The first snowflake silently touched down on Sophie’s windshield, a gentle harbinger of what was to come. The second and third followed swiftly, joining a growing flurry that obscured the already-gloomy mountain road. She glanced at the gas gauge—three-quarters full—and adjusted her grip on the steering wheel of her Ford F-150. A seasoned driver, Sophie was no stranger to challenging weather, but the mountain pass ahead had earned its treacherous reputation. She had checked the forecast and for any local warnings, but the storm had rushed in unexpectedly. Still, she had accounted for this possibility, and she was already on the downward slope off the mountain. She should be fine.​

 

Then, as if to deliberately spite her, a rhythmic clanking sound began to emanate from the engine, growing in intensity until it culminated in a catastrophic shudder and a deafening bang. The truck’s engine sputtered into silence. With concerned resignation, Sophie coasted to a stop on the thin inner shoulder of the winding road. She tried the ignition key one more time, but the only response was a faint, pathetic click. The engine was completely dead.

​

With a sigh, Sophie turned on her hazard lights and reached for her phone, already knowing what she would find. As expected, the screen displayed the dreaded “No Service” icon. A wry, humorless smile touched her lips. “Well, Sophie,” she murmured to herself, “it looks like this is it.” 

 

Without panicking, she considered her options: walking was out of the question in the mounting storm, and waiting for a passing car was a fool’s errand on this seldom-used mountain pass. She leaned her head back against the rest, her dark, wavy hair cascading against the worn fabric, and contemplated the irony of freezing to death on her way to a meeting that really wouldn’t have mattered that much anyway.  It wasn’t like she needed a few more outlets for her jewelry designs. Her latest line of Celtic-inspired accessories was doing very well. 

 

Aside from her current situation of probably freezing to death, she was quite comfortable. Comfortably numb, soon enough, she thought, arching her eyebrows and nodding. Cue Pink Floyd playing over the end credits rolling as our tragic heroine slowly succumbs to the merciless cold.

 

High above, hidden amongst a thick screen of pines and jagged rock formations, Winston was engaged in his own preparations for the coming storm. The wind howled through the trees, a familiar symphony that promised weeks, if not months, of blissful isolation. He hoisted a large stack of firewood and moved it closer to the backdoor of his sprawling log and stone lodge, a solitary bastion of self-sufficiency, warmth and comfort against the elements. The prospect of being snowed in brought him a deep sense of peace. As the author of the successful Dragonlore novels, as well as several other fantasy books, solitude was a necessity, and he embraced it wholeheartedly.

 

A faint, metallic echo reached his ears, a sound that was distinctly out of place amidst the wail of the wind. He paused, his body momentarily still. He knew that sound; a vehicle breaking down. A sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of annoyance and responsibility. This wasn’t the first time an ill-prepared traveler had ventured onto this pass in winter, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

 

He finished stowing the patio furniture, checked the settings on the buried de-icer system that ran beneath the stone patio, and then walked around to the front of the lodge. A nearly-hidden stone staircase, slick with newly fallen snow, wound its way down the mountainside toward the road. 

 

I really need to put de-icers on this, he thought as he slung his rifle, a Marlin 1895 Trapper, over his shoulder. Winston moved with practiced ease, his steel-toed work boots finding traction on the treacherous surface. As he descended, the sound of the storm was partially muted by the surrounding trees and replaced by the crunch of his boots on the fresh snow.

 

He spotted the dark shape of  black truck on the shoulder below, its windows already a canvas of frost and wind-swept snow. He pulled his long, insulated coat tighter around himself, his gaze taking in the scene. Any vehicle other than snowplows up here this time of year was a surprise. He walked toward the passenger side of the truck, not wanting to startle anyone inside, and knocked lightly on the glass.

 

“Hey, anyone there?” he called out, his voice cutting through the rising wind. “Need any help?”

 

Inside the truck, Sophie was contemplating the absurdity of her situation, a lit Marlboro held lightly between her gloved fingers. The knock on the window startled her, and she quickly stubbed out her cigarette. Reaching for the keys still dangling in the ignition, she turned it just enough to engage the electrical system and rolled the window down with a mechanical whir.

 

“Well, hello there,” she said, her voice a little shaky from the surprise. “If you’re hitchhiking, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

 

Winston gave a short, easy laugh. “More like a concerned neighbor,” he replied, his gaze taking in her features. He saw her quick, intelligent eyes, framed by the long black hair. “This road gets pretty dangerous this time of year. Looks like you picked a bad day for sightseeing.”

 

“I have no excuses,” Sophie admitted.  “I just didn’t think my truck would decide to have a complete and total meltdown at the worst possible moment. I think it’s finally had enough of my terrible driving.”

 

“That engine death-rattle sounded pretty final,” Winston observed. “Looks like it’s going to be a rough night out here.” He paused, his gaze thoughtful. “I could fetch you a sleeping bag and some trail mix if you want to camp out here in your truck. Otherwise, my place is only a ten-minute hike up the side of the mountain." He pointed in the general direction of his lodge. “If you’re up for a bit of a hike, you're welcome to wait out the storm there.”

