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Miscommunication

I t was go time.

I put my ear buds in before looking around the kitchen, grateful to the tips of my toes that I had three days before the wedding party arrived for the bachelor/bachelorette shindig to complete my stupid projects.

Thank God, my brother knew what a crappy Maid of Honor I was and arranged for a little extra time for me to complete the Pinterest tasks once I finally landed back in Minnesota.

While I didn’t know the dude who owned the place I was in, the cabin sat an hour outside of St. Paul surrounded by a forest with a frozen lake out back; it reminded me how much I missed the state I’d grown up in.

The kitchen floor of the cabin had been converted into a meadow of white flowers that I was attempting to use my hot glue gun to stick onto foam boards that leaned against the wall to provide a magical photo backdrop at my cousin’s wedding.

Whoever invented Pinterest should burn in hell like my poor little thumb.

I pulled up my “kicking ass” playlist, with everything from Olivia Rodrigo and Adele to Noah Kahan and Taylor and was ready to slay my projects. Okay, not slay , more like muddle through with a mediocre result, but I was in it to win it.

As my head bobbed to my tunes, I felt a presence. I whipped around to see a man wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up over his head inches from me. Screaming doesn’t cover what shot out of my mouth in an octave I wasn’t even aware I could hit. Dude put his hands up.

This was it. This was the day I would die in a cabin in the middle of nowhere as the serial killer would then chop me into pieces right there in the kitchen.

Lucky for me, survival mode kicked in. A split second later, my left fist hit his nose while the right nailed his eye. My foot whipped up and kicked him in the balls with all the might I had before he crashed to the floor with a thunderous thud.

“Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!” My voice was shrill, and I grabbed a toaster from the counter and hurled it at him.

I zipped to my purse and dumped the contents on the counter. I grabbed the little pink can of mace and ran back over to the fella who was rocking side to side while cupping his family jewels.

His eyes were closed, and I leaned forward to shoot him with my liquid protector before I’d call the police, but nothing came out of the can. I shook it and looked at the nozzle and then shot myself in the face. MACE IN MY FACE!

I heard myself screeching as my face caught on fire.

Instant tears streaming, snot dripping, with a new inability to get oxygen in my lungs.

I blinked hard, realizing I needed to get myself out the door because I had just incapacitated myself for the serial killer. Clearly, the word of the day was fuck .

I wiped my eyes and took a step toward where I thought my keys may be when my ankle was yanked hard, causing my body to slam into the floor with such force I swore a bone somewhere must’ve busted.

I scooted blindly on my stomach toward the door.

A hand grabbed my leg while panic pumped through my veins at the same time visions of my funeral whipped through my cranium.

My poor mama crying her eyes out while she clung to Madam Fluffypants, the family cat, who was wearing a knit sweater dress my mom made her to match my humiliating crocheted jumpsuit.

Sorry, Mom, you were right…a girl alone at a cabin was the worst idea ever. See ya on the other side.

“Let go of me!” I kicked with all my might.

“Ouch! Stop!” boomed out from the man behind me.

I pulled a kitchen chair out so hard it hit my lip, and I instantly tasted a little blood. “Son of a bitch!” I pushed it to the ground, fairly certain it landed on my attacker, and got to my knees while more coughing kicked in as the mace crawled deeper into my lungs.

Snot was dangling from my nose when there was suddenly a hand on each of my ankles, and in an instant, I was being dragged along the kitchen floor on my tummy.

“Leeggooo!” I squirmed, but his grip was tight. “Fuuuccckkk!”

I was flipped on my back, and he sat on my stomach holding me still.

But not my arms. I was swinging and made contact with a scruffy beard and dug my fingernails of one hand into his face while slapping him silly with the other.

If CSI had taught me one thing, it’s to get some shit under your fingernails so they could track down my killer.

“Ouch! Stop it,” a deep, husky voice that shook the room ordered. “This is my cabin!”

“Huh?” My face was saturated with my tears which you’d think would be washing the mace out of my eyeballs, but I was as blind as a bat.

He got hold of my wrists, held them firmly above my head and pinned me to the floor. I was the weak mouse dropped into the cage of a python. Powerless.

“Why the fuck are you in my house?” he hissed, and I felt his hot breath on my neck.

The burn in my face was almost debilitating as my skin throbbed. I closed my eyes, hoping the stabbing would subside.

