Romantic Rescues

Holden

The first big snowstorm of the season brings more than just snowflakes—it brings unexpected guests and personal dilemmas. As Holden juggles his morning deliveries with concerns about Britt's whereabouts, the cozy idea of being snowed in together starts to take on a new urgency. A bonfire with the Fosters and the promise of hot cocoa might just be the perfect backdrop for them—until an unexpected package throws a wrench in the works. As the storm intensifies, so do the personal confrontations, leaving our couple to navigate not just slippery streets but also slippery emotions. Bundle up and stay tuned. The cold weather might lock you in, but that's where the magic happens.

Playlist: "Take The Box" by Amy Winehouse

It's supposed to be the first big snowstorm of the season according the warnings. Winters start early this close to the Canadian border, and if the weather report is to be believed, we could be snowed in for days. I have everything I need to get two people through the crap weather when the snow starts to fly.

The one thing I don't have? The slightest clue where my temporary girlfriend has run off to.

I call her number while I run my morning deliveries, telling myself that there's nothing to worry about. It's still mid-morning, the first flakes haven't even started to fall, the power's steady, and the roads are clear. I want her at the house with me, though. To make sure she's safe, and to know that if the power goes out we can huddle for warmth. Or, you know, other stuff. For warmth. It's a matter of survival, I reckon.

To my relief, she answers on the third ring. "Hey." She sounds distracted even through the added filter of my phone's shitty external speakers. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" I ask.

"Motel room. I'm searching for a precedent to use against my misogynist asshole father."

"That sounds…" I search for a suitable word. "Challenging? Is that something you could do here?"

"I can do it anywhere with Wi-Fi." Keys clatter in the background as she taps away.

This doesn't sound like the cozy, romantic scenario I had in mind, but okay. "I'll be done by 2 p.m. You should come wait out the storm at my place. I have hot cocoa."

"I know. I ordered it."

I stop at a sign and flick on my turn signal. The roads are quiet, although there was a rush of people out and about in the early morning, stocking up in case they get trapped at home for a few days.

"The Brothers Foster usually have a bonfire. There will be wieners."

She laughs. "I should have guessed. But will there be cups?"

I smile to myself because she's predictable like that. She thinks of everything. "How come you never order anything to be delivered at their place? Problem solved!"

"You're a genius. I'm on it."

"Why do I feel like you're on the Walmart app and you're no longer listening to me?" I ask.

She doesn't miss a beat. "What? Did you say something?"

"Ha ha. You're funny. Okay. I'm going to go finish my deliveries. Go whenever you want. You have a key!"

"Only while I'm here!" she reminds me, as if I don't anticipate her reply with enough accuracy to mouth the words along with her.

"I don't expect you to drive up from Minneapolis when the snow flies, but since you're still in town… meet you after my shift? Remember, the coffee maker is at my place."

"Ooh, good point. Although it won't matter if the power's out, but… fine, fine, I'll be over around two. Drive safe." She hangs up.

Drive safe. It's hardly a declaration of love, but it warms me from the inside out. I put the pedal to the metal, relatively speaking, and hurry to deliver the rest of the packages.

* * *

The first thing I say when Shep opens the door of his rental house is, "We have a problem."

Shep's forehead wrinkles as he stares down at the box clutched in my hands. "A package? For me? What's wrong with it?"

"It's not for you," I tell him. "It's for Britt."

Shep looks around, even though we're standing on the porch of his house. "But… she's not here."

Shep is my best friend, but sometimes I wonder how he made it this far in life. "I know, dude. I came to you for help. This package… it's from Fitz." I point at the return label on the box.

"Ohhhhkayyy." Shep drags the word out as long as it will go. "But who's Fitz?"

"Exactly." I look around, the way I would if I was part of an Ocean's Eleven-style heist. Actually, scratch that, if I was part of a heist, I'd want to lie low and play it cool. I crab-walk past him into his living room.

Shep closes the door behind me. "Seriously, who's Fitz and why is he a problem?"

I don't know what to tell him, partly because I don't understand all of the details myself. I heard part of Britt's conversation on the phone a few days ago, and although I'm not entirely sure what she was fighting with her dad about, I heard enough to have serious misgivings about the last package in my van.

"Fitz is the guy her father wants her to marry. So… I don't know what to do."

I put the box down on his sorry excuse for a coffee table, which is really three milk crates stacked side-by-side with a sheet of plywood on top. "I need your help."