 

Sophie sized him up, her eyes noting his handsome features, the rugged architecture of his build apparent even through the thick coat, and the surprisingly kind look in his green eyes. She felt the weight of the Ruger in her coat pocket, a small comfort against a large risk.

 

“Kinda hard to turn down your offer, considering my current predicament,” she admitted, a small, wry smile touching her lips. “Besides, if you’re a serial killer, it’s not like saying ‘no thanks’ and rolling the window up would stop you anyway, right?  It’s either you or the elements, and the elements aren't offering me much hope right now.”

 

Winston grinned, a genuine, warm expression that erased any lingering unease. “Fair enough. My place is up the trail a bit. Your shoes probably aren’t ideal for this, so just take my hand and follow me. We’ll get you warm and settled in no time.”

 

He grabbed her two small suitcases out of the back seat, slinging them over his shoulders, and she locked the truck. With a steadying hand on her elbow, he led her to the base of the roughly cut stone staircase, all but invisible now under the driving snow. The path was slick with ice and snow, and Sophie was grateful for his steady grip.

 

“I’m Winston, by the way,” he said, guiding her in front of him. “Let me stay behind you in case you slip.”

 

“Thank you, Winston. Sophie,” she replied,  her breath misting in the cold air.

 

They reached the base of the steep steps leading up. “We’re going to go slow - real slow,” he explained. “Pause on every step. Check your footing. Look around. There will be some overhanging branches and large rocks on the sides along the way you can use to help keep your balance. I need you to help me keep an eye out for mountain lions and wolves while we do this, okay? That’s why I keep this rifle with me at all times when I’m outdoors."

"No bears?"

​

"They usually don't come out during snowstorms.  Wolves and mountain lions like to hunt in this kind of weather."

​

She nodded, grateful he had the rifle with him, and for the handgun in her pocket. “It’s okay. Guns don’t bother me,” she added, in case he was worried about the rifle making her nervous. “Take it slow. Pause every step. Check footing. Mountain lions and wolves.” She repeated all of that looking directly into his eyes, her face and tone serious. “Got it.”

​

The stone was as slick as ice, and the trek was a silent exercise in concentration, with Sophie slipping a couple times despite his best efforts to keep her upright and steady. Nevertheless, his massive frame following behind her and his firm grip on her upper arm were both reassuring and welcome.

 

The path soon became a series of gentle bends and rises. Then, without warning the trees parted to reveal the lodge. Sophie gasped as her eyes widened.

 

The lodge was a marvel. It loomed ahead, a massive structure of dark timber, basalt and andesite, stone commonly found in these mountains. Its windows glowed with a warm, inviting light. It was a breathtakingly beautiful fortress of comfort tucked into a snowy wilderness.

 

Winston smiled, pleased by her reaction. “My humble abode. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

 

Inside, the lodge was even more impressive. A soaring great room with a massive stone fireplace dominated the main living area. He set her luggage down by the front door and gestured toward a plush armchair near the roaring fire.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “Coffee, tea, or hot cocoa?”

 

“Coffee would be amazing,” she said, her hands already outstretched toward the fire’s warmth.

 

He pointed out the essentials: the landline phone, the CB radio, the satellite internet access on his desk, the bathroom, and the large, modern kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” he repeated.

 

The world outside the lodge was a maelstrom of white—a furious, whistling tempest of wind and snow that would have ordinary buildings groaning, creaking and threatening to break apart. 

 

But there was none of that here. Inside the lodge, the blizzard could be seen but not heard. A sturdy wall of windows, each soaring 20 feet in the air, provided Sophie and Winston with a mesmerizing silent movie version of the storm in all its fury.

 

After placing a few calls, Sophie stood before the massive stone fireplace, holding a steaming mug of black coffee, the warmth a welcome contrast to the shivers that still ran through her body. Her impromptu host moved with a quiet efficiency that both soothed and intrigued her. He was built like a lumberjack, all broad shoulders and solid muscle beneath his soft, cable-knit sweater, but his movements were graceful, his voice a low, steady rumble that put her immediately at ease.

 

"The forecast says it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better," he said, turning from the satellite radio in the corner. “You’re definitely here for a while. This storm is going to knock that road out for the foreseeable future.”

 

Sophie settled into the chair, wrapping her hands around the mug. "Foreseeable future? How long are we talking?"

 

"Could be a few days, could be a week. Could be longer if the plow gets stuck," he said with a wry smile. "This mountain has a mind of its own in winter. Are you still cold? I can fetch a blanket.”

 

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” Sophie had been in a state of unease since her truck died. Now, her heart beat with something else entirely; the nervous anticipation of the unknown in front of her, but calmed by the soothing comfort of the fire.  "I guess I'm officially your captive audience."

 

"Captive is a strong word," Winston said, his face offering a sardonic squint. "Guest, perhaps. I'm a writer, so I'm used to solitude. But even I appreciate a new face once in a while, and it’s not like I found a dysfunctional family with three insufferable brats in that truck.”

