“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re inspecting your own work?”

  “Ha,” Freddie cackled. “Josh told me you weren’t up to speed with the way we do things here.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” Megan could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Speaking of Josh, where is he?”

  “Oh, well, you know that fancy designer of yours? The one that keeps changing her mind about the layout?”

  “Sarah.” Megan nodded. She had sympathized with the framers after they’d had to reconfigure the interior walls for the third time. Sarah was one of the top designers in the city and had only been to the job site once. Now that Megan was on the ground, the big city players didn’t have to show their faces and Megan wondered if they were taking advantage of her, or if this was the status quo.

  “Yeah, Sarah. Well, she sent over some drawing for the tables and bench seats, and Josh has been working on those at his house. Once the drywallers get finished in here, this place will come together in a flash.”

  “A flash. I thought that didn’t happen in Chance Rapids.” Megan elbowed Freddie.

  “Well, I guess the crew likes their new boss.” Freddie took off his tool belt and sat down on a sawhorse. He looked up at her and gave her a wink.

  Freddie was cute, and definitely had one of the best bodies she had seen in years - his shoulders and firm pecs filling out his tight thermal shirt- but he had an air of cockiness and was a little too smooth for her. She had the feeling that the man in front of her could get any woman into his bed, and she had no desire to be one of his conquests.

  “So, now we’re just waiting on the drywallers,” Megan stated, hoping that she sounded confident.

  “Yeah,” Freddie drawled. “I hope that you’ve got all the appliances on their way. You never know when an avalanche is going to stop anything, or anyone, from getting to town.”

  “Or out,” Megan replied. The realization of just how isolated she was in Chance Rapids suddenly falling heavily on her shoulders. How long could she keep pretending to be someone else? When would she overstay her welcome at Charlotte’s?

  Freddie opened the back door, pulled a beer out of the snowbank and cracked it open. He held the can out to Megan, “Beer?”

  “It’s two in the afternoon,” Megan held up her hands in front of her. “Aren’t you at work?”

  “It doesn’t matter what time it is. I’m done for the day. So is everyone else.” Freddie gestured around the room and Megan noticed that the rest of the workers had left.

  “Do you have staff all lined up for the opening?” Freddie asked and took a swig of his beer.

  “Almost,” Megan lied. She made a mental note to talk to Charlotte about the next steps. The project was moving along a lot faster than she had anticipated. A mid-December opening date, coinciding with the opening of the ski resort, wasn’t out of the question. “Hey, where does Josh live? I want to check in on those tables,” her voice wavered.

  Freddie smiled at her. “Checking up on those tables, huh?”

  “Yes,” Megan snapped at Freddie, her eyes flashing.

  “Whoa, Nelly.” Freddie grinned, a little less confidently this time. “He’s on Bristlecone St. Head down the main street and take a left at the gas station, that’s Bristlecone. Josh’s place is on the left. You can’t miss it. He’s got a picket fence.”

  “Josh has a white picket fence?” Megan stood up and brushed the sawdust off her jeans.

  “Hahaha.” Freddie laughed. “White picket. Fence. No.” He managed to spit out between laughter. “It’s number 88. You’ll see what I mean.”

  Megan was intrigued. “Thanks, Freddie.”

  “No problem, ma’am.”

  Megan stiffened. There it was again. Ma’am. She turned to face Freddie. “Thank you for all of your hard work this past week. I really appreciate it.”

  “You got it, babe,” Freddie said and saluted Megan with his beer can in hand.

  Babe. This guy was all over the map. “Babe?”

  “Shit. Force of habit I guess.”

  Megan would never admit it, but if she had to pick between babe and ma’am, it was babe all the way.

  She pulled on her striped hat and headed out down the street, her boots leaving footprints in the three inches of fresh snow that had fallen since she got to the job site. The stores had all put up their Christmas lights and she glanced at their displays through their frosted windows as she strolled down the street.

  ‘Let’s hear those sleigh bells –’

  Megan jumped as the familiar Christmas carol rang out into the street followed by terrible static and squelching feedback sounds.