Shep wanders over to my side. "I don't want to tell you how to do your job, Holden, but I'm pretty sure you have to give her the package. Because the government pays you to. Also because you don't lie to the people you love, and you love Britt, right?"

Here's the thing about Shep: people think he's dumb, just because he does a lot of dumb shit. And, let's be honest, he does a lot of it. He's not always quick on the uptake. Still, under all the dubious fashion sense and teenage-boy-humor, his loyalty and sincerity make him prime best friend material. There's a reason I came here when I realized what I was holding.

"I know it's my job," I tell him. "The problem is, I don't know if I can give her things like this."

Shep cocks his head. "You don't even know what this is."

"I know. I shook it a few times. Not hard. Says Fragile." I frown at the box. "And I don't want to accidentally break anything."

"I've got you." Shep trots off to the kitchen and returns with a box cutter.

"Whoa, wait, are you trying to get me fired?" I do a body-block on the package.

"Accidents happen. Things get damaged in transit." Shep nudges me aside, kneels down, and has that damn box open in two seconds flat. "Oops!" He flicks the blade shut.

"Great. Now I'll get to hear about how Blink never messes up her packages." I kneel down next to him.

Shep sets the box cutter aside and turns to me with a genuinely concerned expression. "Who's Blink? Is he another guy her dad wants her involved with? Sounds like Britt has a lot going on. You're a simple man with simple needs, Holden. And this is getting more complicated by the second."

"Ew, no. Blink is the Walmart delivery guy and a surefire trip to the clink for cavorting with a minor." Although I do feel like Blink is a worthier rival for Britt's affections than this Fitz guy. Britt was pretty dismissive of the latter on the phone, but Blink's the one who brought her the coffee maker. And the milk frothing whisky thing. And the turkey bacon, and the avocados, and the cinnamon raisin bread, and—

"Sounds like you have nothing to worry about," Shep assures me. He nudges one flap of the box open, then immediately slaps it closed. His face goes pale.

"What is it?" I ask. Since we've already broken the law, I might as well know what's going on.

"This is… it looks like…" Shep squeezes his eyes shut. "Am I allowed to say what it looks like?"

"I asked," I hiss back.

"Okay, it's glass, and I think." Shep squeezes his eyes shut and his throat bobs. "I think it's a glass dildo."

I stare at him in silence for a few incredulous seconds. "Normally, I'd think you were exaggerating, but I still haven't recovered from the box-o-dildos I delivered to Tierney. What kind of relationship do you have to have with a woman to send her a glass dildo, though?"

"I don't know, but it would have to be something special." Shep opens one eye. He keeps his hand on top of the box, just in case the thing inside decides to jump out and pull a Little Gingerbread Man.

"That's one word for it."

Shep's hand atop the box trembles. "It's two o'clock. Do you know where your girl is?"

Right on cue, my phone rings. "It's her!" I whisper. "Be cool, be cool, be cool."

Shep does a body block between the phone and the box and gives me two thumbs up. It's the thought that counts.

"Hey, babe!" I answer, a little too brightly. Even though we're probably not even at the terms of endearment stage yet, she doesn't miss a beat.

"Holden. Something's weird. I have a bad feeling." Britt was distracted during our first call, but she's focused now.

"Oh? You do?" I make a desperate gesture to Shep, who only shakes his head. I've heard about women's intuition, but this is downright spooky.

"I saw a sign…"

"I love signs," I babble. Tape. We need tape. I mime to Shep, who scrambles back to the kitchen. He returns with duct tape. I wave my hand toward him—that's never going to fly—but it's too late. He's already going to town on the box. From where I'm sitting, a man who would send a woman a glass dildo would never seal up the box with silver duct tape.

Crap.

"At the motel," Britt's saying. "In the parking lot. No vacancy."

"Oh, that's great," I say. "Good for business."

"Maybe. But who'd be here? During a winter weather warning."

She has a point. I turn my back on Shep's misguided attempt to cover our tracks. "I don't know. Maybe someone has family visiting from out of town?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Britt says.

If I hadn't been freaking out about the box, I might have put two and two together earlier. "You think your family's here?"

"It's possible… I kind of argued with my dad and then I kind of hung up on him. I've been using my sick days. He is technically my boss on top of being my father…"

"I'll be right there," I tell her.

Behind me, Shep calls, "We'll be right there!"

Great. Just what I needed.

* * *

The good news: Britt's family isn't here. The bad news: the motel is closed.