 

Sophie smiled with silent humor. “After a day of that, you’d be the one camping in the truck with a sleeping bag and some trail mix.”

 

She found his laughter to be infectious. Soon they were laughing together as they fashioned a little story about the city family that drove the wilderness recluse insane.

 

He tended the fire in the hearth, the logs crackling and spitting as they caught. The scent of pine and woodsmoke filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of his coffee. Sophie watched him, mesmerized by the quiet strength of his movements. He seemed at home in this wilderness, a man perfectly suited to his surroundings.

 

They spent the rest of the storm-darkened daylight in easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. They discovered a shared love for the classic rock of the seventies and a mutual dislike for reality television. He learned about her passion for designing jewelry, the intricate work of transforming cold metal, rare minerals and stone into art. She learned about his reclusive life as an author, the way he retreated to the mountains to write. 

 

By dinnertime, any lingering awkwardness between Sophie and Winston had evaporated, replaced by a comfortable rhythm of shared tasks and easy conversation. Winston insisted on cooking steaks, despite Sophie repeating several times that she didn’t want to be more of a bother than necessary. 

 

"We're celebrating," he declared while retrieving two thick, perfectly marbled ribeyes from a cavernous freezer that would make a gourmet chef weep with envy. This was no ordinary freezer; it was part of a huge, walk-in refrigerated pantry, well-stocked with everything from exotic cheeses to cases of fine wine, clearly prepared for extended periods of isolation.

 

“Celebrating?” Sophie wondered aloud.

 

“We’re celebrating the fact that I didn’t have to throw a whole family off the north face cliff to preserve my sanity, of course.”

 

Sophie, not one to stand idly by, insisted on contributing. "Alright, if you're tackling the main course, I'm making the salad," she announced, already rummaging through the vast refrigerated pantry. 

 

As Sophie carefully washed the delicate greens, Winston seasoned the steaks. "How do you like yours, Sophie?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Medium-rare? Well-done? Somewhere in between?"

 

"Medium-rare, please," she replied, glancing up from her task. "Just a touch of pink in the middle. And don't overdo the seasoning, I like to taste the meat."

 

"Overdo the seasoning," he muttered with mock indignation, his eyes rolling. He caught himself, realizing she may not think he was just playing around.  "And what of the salad you are preparing, Chef Garde Manger,” he accurately pronounced gard-mon-ZHAY with a heavy French accent at the end, “What is on the menu tonight? Croutons? Nuts? A vinaigrette or something creamy? There’s a lot of stuff back in that pantry that you may have missed.”

​

Sophie didn’t miss a beat. "A vinaigrette would be perfect," she responded in a somewhat haughty tone. "And let's go with some toasted pecans for crunch, if you have them. And maybe some crumbled goat cheese? Oh, and sliced red onion, thin as paper, please."

 

Noting her playfully sarcastic inflection but his face betraying nothing, he just nodded, already moving toward the various sections of his well-organized pantry. "Red onion, thin as paper, check. Toasted pecans, check. Vinaigrette dressing. Goat cheese… let me see here." He held the ingredients up with an impish grin. “You sure you don’t want any roasted beets, pistachio shavings or blood orange?”

 

She looked at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

 

Winston shrugged. “I’ve got a guy that keeps all this stocked up and fresh. He was here yesterday.”

 

“Oh, you’ve got a guy,” she returned, mocking him in a light-hearted manner.

 

“Doesn’t everybody?” His face feigned confusion.

 

“Oh, you’re funny,” she stated, taking the extra ingredients and dressing from his outstretched hands.

 

Their friendly banter flowed effortlessly, each request and response imbued with a growing sense of ease and mutual consideration. It was clear that despite just having met, they were already a natural team, finding joy in the simple act of preparing a delicious meal together.

 

They ate by the fire, talking long into the night, completely losing track of time in the oasis of quiet charm the thick walls and crackling fire provided, despite the blizzard outside. Their caffeine intake, accumulated throughout the course of the day, kept them both alert and awake.

 

Sophie found herself sharing things she rarely told anyone, her biting wit and self-deprecating humor finding a receptive audience in Winston's quiet, thoughtful nature. They both smoked leisurely while they talked, which created a kind of conspiratorial bonding only smokers know. Of course, his brand was Winston, which she found delightfully cute.

 

“My dad named me after them,” said Winston straight-faced. “No joke. What else was I going to do?”

 

Eventually, they called it a night, and Winston retrieved her luggage and showed Sophie to a guest bedroom that would have been the primary suite even in an upscale home. She lay her coat on the bed and peeked into the luxurious bathroom.

 

“The door locks from the inside,” he said from the doorway, hesitating a second, looking at her as if doing some mental calculations.

 

“What?” She asked, a little taken aback by his serious look.

 

“Uh … look, I want you to feel safe here. I’d offer you a firearm to make you feel safer, but I know you’ve got one in your coat pocket over there on the bed. I caught a glimpse of it when we were coming up from the road.”

 

She froze up a little. “Oh. You noticed that. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything ..”

