever quite fit.

I threw my phone out the window somewhere around mile marker forty-seven when Riley's fifteenth call of the day came through with another one of his "You'll never make it without me" voicemails, and you know what?

Best decision I've made in years.

Well. Second best. The best was leaving his sorry ass in the first place.

I push open the car door and immediately regret every life choice that led me to own ankle boots instead of, say, snowshoes.

The cold hits me like a slap from Mother Nature herself, and snow immediately begins its invasion of my coat—which, let me just say, is definitely not thick enough for this crazy mountain weather.

I'm pretty sure this coat was designed for looking cute in urban coffee shops, not surviving actual winter.

Form over function, Molly. Story of your damn life.

I trudge to the back of my ancient car. It's the only thing Riley didn't try to take in our spectacular breakup, and I manage to pop the trunk and wrestle my oversized suitcase from inside.

It's one of those expensive matching sets I bought when I thought my life was going to be all coordinated and sophisticated. Now it just looks ridiculous, like I'm trying to move my entire existence in Louis Vuitton luggage while dressed for a casual brunch.

The suitcase hits the ground with athunkthat's definitely going to leave a mark, and I realize the wheel is already giving up on life.

Of course it is. Why should my luggage have better coping mechanisms than I do?

I'm standing in a snowstorm, in inappropriate footwear, next to a dead car, with broken luggage, and no way to call for help because I dramatically destroyed my phone in a moment of cinematic fury.

This is fine,I tell myself, snow melting down the back of my neck.This is totally fine. This is just... character building.

My leg starts bouncing, and at first I think it's the freezing wind cutting through my inadequate coat, or maybe the nerves jangling through my system like live wires.

But then it hits me—oh shit! I really,reallyneed to pee.

Like, urgently.