  ‘Ring- a -ling, ting, ting, ting, a ling too.’

  She looked up and saw that each of the black streetlamps had a little speaker and the soft sounds of Mariah Carey’s Christmas were lilting through the air in between the gently falling snow. She saw a crew of workers finishing up the wreaths and garlands. One of the old guys wearing a Chance Rapids Maintenance jacket tipped his hat at her.

  “Apologies, Miss. We’ve got a short in the wire, but it should be sorted out soon.”

  Megan turned and looked behind her and saw Freddie jogging across the street.

  “I think you’re in good hands.” She smiled, and the old man smiled back.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, and patted her on the arm with his leather mitten.

  “Merry Christmas,” Megan replied. The words felt foreign to her. It wasn’t something that she said to strangers back in the city. It felt good.

  She turned left at the gas station and started to pay attention to the street numbers of the houses. As she neared eighty-eight, she smiled as she saw what Freddie had been talking about.

  Josh’s house didn’t have a white picket fence. It had a… she didn’t know quite what to call it, other than a ski picket fence. Old skis, their tips facing the street lined the property. In any other town it would’ve looked junky, but in Chance Rapids, it was the perfect fence.

  She walked up the pathway to the covered porch. She lifted her hand to knock on the door but then paused to take a deep breath. She could feel the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She knew that she had a good excuse to be there, but she also knew that Josh had done everything he could to stop her from dropping by his house.

  She wondered why. It was the cutest little bungalow on the street, complete with a wooden porch swing and red front door.

  ‘You can do this. You’re just here on business,’ she said to herself and steeled her nerves as she raised her hand again to knock.

  But the door opened before she could touch it.

  “Megan.” Josh seemed surprised. He stepped out onto the porch in his sweater and closed the door behind him.

  “Hi,” Megan said, a little more breathless than she would’ve liked.

  “Hi,” Josh replied. “What are you doing here?”

  “I. Um, Freddie told me that Sarah has you working on some tables. I was just wondering if I could take a look at them.”

  Josh didn’t move from his position in front of the door. “The tables. Yeah, they’re not done yet. Still in pieces really. Not much to see.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry to bother you.”

  Megan turned to walk away and could feel the heat in her cheeks contrasted against the cold afternoon air.

  “Megan, wait.” She turned to face him. He blew on his bare hands to keep them warm. He was wearing a wool sweater and a flat brim baseball hat, and both were covered in sawdust. There he was, an honest to goodness hard working man, who could literally have stepped off the pages of an Eddie Bauer magazine ad, with his perfectly messy hair and mountain man beard. It was short enough that he wasn’t Grizzly Adams, but manly and full enough to protect him from the elements. “Come in.”

  She felt a whoosh as blood rushed through her body and she could hear her heart start to beat a touch faster. “I didn’t mean to drop by like this.”

  “It’s okay. I guess I couldn’t keep you away forever.”

  Josh opened the door and allowed Megan to cross the threshold first. She stepped into the warmth of the house and saw that it was courtesy of a crackling fire in a round river rock fireplace. “It’s cold out.”

  “Yep. The snow line has finally reached the valley bottom. Winter is here.”

  “I thought that winter didn’t start until December 21st.”

  “I can take your coat,” Josh held out his hand and helped Megan shrug out of the wet down. “For the locals, winter starts as soon as we have to start plowing the driveways in town.”

  “Well, you should tell your town council that. They’ve already started with the Christmas Carols.”

  Josh laughed, “Yep. That sounds about right. You should be here in July when it’s stampede time. It’s country music twenty-four seven.”

  Megan groaned.

  “I didn’t think that you were the country music type.”

  “Not at all!” Megan laughed.

  “Well, maybe you just haven’t heard the right bands.”

  That’s when Megan noticed that there was country music coming out of the speaker propped on the kitchen counter. She glanced around the room. From the outside of the house you never would’ve been able to tell that the inside was a mere skeleton. Under her feet was bare subfloor, the countertop was plywood, the kitchen cupboards open and unfinished. A hot plate and coffee pot sat next to the kitchen sink.

