10

Milo

"You're weird," Beth says, about five minutes into our drive.

The first thing she did when she got into my car was take full advantage of the fifty-fifty song selection. We've currently got Sabrina Carpenter playing, and as a twenty-seven-year-old dude, I've never come across her before. The track is cute and boppy and definitely not something I would have picked Beth as liking.

And that's the first thing she's said to me.

I don't mind though. I plan on using my allocated music selection on Mariah Carey's Christmas album because I'm a freak who can never get tired of listening to her belt out those holiday tracks. There may even be a rumor going around that I have every single word to every single song memorized, which I am not prepared to either confirm or deny. Don't want it messing up my whole grump image.

"I'm weird?" I say, increasing the speed on the wipers. "Do we want to explore your car-related sex story?"

"But that's just it. That story would scare most normal men away. But not you. Hence, I stand by what I said. You're weird."

I glance over at her way too briefly but am quickly forced to return my attention back to the road. It's really starting to come down heavily now.

I checked the weather report this morning, and it's been snowing lightly up on the mountain these past few days, but the conditions are forecasted to get worse today.

That's just great.

We live in Monterey County, California, so my tires are not equipped for snow. I plan on taking it slow and steady. I'm going to need to keep my wits about me. As much for the weather, as well as due to my unexpected—but very welcome—travel companion.

"Firstly, I have never claimed to be normal, so that's on you for jumping to the wrong conclusion about me. And secondly, you don't scare me."

"I…don't?" I catch her head turning out of the corner of my eye, like she can't quite believe what I said. "Why? Why don't I scare you?"

I chuckle. "Because I'm weird, remember? And it's nice to interact with a woman who's smart and strong and funny. And you're all three things."

She adjusts how she's sitting. "Well, I can't fault your people-reading skills, I suppose."

To say Beth looks stunning would be a huge disservice to the word. I don't think there even is a word to describe how beautiful she looks in a burgundy long-sleeved, floor-length gown, a camel-colored, mid-length coat, and a pair of black heeled boots. Her hair is long enough that she can tie it in a short ponytail, whatever makeup she's wearing makes her skin glow, and her lips are a bright, striking red that drew my eye the moment I saw her.

"Does this mean you don't find my teasing insulting?" she asks.

"Correct. But I need to make sure you're not one of those girls? And just so you know, I'd use air quotes around those girls if it wasn't raining so much and I didn't have to keep both hands on the steering wheel. And also if a certain someone hadn't banned me from using air quotes."

"I'm glad you remember." I can hear the smile in her voice. "And what girls are you referring to?"

"Oh, you know, the type of girls that can dish it out but can't take it back. What's the word I'm looking for? Oh, yeah. Weak girls."

She huffs out a breath. "What's your middle name?"

"Excuse me?"

"Middle name, Milo."

"Garrett."

She clears her throat. "I can assure you, Milo Garrett Payne, I am definitely not one of those girls."

"You…you middle named me."

"I did."

"And I'm pretty sure I saw you lift your hands and use air quotes around those girls."

"It's an allowable exception. I had to make my point." She shuffles in her seat. "Did I make my point?"

I smile, my chest flaring with an unfamiliar but very pleasant warmth. "You sure did."

"Good. Now that that's settled, you need to drive a little faster or we'll be late."

"In case you haven't noticed, it's raining. I'm going as fast as I can."

"In case you haven't noticed, we just got overtaken by a group of nuns."

"Yeah, well, they've got God on their side," I mutter.

She harrumphs and folds her arms.

The rain is really coming down hard now. The wipers are on max, and it's barely helping. Visibility is shot.

Beth sits up and leans toward the windshield. "It's snowing."

Even though I'm seeing the flakes falling with my own eyes, and I heard about snow in the weather report, it still feels a little surreal. "How is this possible? We're in California."

"We're in the mountains in California," Beth explains. "It's a microclimate up here. It's been snowing lightly up here all week."

