Page 14 of Unexpected Pickle

JEANNIE FEELS THE HEAT

T his is cozy.

We snack on honey almond granola balls and raid the minibar for juice and sparkling water. I don’t know if Hex enthusiastically agrees with my movie suggestions or if we are actually cinematically compatible, but we end up marathoning chef movies. Chocolat. No Reservations. Today’s Special.

Then I realize it’s after ten and we’ve totally missed the cocktail party.

I sit up from where I’ve lounged on the sofa. Hex is on a side chair.

“Oh, gosh! It’s late!”

Hex checks his wrist as if he’s ever worn a watch. “Time for one more.”

I stand up. “We didn’t have dinner or get drinks with the chefs!”

“Is there another evening event tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I say, glancing at the door. “We can do that one.” I don’t mind missing it, really. We had more fun. Plus, I wasn’t ready to face Moreau. I should have turned him down flat rather than saying I’d think about his offer.

“I’m going to head back to my cabin,” I say. “This was unexpectedly fun.”

“I think so, too.” His eyes are more sparkly than usual. Is that because of me?

“Let me walk you back. And here.” He drapes his coat over my shoulders.

“Oh! Well. Okay.” I wonder for a moment if Moreau will see me leaving Hex’s cabin, and what he’ll think. That could solve the problem of his interest, but possibly kick off a new complication if he feels slighted.

Snow blasts us when Hex opens the door. “I don’t think we’re in SoCal anymore,” he says.

I lower my chin against the bitter wind. “Definitely not.”

Snow has piled high against the outside of the cabin. We trudge through a good foot of it on the porch before reaching the cleared sidewalks. Thank goodness for those, even though they are wet and slushy from the constant torrent of snow.

We hurry to the crosswalk between the spokes of the paths. I’m glad for those, or else we would have to go all the way back to the lobby before we branched back out to my cabin. With the snow knee-deep on the ground, we can’t easily cut through.

When we make it to my door, I fumble for the key card with frozen fingers. I can’t believe how quickly I lose function in this cold. How does anybody live here? I will never complain about the SoCal heat again.

I step inside my door and slide Hex’s coat off my shoulders. “Thank you again.”

“Sure.” He takes the coat. “Maybe I’ll show up tomorrow. I guess I can be an official taste tester.”

“That’s a great idea. You’re the target market.”

He nods. “Goodnight, Jeannie.”

“Goodnight, Hex.”

We look at each other. It feels like the end of a date, as if maybe we should kiss goodnight.

Good gracious, I’m staring at his lips!

And he’s looking at mine.

Should I? Should we?

Am I feeling that?

It’s different from how I felt in the pantry with Moreau. I didn’t want him making a move.

Do I want Hex to?

Maybe.

But he gives me a nod and turns away.

Right. Of course. It’s not happening. Why did I think something was happening?

I close the door and lean against it.

It’s been an eventful day.

I drop my phone and key card on the dresser. I want out of these chef whites, into some sweats, and maybe I’ll make a fire myself.

I consider taking a hot shower to warm up, but the idea of having wet hair gives me the shivers, so I simply change. I put my phone on the charger and sit in front of the fireplace, examining the gas starter. I saw Hex do it. I can figure it out.

Like in his room, there is a set of firewood on the grate, plus additional logs in a rack beside the hearth. I stick the key in the hole and turn it, hearing the rush of gas. Then I push the ignite button and the flames whoosh around the logs.

I sit back, pleased with myself. I’m not hungry after gorging on snacks all evening. And I have an untouched mini-fridge.

I’m about to plug in my phone to charge when I hear a strange beep.

Then the power goes out.

I’m plunged into darkness, then my eyes adjust to the firelight. Thank goodness I already started it.

I wait a moment to see if the power will come back on, if there’s a backup generator, or if it was a glitch.

But nothing happens.

I wait a few minutes, then pick up the room phone to see if it works without power.

Nope. Dead.

I look up the phone number of the hotel and call it from my cell.

I get a perky voicemail message. “You have reached Hotel Menagerie. We are so glad to hear from you. Leave us a message and we’ll return your call within one business day.”

One business day! I hang up, using my phone as a light to see if I can find a number to the front desk.

