3. Lissy

Chapter 3

Lissy

I wake up to the sound of the wind howling like a living thing. I must’ve dozed off after eating. The cabin feels different in the morning light, more isolated, more... vulnerable. I wrap a blanket around my shoulders, shivering despite the lingering warmth from the fireplace. Erik is already up, looking out the window with a furrowed brow. "It's getting worse," he says, and I can hear the concern in his voice.

“How much longer do you think it will last?”

“No tellin’. Your phone said the blizzard warning was until nine. That just means that the winds were strong. Not that the snow was going to stop falling.”

Erik tosses me one of the honey and oat granola bars that I packed.

“Have some breakfast. I started the percolator over the fire, we should have some coffee in about ten more minutes. I found a bag and some sugar in the cupboards. Some of the powdered creamer too if you’re into that.”

I huddle under the blanket and just stare off into the fire for a minute. The flames have a way of mesmerizing me, the way they dance with no rhyme or reason.

We spend the day in close quarters, the storm making it impossible to venture outside. The power is still out, so we can’t even take a shower. My hair and make-up must be a fright at this point.

Erik tries to keep things light, telling stories about his soccer team, making me laugh despite myself.

“...that was the last time I ever walked around the locker room in just a jock strap.”

I start to see him in a different light, not just the jock everyone thinks he is. There's depth there, a kindness that's genuine and unforced.

As night falls, the power flickers for a minute, and then goes right back out, leaving us in darkness once again. Erik looks for more candles, the ones we had last night burned all the way down already.

“Ah, here we go.” He waves a box of crayons in the air.

Popping open the cardboard box, he hands me a few, along with the lighter.

“Just melt it for a few seconds to give the base something to stick to.”

“Where did you learn all of this stuff from?”

“I was a cub scout when I was younger. Gave up way before boy scouts though. When I found sports, I was in one-hundred percent. I didn’t have time for badges and camping trips.”

I watched him place a couple of the crayons in the holders that already had melted wax at the bottom. Then I walked around with my handful and repeated the actions. The crayons were a little smokey, but did the trick .

“These will only burn for about thirty minutes each, so we shouldn’t light up too many.” We only spark up two each, and leave extras by the spot. The big box of too many colors doesn’t seem like such a bad idea to get from now on.

In their soft glow, the cabin feels even more intimate. We sit close to the fire, sharing stories and secrets we've never told anyone else. I find myself opening up to him, the words spilling out before I can stop them. There's a comfort in the darkness, a feeling of being seen and understood that I didn't expect to find here, with him.

As we sit by the fire, our conversation ebbs and flows with a surprising ease. I can feel the warmth of Erik's presence, an unexpected source of comfort. The flickering light from our makeshift crayon candles casts a soft, colorful hue over everything, creating an almost magical atmosphere.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you weren’t a soccer star?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. He pauses, his gaze thoughtful as he stares into the fire. “Sometimes,” he admits, “but then I wouldn’t have met all the amazing people I have, including our crazy group.”

I smile, the sound of the wind and the crackling fire forming a cocoon around us. It's strange how the storm outside has brought us together, two people who, under normal circumstances, might never have shared such moments.

I tuck my legs under me, feeling the rough texture of the blanket against my skin, and take in the scent of the burning crayons, oddly sweet and waxy. This is one of those times when there are so many things to say, and yet nothing is said.

The hours slip by, marked only by the occasional need to add more wood to the fire or to replace our crayon candles. Erik shares more stories, some funny, some touching. I find myself laughing more than I have in a long time. It's easy to forget the world outside, the storm that rages on, relentless and unyielding. “I never took you for the storytelling type,” I say, a playful note in my voice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replies with a grin.