I squint and peer over the steering wheel. "This doesn't look light to me."

She turns the music off and switches over to the radio, just in time for us to catch the weather report. "…a fast-moving, unprecedented weather situation developing affecting multiple areas on the mountain."

"That doesn't sound good," she says, and I can hear the worry in her voice.

I slow down even more, keep my eyes glued to the road, and say, "Can you turn the volume up please?"

She leans forward and rotates the dial. "Of course."

"Meteorologists are predicting snowfall amounts of up to three feet in some areas of Cedar Crest Hollow…"

Cedar Crest Hollow, that's where Fraser and Evie are getting married.

"…The snowfall is expected to be heavy and wet, making road conditions extremely hazardous."

That really doesn't sound good, but I try not to let my concern show on my face.

I'm a good driver. Not that experienced in these sorts of conditions, granted, but we'll be fine.

We have to be.

I have to keep Beth safe, and I've got two kids who are counting on me to make it back in one piece.

"All non-essential travel should be avoided until this weather event has passed and roads have been cleared."

"The wedding." Beth covers her mouth. "Poor Evie and Fraser."

I guess my cool and calm demeanor is working if she's more worried about the wedding than our current driving predicament.

"Major highways and mountain roads will be closed due to the dangerous conditions. Local authorities are working to set up emergency shelters for those who cannot make it home. If you are currently driving in or around Cedar Crest Hollow, you are strongly advised to find a safe place to stop and seek shelter immediately."

"Oh my gosh." She clutches at her chest and starts taking rapid, shallow breaths as reality hits her. "We're in danger."

"It's okay," I say, keeping my voice calm. "Just keep breathing, nice and steady, and stay calm." She doesn't respond, but I can hear her breathing slowly return to normal. "We need to get off the road. You know these mountains better than I do. Is there anywhere we can pull off close by?"

"Actually, yeah. There's a left turn coming up ahead. Whispering Pines is a few miles away."

"Then that's where we're going."

I see the turn and take it.

"I'm pretty sure they have a motel," Beth says, pulling her phone out. "Shoot. No reception. I wanted to make a booking."

"It's fine. I'm sure we'll find something."

She sighs. "I hope so."

Worrying about accommodation is a future problem. Right now, my only concern is staying on the icy road.

I squint harder.

The headlights, though on full beam, only illuminate a dense wall of white, and the sound of the engine is muffled by the howling wind. It's crazy how quickly conditions changed from a drizzle to a full-blown snowstorm.

About ten minutes later, we approach a barely visible flickering motel sign. I let out a relieved breath as I ease into the parking lot, coming to a stop right in front of the building. I kill the engine but the windshield wipers stay on, fighting a losing battle against the snow pelting us.

"I'll go in and get us two rooms," Beth says, and I'm smart enough not to argue with her because heaven forbid she launches into another rant that ends up with us having sex for some inexplicable reason.

On second thought…maybe I should goad her just to see what wild tale she spins up this time.

Before I can say anything, she slams the door shut and is bolting inside. I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean back in my seat, left to wonder what might have been if this trip hadn't got hijacked by a freak blizzard.

Had the weather remained drivable, how much more could we have bantered? She didn't even get the chance to start on me about my man bun, my cheesy Christmas sweater, and whatever new insults she's been dying to dish out. Sure, she can rib me over text—and she does, believe me—but nothing beats a face-to-face teasing.

I'm bummed we'll never get that chance.

She's right.

I am weird…

Annnd I'm okay with that. Because I'm weird for her.

She's so unlike anyone I've ever met, and it's the coolest thing. I never know where conversations with her are going to go, I can't predict what she's about to say, and I'm not even fully sure whether she likes me or merely tolerates me.

Just being in her company gives me a bigger rush than stopping a crucial shot in overtime. So if that makes me weird, step aside ladies and gentlemen, and make some room for the king of weirdos.

A few moments later, Beth hops back into the car. I reach around to the back and grab a clean—well, clean-ish—towel and hand it to her.

