The Two Week Roommate

We used to be best friends. Now we're snowed in together. There are probably worse things than being stuck in a remote cabin with the rugged-yet-grumpy forest ranger who saved my life in a blizzard. Getting mauled by a bear, for example, though I might prefer that to eating breakfast with Gideon Bell, the guy who nearly ruined my life when we were kids. It was twenty years ago. We haven't spoken since. Our families still hate each other, and our lives are completely different. I'm not sure we've got anything in common besides childhood memories. But when it's just the two of us for a couple of weeks, none of that really matters. What matters is the way Gideon grumbles, but makes my tea exactly the way I like it. What matters is how he always gives me the spot on the couch closest to the fireplace. What matters is how he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. And those childhood memories? He's in all my favorites. Up here, in the cabin, it's easy to look past all that because it feels so good to kiss him. It's easy to spend a wild night in front of the fireplace and wake up still wrapped together. But back in the real world, where everything that drove us apart is still alive and kicking? It's a lot harder. Can Gideon and I fix what broke twenty years ago, or does what happens in the cabin have to stay in the cabin?

We used to be best friends. Now we're snowed in together. There are probably worse things than being stuck in a remote cabin with the rugged-yet-grumpy forest ranger who saved my life in a blizzard. Getting mauled by a bear, for example, though I might prefer that to eating breakfast with Gideon Bell, the guy who nearly ruined my life when we were kids. It was twenty years ago. We haven't spoken since. Our families still hate each other, and our lives are completely different. I'm not sure we've got anything in common besides childhood memories. But when it's just the two of us for a couple of weeks, none of that really matters. What matters is the way Gideon grumbles, but makes my tea exactly the way I like it. What matters is how he always gives me the spot on the couch closest to the fireplace. What matters is how he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. And those childhood memories? He's in all my favorites. Up here, in the cabin, it's easy to look past all that because it feels so good to kiss him. It's easy to spend a wild night in front of the fireplace and wake up still wrapped together. But back in the real world, where everything that drove us apart is still alive and kicking? It's a lot harder. Can Gideon and I fix what broke twenty years ago, or does what happens in the cabin have to stay in the cabin?