Page 7 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Seven

HOLLY

I have never needed a drink more in my entire life than I do right this very second, but my bank account says no, so instead I pant, trying to catch my breath.

Is it hot in here?

Oh, my god, it’s so hot in here.

And no, I’m not hot because of those damn bloody stairs I had to climb up with a stupid bag that has buggered wheels, no thanks to stupid airlines breaking them, causing my bag to spill its guts all over the place.

No, no, that would be too simple. It’s because I have just run into quite possibly the sexiest man on the planet, no…

he is the sexiest man on the planet, and I don’t think my heart will ever stop pounding over whatever the heck just happened back there.

That man—wherever he’s gone to—has sent me into a full blown brain malfunction. Is this the gene pool of men I have to look forward to in Canada? And, if it is, why haven’t I come here sooner?

I glance around the place to check if the other men here are of equal quality.

Uhh, well that’s a big fat nope. The pub is packed…

but with women, lots of women. There must be some kind of event on.

Actually, thinking back to when I walked in I do remember seeing a sign or banner or something, but I can’t remember what.

I strum my fingers on the bar, and drift into a daze about the nerdy buff guy.

I should have accepted the offer for a drink with him, but I guess it’s probably a good thing.

Stranger danger and all. Plus he looked at me like I was his next meal.

Not in a serial killer kind of way or anything.

Intimidating, yes. But I wasn’t scared, not even a little.

The only thing I was scared about was if he could tell I had love hearts bubbling out of my eyes like an anime character, or that I’d self lubricated between the legs for him.

No man has ever looked at me the way he did.

I’ve read about that look in books before, but never experienced it in real life.

I didn’t even know it was a real thing. Not until he came along.

And for a split second, there was nothing in me that would have tried to stop him if he wanted to have his way with me then and there.

Well, whoever he was made Adam look like a Temu product.

Compared to the new mystery man, Adam is at maximum a 0.

1 on the hunk scale, mystery guy is a solid eleven out of ten…

a hundred and eleven, actually. He had been immaculately dressed with a dark gray, pinstriped suit, a black tie and a red handkerchief in his blouse pocket.

His hair was a stunning, rich coffee color, buzzed at the sides with volume at the top, and slicked back.

But what caught me off guard the most, were his thick, black nerdy glasses that made him a delicious combination of cute and sexy as hell.

It’s safe to say that I thought that guy was straight out of a fantasy book.

He is a living form of the men in my cliterature collection—my romance books.

Attentive. Bold. Brave. Tall. Handsome. Masculine.

Gentle. Kind, and smart. A man with eyes on me the whole time, as if I had him hooked to a leash and collar.

Caught somewhere between a golden-retriever-nerdy-gentleman and a dirty-filthy-sex-god.

A man like him would break a sheila like me clean in half—he was huge! Surely about six foot three, and was practically as wide as he was tall. All muscles, but not gym muscle, these were real muscles.

The guy even had an insanely erotic voice for god’s sake.

I’ve heard my fair share of sexy men, even moaning ones—thanks to audio books.

But this was different. His thick, Canadian accent pumped through my veins like a narcotic.

Smooth like butter, melting my knees at every word.

Actually, he didn’t even need to say words, my legs gave way anyway just from his bare presence.

“Hello?” Fingers snapping in my face catches my attention. “Hello?”

Bloody hell, Holly. Get a grip. Focus.

I fixate my dazed attention on the bartender. “Can I get you a water? Coffee? Taxi?” he asks. Why does it sound like he’s pitying me? “You’ve been sat like that for a while. Are you good?”

Just star-struck is all.

“Yeah, mate. Sorry. I’ll just have a water, please.”

“A what?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“A water?”

“I’m not sure we have wah-dah . Can you explain it? I’ll try and make it for you.”

Is he for real?

Am I speaking another language or is he hard of hearing?

“Water… it’s H2O, mate.”

“Oh. A water .”

“Yes, wor-ter ,” I try to mimic a Canadian accent. Bloody hell, I’ve said water that many times I don’t even know if I’m saying it right. He pours a glass with some ice, and while getting a brain freeze I realize I’ve almost forgotten what I even came here for.

Keys.

To my empty house.

Dread overwhelms me for a moment. Susan should be here right now. I guess the weather is a little crap, maybe she’s caught in it? Feeling a slight nudge of regret and despair in the pit of my stomach, I sigh.

This is all a scam… I know it.

Oh, god. Where will I live?

“Excuse me?” I grab the waiter’s attention again. “Do you know Susan Kivert?”

“The real estate agent? Yeah, of course.”

Thank god. She’s legit. “Could you put me in contact with her at all? I don’t have data roaming,” I admit. How embarrassing.

He pours a drink for someone else, then points to the stairs behind me with his free hand.

“She’s right behind you.” I turn around to see a woman who looks like the photos in my emails.

Susan. Wearing a thick, fluffy coat down to her knees, and a scarf wrapped around her neck, greeting a few people as she walks up the stairs.

Susan flicks a look through the people at the bar, stopping at me. “You’re too tanned to be from around here, you must be Holly.” Her voice is even warmer in person than it is over the phone, and my emotions override me. All I want to do is cry. “Oh, honey.”