 

Winston shook his head and put his hand up. “You’d be a fool not to carry one with you around here, and you would’ve been a bigger fool to tell me about it.” He smiled. “It’s all good. I figure if you were a serial killer, you would have been grilling me up for dinner.”

 

“Well,” she said in a mock femme fatale pose and deadpan voice, “not all serial killers are cannibals, Winston.”

 

He laughed and bid her goodnight. She shut the door, but didn’t bother to lock it. After all, she thought logically, he certainly has a key to the door, so what would be the point anyway?

 

But he was trusting her with her gun, so it seemed ridiculous for her not to trust him back. Plus, he just seemed like a genuinely good guy.

 

Sophie woke the next morning feeling more settled and invigorated than she imagined possible. The storm had passed. Outside her window lay a peaceful, majestic world blanketed in white. 

 

After dressing, she grabbed her coat and cigarettes and left her room in search of Winston. When she came to the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows she spotted him sitting in a chair on the deck.

 

He was facing a lit firebowl situated in the center of a circle of deck chairs, sipping from a mug of steaming black coffee. He seemed mesmerized as he watched the sunrise painting the snow-covered peaks in hues of pink and gold. She made a detour to the kitchen, located a mug, filled it with coffee and joined him on the deck.

 

"Morning," she said softly. As she approached, she welcomed warmth the flaming centerpiece provided, appreciating that it was functional as well as decorative.

 

"Morning," he replied, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. "How’d you sleep?”

 

“Surprisingly well. This is some view you have here.”

 

Winston nodded and they sat together quietly admiring the view for a bit, then Winston lit another cigarette, took a long draw, and broke the silence.

 

“I have to tell you, Sophie, it’s never been that easy for me to talk to anyone. It’s almost like I already know you somehow.”

 

She watched him intently; his profile, his furrowed brow, the way he was just gazing off towards the mountainous horizon as he spoke, like there was more he could say, but was choosing his words with deliberate care.

 

“I noticed that, too,” she responded. “It’s like I knew you’d get my sense of humor. I can be pretty dark and sarcastic at times, but you just went with it.”

 

He shot her a smile and a nod, and said simply, “Yep.” Then they were quiet again, letting the unspoken significance of that exchange linger like silent music they couldn’t hear, but they both felt somewhere deep within.

 

Winston offered breakfast, and discovered that, like himself, she never ate it, preferring to just drink coffee and smoke. He gave her a more extensive tour of the building and its immediate surroundings. It was a masterpiece of rustic luxury, filled with furniture, art, and personal touches that spoke of a rich, full life, apparently lived mostly in solitude.

 

There was a library complete with comfortable seating, cozy nooks and inviting lighting. It opened to Winston's study-slash-office. "Feel free to poke around the house," he said.  "But don't move anything in here. Let’s call it my official "man-cave." Everywhere and everything else is fair game." She promised to avoid his study while she did her snooping, and they both laughed. 

 

There were two more guest bedrooms upstairs, a movie theater, and a large garage full of tools, equipment and outdoor gear, two snowmobiles and two trucks. Sophie took it all in, fascinated by what it all revealed about the man who was graciously offering her refuge.

 

He then showed her the indoor pool, a stunning oasis with large windows overlooking the snow-covered forest. "I can’t believe you have an indoor pool," she said, her voice and face set in feigned disapproval of such an excessive display of wealth.

 

“I, uh, need it for my work. It relaxes me. It’s a necessity, really.”

 

Sophie looked at him like he was out of his mind. “So, it’s a tax write-off? Is that what you’re trying to sell me?”

 

“Absolutely. One-hundred percent. I don’t really even use it. My accountant insisted on it.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re such a liar.”

 

They were standing so close, they were practically touching. “Well, I do write fiction for a living. Selling lies is pretty much my job description.”

 

They spent the afternoon largely apart. He had some work in his study to attend to, as well as some daily chores to complete. Sophie spent her time touching base with family and associates, checking on the local weather and road conditions. Throughout, Sophie took note of where Winston was, and what he was up to. She was intrigued by his casual manner, letting her roam around his house and do whatever she wanted as if he completely trusted her.

 

It was a strangely intimate and unfathomably familiar sensation. 

 

When Winston went outside to split some additional firewood, she watched him through her guest room windows. That man is a damn machine, she thought in admiration as he went through the effort without any apparent tiring or pause. She found his movements mesmerizing … and more.

 

Sophie was in the process of changing her clothes when she peeked to see if he was still out there. She saw something that made her gasp and freeze momentarily. There was a pack of several large wolves moving slowly towards Winston from behind, forming an arc of attack. He couldn’t see them. The rifle he had carried out with him was several feet away, leaned against a stack of wood.

 

Without hesitation she picked up her handgun and raced down the small set of stairs leading to the patio at the back of the house. She flung open the massive wooden door with urgent strength and sprinted towards him across the slightly heated stones, shouting at him and waving her arms frantically. She was still quite a distance from him.