A small card by the phone gives the extension of the lobby, but that doesn’t help. All the other numbers are the one I just called. There was no option to dial zero. Is this a Canadian thing or have the phones gone into some emergency no-power mode?

I peer out the front window. The lamps that lighted the paths are all out. The lobby is dark, so they must not have electricity either.

But there’s a faint glow somewhere inside.

I have no way to contact Hex, or the other chefs, or our instructor.

Shit.

Should I call 911? Is it 911 in Canada? I don’t know.

I pick up my phone. I still have one bar. It’s not a total horror movie scenario yet.

But it’s not enough to get data. Every Google query I try times out without giving me an answer.

God. What do I do? Will the power come back on?

The cabin temperature is dropping, particularly near the windows. I stand by the fire a moment, grateful for working gas and logs. Then I pull a blanket off the bed and wrap it around me to return to the window.

I spot a shadow against the snow. A sizable one, like a Yeti backed by trees.

It takes the short crosswalk and heads toward my cabin.

It’s Hex.

I throw open my door. “Hurry!”

He rushes forward and hurtles into the room. I slam the door behind him.

“Did you try calling the lobby?” I ask him.

“Yeah, did you?”

“I only got voicemail.” My voice has a tremor in it.

“Same. And the phone is useless for data.”

“Mine, too.”

He stomps his boots. “Should we try going to the lobby?”

“It looks dark in there.”

“We could get some information.”

“Yeah.”

He tightens his scarf around his neck. Only his face is visible. “I’ll go. Then I’ll come report back.”

Fear overtakes me in a cold rush. “No, I’ll go too.”

“It’s bitter out there.”

“I’m a little scared.”

His eyebrows draw together. “I won’t leave you alone.”

“Let me bundle up.”

I realize my heavy coat is still hanging in the kitchen. Damn it. That was a stupid mistake. I layer on a sweater, a hoodie, and my chef jacket. I guess it’s good I wear them loose.

“Take my gloves,” he says, tugging his off. “I guess you left yours in the kitchen.”

I nod, gratefully pulling them on. He has deep pockets, at least. I dig through my bag for the extra scarf I packed, the lighter, prettier one. It’s something, at least.

I shove my feet in my chef shoes, which are thick and waterproof. “I’m ready.”

He nods. “Don’t close your door. The locks are electronic and your key won’t work.”

“Good thinking.” We step out and stick a rolled-up towel at the base. I’m glad he thought of that. If we were both locked out of our cabins, we’d be in real trouble.

We head up the sidewalks. The snow is defeating the steam-warmed sidewalks, piling up in slushy patches that are turning to ice.

Hex takes my hand. “Don’t fall.”

We hurry toward the back entrance to the lobby. Before we even get there, though, I know we won’t get in. It requires a key card to enter, and the lock needs power to work.

We press against the glass. Inside, we see a glow of low emergency lights, probably on a generator. There’s nobody inside.

“Did they ditch us?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Hex turns to look at the other cabins. “Without any power, it’s hard to see if there’s anyone in the other cabins.”

“You think they told everyone in class to leave, and since we weren’t there, we didn’t know?”

“That’s some negligence,” Hex says. “But I told the front desk I was planning on leaving early. Maybe they assumed I did.”

“And if they called my room or even came by, I wasn’t there,” I say.

“Shit,” he says.

We fall silent.

“Let’s knock on a few doors,” Hex says. “Just to be sure. Then we’ll go back to one of our cabins.”

“You have food,” I say, already thinking ahead.

“You have more firewood.”

“Okay, you get your food and meet me in my cabin.”

He nods.

We dash up to the closest cabin and beat on the door. Hex looks in the window.

“Nobody there.”

We try two more, then get too cold. Hex heads for his cabin, and I hurry to mine. The snow is quickly overtaking the sidewalks. Either the steam quit functioning, or it isn’t made to withstand a storm like this.

I kick off my shoes and switch to dry socks and sweatpants. The snow has melted on everything from my shins down.

I search for additional blankets and find two more. I pile them in front of the fire.

How big of a storm is this? Big enough to evacuate the retreat, it seems.

Hex enters without knocking, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

I jump up, taking his duffel so he can drop the load of firewood next to mine.

I close the door.

This retreat just got intense.