We mingle at the bar, making small talk about my hometown, and the cabin I signed a lease to. She even bought me a glass of wine, and a bowl of chips… err sorry french fries . I don’t know what I did to deserve her kindness, but I will forever be in her debt.

Susan hands me a gift bag with the key to my new place tied around the neck of a bottle of red wine.

“Now, I’ve already got the fire running inside for you to warm the place up, but you’ll have to chop more tomorrow as that was all I had.

There is an axe next to a fallen log on the side of the property.

Given your situation, I’ve filled a cooler box with a few necessities thanks to some locals here who have chipped in to help, and there’s a blow up mattress with some duvets by the fireplace.

I’m going to call you a cab now as I need to go home to my nice warm bed, it should be waiting out the front in about ten minutes.

But I’d stay in here until you see it turn up as you’ll freeze to death out there in those clothes. ”

“Susan, you?—”

“I’ll come around tomorrow as I’ll be in the area doing a walk through.

We can look at some jobs together, if you still need one that is?

” Her generosity tugs at my heartstrings.

I never ask for handouts, and yet here she is, giving me the kindness of necessities to live off, and something to sleep on for the next month or so until my stuff arrives.

Even though this entire situation is the aftermath of a boozed up stupid breakdown, Susan had never once judged me for it. “Susan, this is too much I—” She cuts me off again.

“Please. It’s okay. That’s what we’re like ’round here.” Her smile coaxes the tear to fall from my eye that had been lingering there since she spoke. “Now you just get home and settle in. Oh, and take these too.”

She hands me a plastic bag full of what looks like secondhand winter clothes. The rustle of plastic scrunching in my hand is almost nostalgic. A distant memory as I haven’t seen, or felt a plastic bag in years due to them being banned in Australia.

The garments are a little stale smelling, but nonetheless, they’re clothes that are warmer than this stupid cotton spandex tee that I have on—which did absolutely nothing to hide my nipples by the way.

Erect nipples… a common side effect of seeing the world’s sexiest man.

“Goodbye, Holly.”

“Thank you,” I say genuinely as I squash the bag into my suitcase.

Before leaving, I look over the heads of the people around me, but the sexy mystery nerd is nowhere in sight. My heart sinks a little, for reasons I can’t pinpoint.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There is not a single beam of light in sight other than the car behind us keeping its distance, and the odd car driving past in the opposite direction.

It’s so unlike the Gold Coast, where there were street lights everywhere, plus the lights from the city.

It was the same coming on the bus from the airport, there were no lights.

Pitch black is obviously something I’m going to have to get used to.

The driver pulls up to the same cabin from the photos with a little porch light on, the windows glowing orange from what I assume is the fireplace in the living room.

Holy shit it’s cold here.

Way colder than Australian winters, and even colder than Canmore. I grab my suitcase from the trunk, throwing my tote bag over my shoulder. “Thanks!” I say, fumbling with the key and wine in my other hand.

I take two steps towards the front door when?—

Ouch!

I fall flat on my backside into the cold, hard snow.

To my surprise, the bottle remains clutched in my fist. “Nice. Great. No problem,” I mutter with grit teeth, getting back up to rub the tender area around my tailbone.

“ Really great! But hey, at least I have an unlimited supply of ice for the bruising!” I flip off the snow before opening the door to the cabin.

“Wow,” is the only word that can formulate as I witness the inner carcass of my new home: cliché cottage style vibe with wooden wall panels, pale hardwood floors and green cabinetry. The cozy visual puts a smile on my face, but the emptiness flattens it again.

Downstairs holds the kitchen, dining, and living area where the fire is. In the— what was the esky thing called, again? Oh, right, a cooler box— there is a large plate of assorted fruits, a carton of yogurts, one bottle of water, and there is a loaf of fresh bread on the counter.

Upstairs, I find my empty bedroom and a bathroom with a raggedy old towel hung over the curtain rail above the shower bath. Trying to fool myself into thinking this was going to be some beautiful Airbnb, long-term holiday type situation wasn’t going to work.

The place is empty, and so am I.

I go back downstairs where it’s warm, and I notice that there’s no curtains over the windows.

Hmm. That’s… creepy. Ignoring the fact that there’s possibly a herd of grizzly bears peaking through my window, I make an attempt to plug my charger into the wall for my phone but quickly realize it doesn’t fit.

“Oh, bloody hell. What else? What bloody else?! ” I cry out, the echo carrying through the emptiness of the cabin.

The little red battery at the top right corner shows 3% battery remaining, so I switch it off to reserve it.

When I get paid I’m going to have to run some errands at the nearest shop, as a cheap Canadian phone is going to be the first thing on my list.

Alone in the silence with my thoughts, mindlessly counting every shadow cast on the wall, my throat thickens.

Reality hits me in the face like a freight train and the familiar tears warn their release again.

I feel more alone now than I did when Adam left.

I sink to the floor, and sitting on my tender rear end I cradle my head between my knees, unable to hold back and fall right into a heavy sob.

What have I done?

This isn’t my home.

Fatigue eventually takes charge, so I bury myself under the blankets and let the lonely night punish me by my tears stinging my eyes, like being pierced by the pins of a million bees.