"Thanks." She starts patting down her wet hair, face, shoulders, and arms before resting the towel in her lap. She looks straight ahead, not saying a word.

"So how'd it go with the room?" I ask, ignoring the strange vibe she's giving.

She continues looking straight ahead but raises her right hand. There's a room key twirled around her finger.

"You got us a room. Excellent. We can wait things out."

She shakes her head silently. A few beads of water drip from her jet-black strands, landing on her shoulders.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, because she's starting to freak me out a little—and not in the usual Beth-way I like so much.

"Is something wrong?" she mumbles quietly to herself. The head shaking intensifies before she stops and slowly turns to stare at me. "Yes, something is wrong. How many keys am I holding up?"

"One," I reply, then add, "You're also giving me the finger."

She gasps and quickly lowers her hand. "Sorry. That was unintentional."

"Oh, please. You totally did it on purpose."

"Believe me, you'll know if I do it on purpose."

She's got a point there. It's not like she holds back on expressing her true feelings around me.

But that doesn't explain why she's acting so strange.

"One key means one room," she says.

"Okay. So why didn't you get two rooms then?"

"Oh my gosh. You're so clever. Why didn't I get two rooms?" She thwacks me across the chest. It's adorable if she thinks that hurts me. I barely feel it. "You don't think I asked for two rooms? I begged for two rooms, Milo. I said I'd pay literally anything they wanted to charge for two rooms. But they only have one room left because people are annoying and like to travel for the holidays."

She exhales then looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to respond.

So I give her a response.

Just maybe not the one she was expecting.

"Now, when you say you begged, did you just say the words, or did you literally fall to your knees and beg? Because in my mind, that's a true beg. If you're not on your knees, it's more pleading than begging."

She makes a sound I can't even begin to decipher. "That's your takeaway from what I just told you?"

I shrug. "I'm a visual person, and I want to make sure I'm taking in the full picture of what you're saying."

Her eyes meet mine.

I could be a jerk and mention a recent story of hers that I will be picturing for a very long time to come, but she seemed genuinely embarrassed by her car-trouble related sexcapades tale. There's a clear distinction between teasing and having fun and being plain mean. I never want to cross that line with her.

She's still glaring at me.

"So we have to share a room. Big deal. At least we're out of this." I gesture to the snowstorm engulfing us. "We'll be safe."

"I'll be safe," Beth shoots back. "You better sleep with one eye open, mister, because not only am I smart and strong and funny, but I also have a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu."

"You do?"

She falters for the tiniest fraction of a second before saying, "Whether I do or not isn't as important as you thinking I do."

"Got it."

I smile—hopefully my smile game has improved over these past few months, and it's no longer at scare-the-kids level scary—in the hopes of reassuring her that she can and should feel safe with me.

I'm a total gentleman. She has nothing to worry about on that front. Besides, I like her too much to take advantage of the situation.

That said, even though I do feel bad for the havoc this freak blizzard is causing for Fraser and Evie's wedding, I'm not entirely mad about it. Because it means I get to spend a lot more time alone with Beth.

And suddenly, this road trip got a whole lot more interesting.

The next few hours pass by with the two of us holed up in a pretty decent motel room. Soft, warm lighting gives the space a cozy ambiance, the walls are painted a shade of light beige, and nature-inspired paintings by local artists line the walls.

I called Mike and Robyn to let them know that we're both safe, and that we may be delayed in getting back. They said it's no problem, and that the kids are fine.

Beth has been texting with Evie and her girlfriends in their WhatsApp group. Evie is obviously distraught at the disruption this freak blizzard is causing, but everyone is safe where they are, so that's something at least.

I've been listening to the radio, and unfortunately, the forecast isn't looking good. With at least half the guests stranded in various places throughout these mountains and the wedding venue currently flooded and without power, the chances of Fraser and Evie getting married today, or even possibly rescheduling to tomorrow, don't look very promising.

