Snow Angel

Let's Get Lost

OLIVER

For a fraction of a second when I wake, I'm not sure where I am. It's not my apartment in Boston. Not my bedroom in my childhood home in St. Augustine. I turn my head and blink at a Christmas tree. It's red-and-gold garland sparkles even in the gray morning light that's filtering through a bank of windows. My eyes go to the stone fireplace. There's no fire, which means the gas is probably on some sort of timer.

The cabin. Vermont.

As I sit up, I remember everything. Charlotte. A rush of happiness fills my chest.

There she is, sleeping on the other part of the sofa. She's wrapped in her red blanket like a burrito, her angelic face peeking out. I'd like to sit here for a while and watch her sleep, but that would be creepy. So I tiptoe out.

A shower and coffee make me feel human. But, damn. Last night. I'd had my chance and screwed things up with her again.

It had been my chance to finally tell her how I feel, and I failed. And now our parents are probably coming in today, which will make it a thousand times more difficult to talk with her. Especially if something's wrong with her mom.

Maybe this isn't the time to tell her at all. I could wait. Make plans to come see her in Vermont in a month or two. Or invite her to my place. Tell her I'd like to take her to a concert. I'm sure I can find something she'd like.

She hinted that she'd come to Boston. Hell, I've waited five years for her. What's another couple of months?

I'm about to take a sip of my coffee when my phone buzzes. I pick up.

"Hey, Dad."

"Oliver. How's the cabin? The conditions on the mountain?"

"The mountain's sick. Conditions are perfect. I snowboarded all day yesterday. Sore as hell." I groan. "And the cabin's sweet, too. Charlotte came in last night."

Dad makes a humming noise. "I see."

"We had pizza, drank a couple of beers. watched a movie." I try to sound casual. "We're thinking about snowshoeing today. When are you and mom getting in?"

"Doesn't look like today, son. Everything's shut down because of this storm. All up and down the East Coast. Your mother and I are with Emma and Caleb, having breakfast by the pool. I'll let you know as soon as we can take off. I wanted you to know that we might not get there until tomorrow. Maybe even the day after. Things are a mess. Not the way your mother and I wanted to spend Christmas."

I grin into the phone. Another day alone with Charlotte. Or two.

"That's okay, Dad. I understand." My heart rate's kicked up.

"Son, you got everything under control there? You and Charlotte?"

He knows how I felt about Charlotte when we were teenagers. He'd interrupted us kissing, and the next day, as he moved me into my dorm, gave me a stern lecture about not breaking her heart. Our families were friends, he'd said. Business partners.

Don't poison the well with your teenage lust.

Don't start something you won't be able to finish.

There are lots of women in college who are your age. A more appropriate age.

I listened to him and stayed away, figuring that I was in New York at university, and she was still in high school. She was too young, I told myself in those months after the kiss.

"All under control."

"Good to hear. Your mother says hello. Talk soon, son."

We hang up. Maybe things have changed. Charlotte and I are older. She probably has a boyfriend. Or dozens of guys wanting to be with her.