​

Because the wind had picked back up and he had earmuffs on, he couldn’t hear her. She fired a round into the air and he looked up to see Sophie charging at him in nothing but her bra and panties, her gun coming down to point in his general direction. Then he realized that she was pointing, not at him, but at something behind him.

 

Winston spun around as the lead wolf leapt at him with teeth bared in a vicious snarl. He swung his axe around instinctively and hit the beast squarely with its heavy, blunt end while leaning out of its direct path. He heard a couple of shots ring out and saw the other wolves stop in their tracks, one yelping and stumbling sideways.

 

The lead wolf had landed on its side just a couple of feet from him. The force of swinging the axe and dodging the creature had dropped Winston to his knees in the thick snow. He raised the axe and half-buried the edge in its meaty hind quarter, eliciting a pained howl from the creature, even as more shots rang out, this time much closer, resulting in more painful howls and barks.

 

The lead wolf backed off, limping, following the wounded, retreating pack back into the treeline. Winston got up and quickly retrieved his rifle, then turned to Sophie, her gun held in both hands and still trained on where the wolves had disappeared. 

 

“Sophie?” he asked, approaching her.

 

It was like she didn’t even know he was there. Her bare legs and feet were deep in the snow, the bitterly cold wind blowing her hair, and she just stood there, frozen.

​

He reached over and gently put his hand on hers, over the gun, and helped her lower it. “We’ve got to get you inside, now.” She just turned her head and her face was unreadable, like she had no idea who he was or what had just happened.
 

Winston dropped the axe and picked her up like she weighed nothing. She didn’t resist. He carried her inside and, as quickly as possible, eased her into a chair nearest the fire, covering her with the warm throw from the couch. He then sprinted into her room to start a hot bath, then back into the kitchen to pour her a cup of hot coffee.

 

When he got back to her, she smiled up at him with an arched eyebrow, accepting the cup with slightly shaky hands, his hands lingering on hers to make sure she had control of it.  “Well, that was exciting,” she said with perfect clarity.

 

He broke out in relieved laughter. “Oh my God, Sophie. You had me worried there for a minute.”

 

She furrowed her brows and pursed her lips, flicking a few strands of hair from her face. “Oh, pish. Like I’ve never rescued anyone from a pack of wild wolves before.”

 

They couldn’t stop laughing all the way to her room, where he left her to get warmed by the hot bath water, the relief and lingering effects of the adrenaline in their bodies making them both a little giddy, as if they had too much wine.

 

Later, they sat in the home theater with fresh-made cheeseburgers and fries, ostensibly to watch a movie, curled up on plush recliners facing each other.  They were chatting like high-schoolers who had just pulled off a historic prank on their principal, recounting the event with humor, excitement and disbelief.

 

“Those poor wolves,” Sophie half-lamented.

 

“They obviously did not know who they were messing with,” Winston said, his eyes burning with admiration at how she handled herself in a crisis, and how she was reacting afterward. “This is the wild up here, Sophie. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive, and they won’t be coming back here anytime soon.”

 

“Oh, I’m good,” she nodded. “I know. But I’m wondering … what did you really think when you first saw me running at you with my gun?”

 

He shook his head. When their eyes met, it felt so natural it was uncanny. It was like they were old friends. “You know, it’s weird how much can go through your mind in an instant.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Alright, alright. I had like these two completely separate thoughts going on at the same time. One was, oh fuck, she really is a deranged serial killer. The other one was … well …” He shrugged.

 

Tell me!” she commanded.

 

Winston looked at Sophie sheepishly. “Well, to be honest … I mean .. okay, I was thinking good God what a body this woman has.”

 

She blushed and shoved his shoulder. “You did not!”

 

He raised his hands to plead his own guilt. “You wanted to know. I’m just saying.”

 

They never got around to watching a movie. After their meal, the excitement of the day and the caffeine wore off, and their full bellies retired them for the night. As they drifted off to sleep, their thoughts were entirely about each other.

​

Winston was an easy host, considerate and effortlessly charming. He was a creature of habit, but his routine readily expanded to accommodate her. In the mornings that followed, after they had coffee and conversation, he worked on his manuscript and daily tasks, and Sophie worked on her jewelry designs, using both a spiral-bound pad and her laptop, resting on a large coffee table while the fire crackled nearby. 

 

Additional snowfall stymied road clearing efforts. She took to preparing lunch and then sharing that time with him wherever she found him. In the late afternoons and evenings, they would find things to do to stay in each other’s company as much as possible. They watched movies, played Scrabble, but mostly just talked.

 

One afternoon, while looking for a book to read, Sophie wandered into the library. She moved quietly, not wanting to disturb Winston, who was working on something in the adjoining study. The shelves were filled with an impressive collection, but her gaze was drawn to a series of hardbound books, their spines bearing an elegant, familiar font. Dragonlore: The Shadowed Crown, The Iron Wyrm, The Obsidian Heart… all written by Winston Davis! Her jaw dropped when she saw his picture on the back cover.

 

“Are you effing kidding me,” he heard her exclaim.

 

"What is it?" Winston shouted from his chair behind his desk.