It started snowing while I was at Shep's place, and now it's coming down hard. Fortunately, I've got a new set of winter tires on the van and much-needed all-wheel drive.

A familiar dark hunk of metal sits in the parking lot, belching thick smoke against the white backdrop.

"What's wrong with Sleetwood Mac?" Shep's clearly worried about the Zamboni and its erstwhile driver, but I'm more concerned about the darkened windows of the motel. If it's full-up, why is it so dark?

"Came to get your damsel in distress, Express?" Virgil offers me a gap-toothed grin as we pull to a stop. His gloves are off, and he keeps his hands cupped around his mouth, exhaling on his fingers.

"Looks like it." I peer up at the building. The usual shadows are softened to shades of blurred twilight gray despite the early hour. Between the overcast sky and the reflective snow, it doesn't look like afternoon out there. "What happened?"

"Power's out," Virgil says.

"All over town?" I look around, but the lights at Power Play are still on, and I can hear music echoing over the muffled ground.

"Nah, just here." He nods to the motel. "Tree came down out back, knocked out one of the lines. I was going to take a look, but it'll have to wait for better weather."

Britt is waiting for me next to her car, which doesn't stand a chance on the roads in this condition. She looks utterly miserable, with all of her luggage in tow. When she sees me, however, she forces a smile.

"Good news… it wasn't my family." Her wry grin twists my heart and reignites my guilt over that damn package. I never should have touched it.

"I'm not sure it's good for everyone," I remark, with a vague gesture toward the motel.

"Oh, well." Britt shrugs and lifts her chin. "If my dad had come all the way here to confront me, one or the other of us would have blown a fuse, so it's all the same in the end." She winks, but her bravado quickly fades as she stares up into my eyes. "So, um. I kind of got kicked out of my room…"

"So you're coming to stay with me. Yeah, I'd worked that out already." I grin and reach for the handle of her nearest bag.

A funny expression crosses her face, a mixture of surprise and relief. Did she really think I'd leave her to fend for herself in a busted motel? I would hope by now that she'd recognize that I'm more than happy to have her around. From everything she's told me about her family, though, I guess she's used to being left to fend for herself.

"Come on, it's freezing out here," I tell her.

Before I can make a move for the van, though, Britt throws her arms around my middle and squeezes me tight. "Thank you," she says into the front of my jacket, her voice muffled by the layers of down. "It means a lot to me that I can count on you."

"You totally can. Count on me. Now come on." I shepherd her toward the van. If I make a big thing about this, she'll draw back into her shell. I know she's not used to being earnest and open about her feelings, but I hope to eventually convince her that I can be trusted with all those gooey, vulnerable emotions she keeps on lockdown.

Shep helps us load her things into the van, surrendering the front seat to Britt. He crouches in the back, with her luggage, along with the evidence of our earlier crimes. I'm not looking forward to explaining that, but I'll have to come clean eventually. Back at the house, before we leave for the Fosters'. I'll have Shep stay in the car while we talk, just to clear the air.

I've just decided on this course of action when I spot a flash of black paint against the snow. "Looks like someone ran into a drift," I observe, nodding to the car. I don't recognize the plates. I also don't recognize the vehicle, although it looks expensive… not the kind of car most people around here can afford and not a model that anyone in their right mind would drive in a storm.

Britt goes rigid and wraps her arms around herself, staring out at the little black sports car. "No way," she whispers.

Whatever she's about to say is drowned out in Shep's cry of delight. "My time has come!" He yanks open the door and vaults out into the drift. Within seconds, he's produced a road flare from God knows where and sets it off a safe distance from the stranded car.

"What is he doing?" Britt asks, her distress momentarily forgotten.

"Normal Shep things." I roll my eyes. "My question is, where did it come from?"

"I always have a few on me." Shep scrambles back into the seat and slams the door again. He's brought a considerable amount of snow in with him. "The car's empty. Looks like the driver got out okay. I bet whoever it is ended up at Power Play." He points back toward the bar we just passed. We haven't made it far; Virgil and his Zamboni are still visible from where we've parked.

"Should we check?" I ask although I'd rather just drive home. My USPS senses are tingling like warning bells. "Maybe we'd better just—"

"We're going to Power Play," Britt announces. She's glaring daggers at the abandoned car. "I know exactly who it is."

I gulp. "Your… dad?"

"Worse." Britt puffs out her cheeks and yanks her hat lower over her ears. "It's Fitz."