I glance over at Beth, perched on the sofa by the large window, which I assume normally has a nice view. Now, you can't see anything. Total whiteout conditions. I've never seen weather change so quickly. I guess there's a reason why they're calling it a one in a hundred years weather event.

She's changed out of her gown into black leggings, an oversized beige knit sweater, and fuzzy-patterned socks. Her feet are tucked under her body, and her attention shifts between the book she's reading—a romance, by the looks of the bright pink cover and the illustration of a guy and a girl—and her phone which keeps buzzing every few minutes.

She made her displeasure with the whole only-one-bed situation abundantly clear when we first got into the room, but I think she's starting to feel better about it. Her periodic five-minute grumbles are now spaced out to much more measured twenty-minute intervals.

"Whatcha readin'?" I ask as I join her, sitting down in the spare seat by the window. I extend my legs, resting my feet on the small, round table between us.

She raises an eyebrow.

I drop my feet to the floor.

Okay. Not a fan of feet on the coffee table. Noted.

Resting her book in her lap, she looks at me and sighs. "I'm reading an enemies-to-lovers romance."

"Enemies to lovers," I repeat, trying to understand how that would work. How can you fall in love with your enemy? That doesn't make any sense. "I don't get it."

She stares out the window and lets out a long sigh. "You and me both."

Now I'm even more confused.

"Hey. I'm meant to be the weirdo in this rel—er…in this—" I stop talking and let me waving my hand between us fill in the blank. "Why are you acting weird? Is it about the wedding?"

"Uh, yeah. The wedding. Let's talk about that. Or anything else that isn't an enemies-to-lovers romance where the two main characters get trapped in a snowstorm and are forced to share—I'll stop talking. I think I've done enough ranting for one day. What would you like to talk about?"

Right on cue, my stomach grumbles. "Food?" I suggest.

She grins.

Then catches herself and immediately stops.

She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, "Do not start seeing him in a new light," but I can't be sure with the wind howling outside.

When we checked in, the receptionist explained that due to the weather, they'll be offering room service rather than have people leave their rooms and make their way to the on-site restaurant. It's a safety thing.

"I can order us some food to the room, if you like?" I suggest.

"Sure."

"What would you like?"

"Um, a salad would be great. Dressing on the side please."

"Any particular type of salad?"

"Surprise me."

I get up out of my seat. "One Oreo and Twinkie salad coming right up."

I walk over to the phone, and when I check back on her, I see her grinning face in the window reflection.

She's not going to make this easy for me…and I like that.

A lot.

See? Weirdo.

The food arrives half an hour later—a California cobb salad for her with the red wine vinaigrette on the side, and a chicken fried steak, fish tacos, some pasta, and club sandwich for me because I have a few days off and can indulge in whatever food I want.

There's not enough room on the small table by the window for all the plates, so we eat at the breakfast bar by the kitchenette.

"Did you have a nice Christmas with your family?" I ask, taking a bite of my fish taco.

She nudges her food with her fork and shrugs. "Yeah. I guess."

I don't really know what the deal with her family is, but from the little snippets she's shared with me, I get the sense that they're not necessarily bad people, she simply feels different to them, like an outsider.

But I gleaned that information from her via text. I'm not sure if we're at the place where I can press her for more details in real life.

I take a calculated risk.

"How are things with your family?" I study her face for any reaction. She inhales deeply through her nose and says nothing. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I tack on, giving her an out.

"No. It's fine." She rests her fork against the side of the bowl. "I'm the black sheep in my family. Literally, I'm the only one with jet-black hair."

I slow my chewing. "Okay."

"They're all very accomplished in their fields. Dad's ex-military, Mom runs a national nonprofit, Schapelle is a best-selling author, Tenley holds a top position in management within a luxury resort chain, and Allie founded and runs a super successful 'elite training center to the stars' in Hollywood."

Hearing the heaviness in her voice, I try to brighten her up a little. "I'll make an exception and allow the use of air quotes this one time."