 

Sophie walked into the study holding a couple of his books. "Are you telling me you’re the Winston Davis?" she asked, almost accusingly. "The Dragonlore guy?"

 

“Uh … yeah?”

 

Sophie’s jaw dropped open. "My mom and sister are obsessed with you. They get each new book the day it comes out. I can't believe it." She walked up to his desk with the books, staring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you wrote these?”

 

The look on his face was without any guile whatsoever. “Er … why would I think you’d know anything about them? Fantasy is kind of a niche market.”

 

Her face turned to exasperation at his utter lack of ego. “You dense ape! You’re famous! Niche markets don’t pay for mountaintop palaces!”

 

Winston chuckled. “Oh … that. Dragonlore didn’t pay for all this. I mean, it makes good money, but not that kind of money. This is all inheritance money.”

 

“Really? I would think …” something green and metallic silver on his desk caught her eye. She recognized it immediately. “Where did you get that?”

 

He followed her gaze to the turquoise and silver cuff bracelet sitting in an open box sitting on top of a stack of notebooks by his desk telephone. “Oh, that’s something I ordered online a couple of weeks ago for my sister’s birthday next month.”

 

She looked at him incredulously. “Can I see it?”

 

He handed the box over to her. She removed the jewelry and peeled up the soft foam layer underneath, and handed Winston the little tag that had been hidden at the bottom. It read, “Designs by Sophia.”

 

“That’s me, Sophia Carter. Everyone calls me Sophie. I designed that piece.”

 

They just stared at each other in stunned silence.

 

Later, while Winston was going through his usual daily check of the house and grounds, Sophie called her sister, Sarah.

 

"You’re just not going to believe any of what I’m about to tell you.”

 

“What happened? Are you alright?”

 

Sophie recounted the harrowing adventure with the wolves, and then the discovery of the cuff bracelet on Winston’s desk. “And those aren’t even the craziest parts of this story, Sis. Are you sitting down?”

 

“Oh my god, what is it? What else happened?”

 

“Winston isn’t just any old Winston, Sarah, he’s Winston-effing-Davis, the guy who writes Dragonlore.”

 

“SHUT UP!”

 

“That picture of the author on the back of the books, that’s the guy. That’s why I went into his study and saw the bracelet. I found the whole series of books in his library while I was looking for a book to read.”

 

“MOM IS GOING TO FREAK OUT!!” her sister shouted, obviously freaking out herself.

 

“I know, right?”

 

"Sophie, this is wild!" Sarah squealed, her excitement buzzing through the phone line. “There’s this whole thing in his books about synchronicities bringing two people together! It’s very mystical and romantic.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“No kidding, Sis. When it happens, the two have to decide whether or not to go through this whole thing about kissing for the first time, which reveals if they are eternal soul mates. They put on ceremonial clothes, stand near a magical fire, and kiss for the first time.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen,” Sophie laughed, but was intrigued. “What happens then, in the books?” 

 

“OH EM GEE, Sophie, did you kiss him?

 

“No!”

 

Her sister teased her. “You want to, though, don’t you. You’re going to. My sister is going to kiss Winston …”

 

“Oh, stop it. You’re an insufferable brat, Sarah.”

 

Sarah was giggling. “I’m just having some fun with ya, Sis.”

 

“Well, that’s enough of that. I’m going to call Mom. Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

Then Sophie spoke to her mother, who was very excited and pressed her daughter for all the details she could get. Sophie described Winston's many acts of kindness and consideration. “He’s a sweetheart, Mom. And get this, we found out that he was about to mail a piece of my jewelry to his sister. Can you believe it?”

 

Her mother, a practical woman despite her penchant for reading fantasy novels, wasn’t as impressed by that bizarre synchronicity as she was in finding out her favorite author was such a kind and good man. Sarah had convinced her to keep a lid on the wolf story for the time being to keep their mom’s anxiety in check.

 

“Well, he sounds like a lovely young man, dear. Just be careful, and please call us when you can. I love you.”

​

“I love you too, Mom.”

​

That evening after dinner, Winston and Sophie settled onto the couch in front of the main fireplace. Sitting only an arm's distance apart, they angled their bodies so that they faced each other. Conversation and laughter flowed easily between them.

 

“You know, it’s hard to believe you’ve only been here a couple of weeks. It seems much longer.”

 

“So you’re saying you’re getting tired of my company,” Sophie responded with her usual playful attitude.

 

“Oh God, no,” he said, immediately realizing that more meaning slipped out in those three words than he had intended. “No, it’s not that. It’s just this weird sense that I’ve known you much longer.”

 

Her eyes lingered on his, and he didn’t avert his gaze. The green of his pupils sparkled with an obvious fire behind them that warmed her whole body. She lit a fresh cigarette of his brand, having run out of her supply of Marlboros.

 

He stayed silent, his eyes and attention fixed on her. She was such a beauty, it was hard for him to not just stare at her. Her voice was richly mid-toned, at times soothing, at times engendering an entirely different reaction in him.