  Josh followed her gaze. “It’s probably not what you’re used to.”

  “It’s just…” Megan’s voice trailed off.

  “Not finished.” Josh finished her sentence. “Have a seat,” he gestured to a picnic table that sat adjacent to the kitchen. Megan walked over and slid onto the bench seat. “Would you like some tea?” Josh asked, pulling a box from one of the open cupboards and rummaging around.

  “You know what Josh. I think that I would just like to see what you’ve done with the benches and tables for the café.”

  Megan could see that Josh was embarrassed by his home. She felt terrible for dropping by unannounced and figured the best thing that she could do was get out of his hair as soon as possible.

  “Sure. Yeah. Okay, follow me,” Josh said.

  Megan followed Josh past his makeshift kitchen and down a hallway. She glanced into a bedroom and saw a gorgeous log bed, neatly made with a red and blue checkered quilt, a wicker dog basket on the floor beside it.

  He led her to the basement, and to her surprise, Megan walked into a gorgeous workshop. Live edge shelving gleamed and ran the entire length of the basement. Edison light bulbs hung from modern fixtures and there were several tables set up with various tools and saws.

  “The benches are over there.” Josh pointed to a row of what looked like logs cut in half, lengthwise, all resting on thin slats of wood. “And the tables are over there.” He pointed to the other corner where the huge slabs of wood rested across sawhorses. They were the thickest and most beautiful pieces of wood she had ever seen.

  “How did you get them so shiny?” she asked.

  “It’s a little trick of the trade.” He smiled.

  Megan eyed up the craftsmanship, estimating that a table like that would cost at least five grand in the city. “Wait, did you build that bed upstairs in your bedroom?”

  “I sure did.”

  “If you’re so handy, how come…” Megan’s voice trailed off as she realized how rude her question was going to sound.

  “How come my house looks like a broke teenager lives here?” Josh smiled and placed his hand on one of the slabs.

  “I mean, Josh, you don’t even have a kitchen stove.”

  “You know that saying about the cobbler’s kids not having shoes? It’s kind of like that with a carpenter. I spend all day building homes for other people, the last thing I want to do when I get home is work on my own. I gutted this house five years ago and I guess I just stopped seeing how rough it looks.

  “It doesn’t look rough, Josh. I mean, from the outside this place could be on a Christmas card. The inside, I mean, I can see the potential, but it does look – temporary.”

  “I never thought about it that way. I mean, I’m definitely not going anywhere.”

  “So why not make this a home?”

  Megan regretted her question immediately, but even more so when she saw Josh stiffen and purse his lips.

  “That was out of line.” Megan looked down at the tiled floor wishing that she could go back in time and take back her comment.

  “No, I mean, I’m thirty-four years old, my glassware shouldn’t all have come from the Last Chance.”

  “The Last Chance? And wait, you’re thirty-four?”

  “Yep. I’m an old man now. And you mean to tell me you’ve been here for how many years and you’ve never been to the Last Chance?”

  “Um. No…”

  “Wow, you really don’t get out much, do you? That’s gotta be the first stop on our tour. Speaking of which, I have to let this varathane dry. Why don’t we start our Chance Rapids guided tour right now?”

  “I really shouldn’t.” Megan protested.

  “What, you’ve got somewhere to go?”

  “Actually, no. And it looks like the crew is done for the day, so, why not. Let’s do it. Go get your cane, old man, and show me the town.” Megan winked at Josh and strode out of the workshop.

  * * *

  Josh hooked Timber up to his leash and the three of them set out toward the downtown strip. The snow hadn’t let up and it was now over the top of Megan’s boots as she walked. As they turned the corner, Josh pointed to the icicles hanging from the barber shop awning. “Watch your head, we call those widow-maker’s here.” As Megan looked up at the giant spear of ice looming over her head, she missed its counterpart, a frozen puddle of ice and even with Charlotte’s fancy winter boots, her foot slipped out from beneath her. “Eeeeeee,” she squealed and flailed her arms, grasping for anything to rescue her tailbone from certain bruising.