She cracks a tiny grin. "Thanks."

"But you're accomplished, too, though."

"No. I'm not. I work in a bookstore. Retail, as Mom likes to call it when she really wants to drive the point home of how beneath me she thinks it is."

"People need books, Beth," I say. "Reading is one of life's greatest pleasures. You help people find stories that will make them laugh and cry, feel all sorts of things, and see the world and themselves in brand new ways. That's not nothing."

"I guess." Her eyes travel to the window, and there's a sadness in her that I can't quite place. "I'm just so different from my family. They're all optimistic, energetic, outdoorsy people. I hate the outdoors, except for my morning walks. I'm not a pessimist by any means, but I'm not as cheery and hopeful as they are. My idea of a perfect afternoon is enjoying homemade banana bread, a cup of tea, and nonstop reading. And…"

I steeple my fingers and fix my gaze on her. "And what?"

She turns back to look at me, and I can tell she's nervous, weighing up whether to tell me this next thing or not.

I keep my eyes focused on her, sensing now is not the time to back down and praying my instincts are right. We're on the verge of something here. I can feel it.

"I used to be fat," she says bluntly, pushing her plate away. "So, not only am I the complete opposite of my family career-wise and personality-wise, but I've always had to deal with being the only big one, too." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry, I shouldn't be dumping all this on you."

"Don't be sorry. I asked."

I see her fingers tapping the countertop, and I have this sudden urge to reach across it and take her hand in mine.

But my brain kicks in—my survival instinct, too—and I have the good sense to keep my hands to myself.

Beth opening up to me is one thing.

Me touching her—even if it is purely innocent and solely motivated by wanting to comfort her and nothing else—is another thing entirely.

We are definitely not there yet.

"Has your family ever made you feel bad about yourself?"

"Oh, gosh. No. It's never been an issue. Not even for Mom, who literally criticizes every decision I make. My size has been the sole thing I had a pass on."

That's something. I would have hated for her to be dealing with added pressure or criticism from the people who are meant to love you unconditionally.

There is something else I'm wondering about, but I have to phrase it carefully. "Do you mind if I ask how you…"

"Lost the weight?"

I nod and take a bite of my sandwich, feeling awkward for wanting to know. It's not that it matters to me. It doesn't. I'm sure Beth was just as beautiful then as she is now. I'm just curious.

"It's nothing too exciting. I didn't do any crash diets or anything drastic. I made small incremental changes to my diet, I walk every day, and I limit the sweets I eat. It took about three years for me to get to this size, and yeah, that's how I did it."

She makes another one of her noises, and I wish there was some way to catalog them so that I can access them whenever the need to feel close to her arises.

Because yes, I'm the weirdo who's so infatuated by a girl that he wants to create a library of the noises she makes because he can't get enough of them.

Can't get enough of her.

"Anyway, enough about me." Beth picks up her fork and pierces it through a leaf of lettuce. "Let's talk about something else."

"Sure." I polish off the last of my sandwich. "Like what?"

"I have a looong list of things to tease you about."

I finish chewing and let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Finally. I've been waiting all day. I thought you'd never grill me for details about myself then proceed to judge and critique all of my responses in your typical acerbic fashion."

She giggles, then quickly brings her hand to cover her mouth. "Is it wrong that I like you using the word acerbic?"

"Not at all. I only hope it doesn't shatter your image of me as a total dumb-dumb."

Her eyes flash to mine. "I…I don't think you're a dumb-dumb." She makes a light clearing noise. "Let's start with that." She points at my chest.

"My Christmas sweater?"

"Uh-huh. You're a father now. What's with all the muscles? Where's the dad bod?"

"I believe there's a twelve-month grace period before the dad bod era officially kicks in."

She smiles at my joke. I like seeing her smile, but what I like even more is that she's checking me out. I bought the sweater online and despite being the correct size, it sits a little tight on me.

She noticed.

And it seems she approves.