 

"When I saw those wolves through the window, a sense of deja vu came over me. It was as though I had lived some version of that scene before." It was so strange, like something took control of me and I was just an observer watching it play out like a scene from some movie I’ve forgotten.”

 

“I remember you acting oddly when they ran off,” Winston said. “I thought maybe you had gone into shock or something. You had this blank look on your face.”

 

Sophie nodded, picked up both of their empty coffee mugs and walked to the adjoining kitchen to refill as she continued. “The thing is, in that moment, somewhere in my mind, it had ended differently. Badly. Very badly. I couldn’t understand why …”

 

His eyes remained on her the whole time; she shook her head slightly from side-to-side as a slight shiver ran through her body. “Why what?”

 

Sophie turned, holding the refilled coffee cups. Her eyes were guarded, but noticeably moist. “I couldn’t understand why you weren’t dead, Winston. Why I wasn’t screaming.” Her voice trembled as she handed his drink to him. She walked over to be closer to the fire.

 

“So, what do you think,” he offered. “Past life memory?”

 

Sophie dropped her voice. “Do you believe in that stuff?”

 

Winston shrugged. “I write fantasy novels for a living, dear. It’s kinda my job to have an open mind about all kinds of things. It keeps the imagination working. Plus,” he added, “it’s kind of a romantic idea. I’m something of a romantic at heart.”

 

It wasn’t lost on her that he had just called her dear without even thinking about it. “Or maybe an alternate timeline,” she added. “Like the Mandela Effect.”

 

He was obviously pleased. “Well, well. You’re always surprising me.”

 

“In a good way, I hope.”

 

“You’re seriously the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

 

He always struck just the right notes to make her heart flutter.

 

“Whatever it was in that other life, the idea of you being killed by those wolves … “ Sophie just let that thought trail off, shaking her head.

 

Winston remained silent, as a way to give her the space she needed to consider whatever she was preparing to say. When at last she spoke, she surprised him by shifting to a totally new topic. “You know," she said, "I do very well with my business. Very well.”

 

The meaning of this new turn of topic completely baffled him. “Okay,” he said simply.

 

She started moving back towards the couch. “No, it’s important to me that you know this. I … I don’t want … I don’t want you to think that who you are, or the fact that you have .. all this,” she motioned to indicate the lodge and estate. “I don’t want you thinking I’m that kind of person.”

 

“Sophie, that thought never occurred to me.”

 

She smiled in a way that lit him up inside.

 

He smiled back at her with such genuine affection, it made her blush. “Honestly, I’ve been worried that you might think I’m the kind of guy who would use “all this,”" he waved his arm, mimicking her gesture, “...to take advantage of a beautiful woman in distress.”

 

Beautiful woman, he’d said. Again, without any hesitation or second thought. Like he didn’t even realize he was saying it.

 

With that exchange, they knew everything had changed between them, both making the decision to take a tentative first step into a new relationship. Over the past two weeks they had both increasingly felt things between them shifting from a bare possibility into mutual desire; but the situation demanded that they wait for each other's permission, a permission that could only be offered by the slow accumulation of the little clues they had given each other.

 

When she sat back on the couch, it was right up against him, nestling the side of her face on his shoulder, her hand coming to rest on his chest. He neither resisted or acted surprised, he just lowered his arm from the back of the couch to drape around her snugly, pulling her tightly against him. Neither said another word, even when later they moved in unison to lie in each other’s arms as they fell asleep in the warm glow of the fires burning from without, and smouldering within.

 

When Sophie  woke with the morning light, she found herself practically laying on top of Winston. Her head rested on his chest tucked just under his chin. Both of his arms were wrapped around her.

 

At first, Sophie didn’t open her eyes. As she listened to the steady beat of his heart, she felt something so different about her existence that she didn’t yet know any single word that could begin to describe it.

 

In the most profoundly wonderful way possible, this new sensation was different from anything else she ever experienced. At once it was sweet, dreamy, comforting and happy. It was even tinged with a touch of “scary,” but in a provocative and exciting way.

 

“You awake?” she eventually purred.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” came his response, delivered as an intoxicatingly deep vibration in his chest that her body drank in. His arms pulled her tightly against him, his hands slowly, strongly caressing her back and shoulders through her blouse.

 

“Did you want me to let you get up?” she offered.

 

“Nope,” he said simply, eliciting the most delighted smile from her lips.

 

“Mmmmm.”

 

Winston’s eyes were shut. All of his attention was on the feel of her against him, the bit of her hair he felt against his chin and neck, the scent of her, the way she was responding to his hands as he moved them across her back, shoulders, arms, giving her a gentle, caring squeeze now and then.

 

They were still completely clothed. They hadn’t made love, hadn’t even kissed. But, so strangely, the otherworldly intimacy felt like they had spent the entire night doing so. Sophie reached up and cupped the back of his jaw and ear, wanting to feel his flesh and hair, rubbing against the pleasurably rough stubble of his chin.

 

Eventually, she let out a sigh and pushed herself up, using the solidity of his chest to prop herself so she could look at his face. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom, and get a shower.”

 

He grinned, affectionately. “I’ll make coffee.”