  Josh caught her by her elbow and whisked her back to her feet. “I guess I should’ve been more worried about the ice patch than the death spear,” he laughed. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” Megan’s heart was pumping. Josh was still gripping her elbow and she swore that she could feel the heat from his hand penetrating her down coat and radiating through to her core.

  “This would be the gentlemanly thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Josh said, and crooked his elbow, inviting Megan to weave her arm through his. She smiled and stuck her mittened hand through the crook and gripped his muscular forearm.

  “First stop, the coffee shop.”

  “Wait, I thought Chance Rapids didn’t have a coffee shop.”

  “I should say gas station,” Josh chuckled. “You need to study your competition, don’t you?”

  “I suppose I do,” Megan mused.

  They walked past the pumps and into the gas station, a bell ringing above the door as they entered.

  “Hi, Josh.” The white-haired lady at the cash register smiled. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Muriel, this is Megan.”

  “Well, how do you do?” Muriel asked, and leaned on the counter.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Megan smiled and reached out her hand to shake Muriel’s.

  The gas station was surprisingly warm inside, not white and institutional like the stations along the highway. Beams ran along the ceiling and there were stuffed bears and deer placed in each corner. “Are those real?” Megan whispered.

  “Yep,” Josh whispered back and reached his arm around her to guide her to the small eating area adjacent to the convenience store. The smell of fried food and something delicious that Megan couldn’t quite put her finger on, met them as they slid into the Formica seats of the booth.

  Muriel toddled over to the table with a coffee carafe in her hand, “Coffee? Just brewed.”

  “Yes, please,” Josh smiled and held up his white ceramic cup. Muriel’s hand shook as she poured the hot liquid into Josh’s cup.

  “You too, honey?”

  “Yes, please.” Megan slid her cup across the table.

  After Muriel left Josh leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t like to live on the edge, do you?”

  “I prefer to keep my hands un-scalded,” Megan whispered back and unfolded the laminated menu. “What’s the house specialty?”

  “Well, I heard that they’re fresh out of caviar, but the grilled cheese sandwich is a nice option. Or the fish and chips.”

  “Do I dare ask?” Megan pointed to the sign above the cut-out for the kitchen. It was a piece of lined paper scrawled with marker stating that beaver tails were on sale.

  “You’ve never had a beaver tail?”

  Megan’s eyes grew wide. “No. I can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, I know what we’re ordering. He reached over and closed her menu and waved Muriel over to the table.”

  “A beaver tail with two forks.”

  “Coming right up,” she jotted the order down on her notepad and tucked it back into her apron.

  “Josh, I’m not even all that hungry,” Megan protested. “I’m fine with the coffee.”

  To illustrate, she took a sip and nearly spat out the contents onto the table.

  “Muriel likes to make it thick.” Josh grinned and poured two generous teaspoons of sugar into his coffee.

  “That’s barely drinkable,” Megan whispered.

  “I know, but if you add enough sugar, it’s like jet fuel. Be prepared to get everything from your to-do list checked off.”

  Megan took a look around the gas station coffee shop. There were two tables of old men in work clothes all drinking coffee and playing cards. She could hear the bell ring as people walked into the variety store, clomping the snow off their boots on the rubber mat. “So how is this beavertail prepared?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

  “Oh, it’s deep fried.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me? And what’s the texture like?”

  Josh leaned his elbows on the table and brought his face in close to hers. He smiled mischievously, his eyes never breaking their lock on hers. He took her hand in his and Megan felt her breath hitch. But instead of holding it, he placed it on the table and smoothed it out so that her palm was flat on the cold surface. “Well, you see. When they cut the tail off the beaver, it’s really tough from all that water slapping, so they have to tenderize it.” He made a chopping motion on her wrist. Then he grabbed the salt shaker and started to roll it over her hand. “They take it in the back and drive a truck over top of it. Not a small truck like mine, but a three-quarter ton truck; it’s the only thing that will get them nice and flat.”