“Shit. I’m Dave Novotny’s sister, Fern. He said I could come here to finish some wedding projects. I assumed he told whoever the hell owned this place that I was coming.” My heart was sprinting. “I’m going to kill him.”

I was instantly released, a little surprised when I was picked up and set on a chair.

“He did not tell me.” I jumped as I felt the stranger’s breath on my face. “I’ll kill him first.”

My hands went to my cheeks. “I think I’m dying.”

I heard him moving around but kept my eyes closed, trying to breathe through the mace pain, and used my sleeve to get the snot hanging out of my nose. At this point, death didn’t sound all that bad.

Another yell escaped me before my breath was taken away yet again when milk was cascaded over my head. I gasped and choked as it seeped into my mouth, nose, and ears, but the first moment of relief registered in my brain while the pain eased a little.

Once the milk flood stopped, a towel was placed in my hand, and I dabbed my face that was still as hot as a jalapeno. I blinked, but my vision was blurry.

The thick silence reminded me that I was clearly an unwelcome guest in this man’s cabin. I needed to get the hell out. “I’m really sorry about the mix up here. As soon as I can see again, I’m outta here.”

“No, I’ll go.” His voice was gravelly and oozed anger.

“I insist.” I groaned as my eyelids still burned, and I could feel swelling. “I want to get the hell out of this place now. I hate it here.”

“It’s not the cabin’s fault you’re crazy.”

I gasped. “Me crazy?”

“Who in the hell starts punching people without asking who they are? You deserved to get maced for your reckless behavior. I could’ve killed you!” His words were sharp, and I hated him with every fiber of my fucked-up being.

I turned in the direction of the horrible human being. “Or I could’ve killed you!”

He gave me a huff. “Right.”

“You’re an asshole.” I wiped my eyes again and spun around in my chair, wanting to get a glimpse of the dick in front of me, but no such luck. “Who doesn’t announce their presence instead of sneaking up behind someone?”

A sarcastic laugh filled the room, making me want to beat this person with a frying pan. “I tried, but you couldn’t hear me. You were probably listing to Taylor Swift shit like an airhead.”

Gasp. “You just shut your face! She’s a poet, but you’re just too small-minded to know that.”

“Whatever.” I heard him turn on the kitchen faucet.

“Well, my sight will be returning soon so consider me gone!” I was now able to see shadows and felt my way to the counter.

I found my keys and attempted to shove my handbag contents back inside but could hear everything falling on the floor so I just grabbed my wallet, knowing I could replace the rest. I’d just sit in my car until I could see enough to drive.

It was a shitty plan, but the best I could think of.

I turned in the direction I believed he was in. “Peace out.”

I shuffled over to where the door was, but instead walked into the wall then felt his hand on my arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was rigid and impatient.

“You’re not the boss of me.” I squirmed out of his grasp. “I do whatever I want. And I want to be as far away from here as possible.” I turned to exit, and my face slammed into the wall for the second time in the last twenty seconds. Word of the day again?

“As much as I want your ass as far away from here as possible, you’ll likely break your neck tumbling down the stairs, and then I’ll have to deal with Dave. Clearly, you’re just one big shit show. You’re staying.”

“I will not stay in the same house as a douche-baggy prick like you.” I hadn’t realized my teeth were clenched together.

“You’re the one who assaulted yourself with mace.” His tone was flat.

I opened my mouth to say something, but at that second, I was scooped up and thrown over the guy’s shoulder.

“You put me down!”

He laughed. “Let’s just get you to your room so I don’t have to listen to another word out of your mouth, okay?”

After a few seconds, I was startled when I landed on my bed. “I am leaving as soon as I?—”

He huffed. “Do you ever shut up?”

I was going to answer, but realized it was a trap.

“Your brother will murder me if I let the sister he seems to like roam off.” He inhaled deeply.

“You do what you have to in order to recover from whatever the hell just happened in the kitchen. I’m going to my room for some well-earned quiet time in my home.

We’ll figure out who leaves in the morning. Got it?”

My vision was clearing enough to see the outline of the tall man with dark brown hair and broad shoulders. I knew the Minnesota Wild hockey players by their appearances more so than names so it would do no good to ask him which one he was. Bottom line, he was the asshole from the Wild.

I got to my room, still trying to wrap my mind around what had just transpired. Once in the bathroom, I shook my head at the reflection staring back at me.