 

She remained perched over him for a second, her eyes lingering on his, then on his lips, then back to his eyes with a mesmerizing, mysterious expression. He thought she was going to kiss him for a moment, but something in her eyes said, not just yet.

 

After he set the coffeemaker, Winston had a shower, shaved, groomed himself meticulously and changed into a stylish, black and dark brown three-piece suit, over a white business shirt, with black tie and his black dress boots. His gold pocket-watch chain added a touch of old-world charm.

 

Why he did all this, he didn’t really know. It just seemed the thing to do, because everything had changed. Sophie was no longer just a casual guest in his home, stranded by the winter storm; she was now so much more. Dressing up for her seemed appropriate. Necessary, even.

 

He made his way back into the kitchen, poured his coffee and went out onto the deck, where he lit the firebowl. The air was still, cold and crisp, the sun already high in the clear, pale blue sky. Winston set his coffee down on the thick cedar guardrail and drank in the scene of the snow-covered valley below. He had nothing on his mind other than the dark-haired beauty in his home and the time they'd spent together.

 

The high licks of flame chased the cold away from the immediate area as he waited and sipped his coffee. Lost in mental imagery, he didn’t even hear the tempered glass door open.

 

“Hey, handsome.”

 

Winston turned and stared at Sophia. His eyes widened at the sight of her.

 

She was dressed in a long-sleeved, form-fitting black dress that reached her knees. The dress was designed with a high neckline and a sweetheart-style cutout that framed her cleavage. She reveled in his obvious appreciation and twirled around with a mischievous tilt of her head and the alluring whisper of a seductive smile. The fabric of the dress was laced with delicate silver and turquoise patterns that accentuated the curves of her gorgeous figure. Her fashionable, high-heeled boots completed the look.

 

Sophie's thick dark hair fell over her shoulders in waves. She wore no make-up save for just a touch of black mascara and eyeliner to accentuate her hazel eyes and the pale complexion of her face.

 

“Holy shit,” Winston blurted out uncontrollably.

 

A pleased giggle escaped her. She posed, as if for a fashion shoot, and said “Ta-dah!”

 

“Wow,” he said, nodding.

 

Her expression returned to that mysterious, heavy-lidded gaze as she moved towards him, looking him up and down with distinct, electric approval. She pressed herself up against him, nuzzling his neck. Her voice was whispery and hot against his skin. “I love the way you suit up, mountain man.”

 

Her arms circled his neck, his around her lower back and waist, pulling her up tightly. The first touch of her skin beneath his hands was a divine revelation.

 

“I love everything about you, wolfslayer.”

 

Their eyes met with a delighted, sensual bond, and they kissed, knowing fully that they were joining their hearts together, forever, right now, in this very moment.

 

Then, the memories flooded in, not distinct like movie reels playing out in their minds’ eye, but far more than just deja vu. It was an emotional and deep understanding that they had been together so many times, in other places, times and on different worlds.

 

When their lips parted, tears were streaming down both of their cheeks.

 

“You’re alive,” Sophie cried from the pain of having lost him so many times.

 

Winston was dumbstruck for a few seconds, trying to process what was happening. There was no denying what he was feeling, that it was all true. “Is it … is it really you?” He stammered out.

 

She nodded and kissed him again, the surprise, relief and joy of finding each other overwhelming both of them. This time, their embrace was not gentle. It was desperate.

 

“It’s me, Darling,” her words punctuated by sobs of relief. “I found you.”

 

They held each other tightly, as if at any time either of them might simply disappear.

 

“I don’t understand … what any of this is,” Winston whispered softly, “but I’m not ever letting you go again. I love you. I’ve always loved you, Sophie. Only you.”

 

The depth of what was expressed in those words made her tremble in his arms. He pulled her up off her feet to bring her face next to his, their tear-stained cheeks intimately pressing, nuzzling, and caressing together as they kissed, neither able to comprehend this overwhelming love for each other that was pouring into and through them.

 

“I love you so much,” she said, her breaking voice full of emotion no words could convey. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

 

“It’s me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He lowered her, keeping his arms around her. She was still shuddering as she pointed. “Look, Winston. It’s our magic fire.”

 

His gaze moved over to the firebowl, the flames now absolutely dancing with purple, blue, orange and golden ribbons. It was only then that it dawned on him that they had just enacted the ceremony of the first kiss from his books.

 

“Sarah told me about it,” she said, her voice steadier now. She looked up, and into his eyes. “You were writing about us, about this moment, and you didn’t even know it.”

 

His mind reeling, he shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

 

“But it is real,” Sophie insisted.

 

“Yes, it is.” He kissed her again, so passionately she gasped when their lips parted.

 

“Sophie,” he said, his love positively burning through the connection, “... Sophie ..”

 

“Yes?” Her voice was breathless.

 

“My dear Sophie … my love … we really have to stop meeting like this.”

 

Her face broke into a huge smile and, as Winston swung her around in joy, both of them were laughing with delight, their senses full of the subtle reflections of the countless times they had met and fallen in love.

​

​

 

​THE END