I sit up taller, and hey, it's not my fault if I subtly puff my chest and flex my arms a little. If she likes what she's looking at, who am I to deprive her?

"How are you adjusting to everything?" she asks. "With the kids, I mean. I imagine it's a lot."

"It is. But I'm focused entirely on Josie and Jonah. They're my entire world. All I care about is that they're okay."

She smiles. "They're lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have them," I counter. "I mean, how else am I going to practice smiling so I no longer scare kids away?"

"Good point." She giggles. "It sounds like family is important to you."

"Uh, yeah."

Family is important to me, especially since I've never had a proper one. Which is why I'm determined to do everything I can to make sure that Josie and Jonah do.

"What's your family like then? Tell me, are they as bad as mine?"

Oh.

No.

She was probably thinking this would continue being a light and fun conversation, but my family situation is anything but light or fun.

Reading my face, she winces. "Uh-oh. Did I just step into a minefield?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"It's okay. Like you said to me before, we can talk about something else."

I should take her up on it.

I never open up to anyone about my family, but…I don't know. For some reason, I feel comfortable talking to her about it.

I need to give her fair warning, though. Let her know just how minefieldy the minefield we're about to step into is. My childhood was bleak, and there's no way to sugarcoat it.

"I'm okay to talk about it, but I have to give you a heads-up, it was pretty intense. Are you okay with that?"

She straightens, aiming those gorgeous hazel eyes at me. "I can handle it."

"Okay. Good." I bob my head a few times, working up the strength I need to get the words out. "I was an orphan. My mother was an alcoholic and my father was a drug dealer. He died when I was four, which sent my mom spiraling even more. Child services got involved, and I was taken out of her care when I was seven."

"Oh, Milo." Her eyes go glassy. "I'm so sorry."

The painful memories I've buried deep inside bubble to the surface, proving that while time may heal all wounds, they never disappear completely.

My chest tightens, but I force myself to keep going. "I bounced around from foster home to foster home. At the time, it felt horrible. I felt so unloved. But now, having heard some real horror stories, I see that maybe I didn't have it so bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was never abused. Never experienced any violence. That sort of thing."

"That's a basic requirement for raising children, Milo."

"I know. And don't get me wrong, I was one angry, hurt, and confused little kid who thought he'd gotten a rotten deal and that the world sucked because why did everyone else get to have a family and I didn't?"

I push through the pressure in my chest. "Luckily, I found hockey, and it saved me. Gave me a purpose. A healthy outlet for me to channel my emotions into. Much better than dealing drugs or getting into trouble with the law, which happens all the time to kids in a similar situation. I had talent, and thanks to a great PE teacher, Mr. Lawson, I made it into the juniors. Hockey was my ticket, my shot at a better life, so I was determined to work my butt off and take it all the way."

"And you have."

I shrug, feeling a little lighter. "I guess."

"Don't be modest." Her breath hitches, and I shift my gaze to her. She grins. "It scares me."

I grin back. "Sorry. Give me a minute, and I'll be back to my egotistical self."

"Good." She nods firmly. "And I know you've made it all the way. Your defense rebound and SPG stats are incredible."

Defense rebounds is definitely not a hockey term, and SPG?

"What's SPG?" I ask.

"You know, stop-puck-goal. I've been speaking to Evie, and while she may have used the proper official terms with lots of numbers that made no sense to me, my takeaway was that you're very good at stopping that puck thingy…"

"It's just called a puck, no need to add thingy."

She smiles. "Right. You're very good at stopping that puck from going into the goal…thingy."

I smile right back. "Yeah, I guess I am."

We fall silent, and I can see her processing the stuff I told her about my family because as the smile fades from her face, it's replaced by a pained look of empathy.

She reaches across the table and curls her soft, delicate fingers around mine. This is the only second time she's touched me—the first being at the fence when she placed her hand on mine after I shared the news about my sudden fatherhood—and it fills me with warmth.

"I'm so sorry you went through that, Milo. I really am."