Snow Boots (#3)

s k i

"I love the scents of winter! For me, it's all about the feeling you get when you smell pumpkin spice, cinnamon, nutmeg, gingerbread and spruce." – Taylor Swift

Dedication: walksonMainStreet for the support and much appreciated patience for updates that I don't see often on Wattpad. Thanks so much, babe! <3

Extra: My four year anniversary giveaway winner, visheretowrite, is featured in this chapter as herself, Violet. She has a one-off appearance, and it's going to be good ;)

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Andrew's POV

"Your face is weird!" Andrew protested through the phone as he emerged from his cozy little bedroom, making a beeline for the roaring fireplace of flickering orange.

He plopped down beside the flames, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear. He wrung out his saturated clothing into a bucket and lay his shoes on a piece of newspaper, letting them dry from the heat of the fire. Then he stretched out his legs and let the warmth wash over his goosebump covered skin. You see, he'd been skiing that morning with Penelope and having the time of his life. She'd taught him more than Quinn's lame flirting advice had, that's for sure.

The girl in question snottily said, "also, I don't think anything can get weirder than the fact that you were actually excited to talk to my co-worker, Chipmunk."

Andrew rolled his eyes at the nickname. Out of all the entire universe of nicknames, the one she chose was a mutated squirrel? He understood that they had somewhat of a mutual hate and therefore she would try to think of the most demeaning nickname her pea-sized brain could come up with, but after Andrew's immediate discovery that there was a rat stealing all his scraps in the lodge, he was feeling particularly nasty towards rodents.

"Andrew," he said so suddenly that he almost gave himself a shock.

"Say what now?" came Quinn's confused response.

A jolt of electricity sparked along Andrew's arms; he wondered whether he'd touched a spark plug, since clumsiness was one of the qualities that he did, unfortunately, inherit from his mother. He glanced around. No outlets in sight. Then a wave of realisation rippled through his bones, through his very core, as he realised that that simple question Quinn just asked, mimicked what he had said days ago. What did this mean?

Unfortunately, Andrew's mouth didn't let his brain have adequate time to ponder on this revelation. His lips opened up on their own and words flooded out, words that solidified the awkward tension of his abrupt change of subject. "The name's Andrew."

No time for an adequate response was drawn, for Andrew quickly ended the call and set his phone down as if it was a hot rod. Gingerly, he lifted a blanket, since there were often hints of gunk on these lodge-supplied resources. He sighed in relief once he inspected it closely and found no signs of squashed bugs. In fact, it looked brand new, infused with a creamy beige colour. Maybe Quinn had decided to stop torturing him with bug guts. How nice.

Next thing he knew, she'd be sending over some bald Asian monks to recite fairytales and feed him fried grasshoppers or something.

Honestly, he couldn't figure that girl out, as much as he tried. She was sarcastic, she was brutal. She had taught him a grand total of zilch about flirting so far, but somehow, her mere presence either caused Andrew to scuttle angrily out of his shell or blubber like a kid who'd just had their Halloween candy confiscated. He still wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. Besides, the blubbering business also activated around a certain redhead. Penelope.