An Unexpected Coffee Run

What’s a girl to do when she notices she’s out of coffee right before a huge winter storm is supposed to hit her house? Does she determine it’s a life or death situation and, therefore, she must brave the roads? Of course she does. 

*

My breath fogs up the glass of my driver’s side window as my forehead rests against its cold material, the circle of condensation growing bigger and smaller as I take each breath. The silence of my broken-down car is palpable in the space around me. I should’ve known better than to attempt these roads all for the sake of caffeine. 

I’ve been here for thirty minutes, hoping some presence of life suddenly appears on this back road no one ever takes because, of course, my phone is dead. Completely dead. I was smart enough to bring it in case something happened, but I neglected to check the battery, and 5% didn't last very long. So now I have a dead car and a dead phone, and the snow that was just a few flurries when I left is coming down in full sheets of white as the sun slowly makes its descent into the sky. So I might as well be dead too. 

My breath hitches in a small moment of panic. No, we will not have a panic attack. We cannot have a panic attack. 

I will my breathing back to normal and decide to rummage around my car to see what supplies I can find. A half-eaten granola bar that probably won’t kill me if I eat it, a million gum wrappers, a couple of old CDs, and––aha!––a sweatshirt. I quickly unzip my jacket and pull on the sweatshirt before bundling up again. I rub my hands together viciously like I see people do in the movies. Maybe there’s some method to this madness. It doesn’t work. I can already feel my toes beginning to numb, and I quickly bat away the image of some lone police officer finding me frozen to my steering wheel wearing my Tinker Bell fleece pajamas. Maybe I can find a Post-it note to write saying they were a gift from my niece. I can stick it to my cheek to make sure they notice it––a justification for my future deceased, mortified self. 

Thirty minutes turns to an hour, and my ability to keep my panic in check is dwindling. Absolutely no one lives on this back road besides me. Me and my lovely fifteen acres of land I inherited when my grandfather passed away. My closest neighbor is three miles down the road, but she spends most nights at her boyfriend’s place closer to town. I’m a lone wolf out here. A new to town, lone wolf. A maybe not so smart or used to living in the country lone wolf. 

Another hour passes, and my eyes begin to flutter close. The exhaustion from today’s house renovations and my body temperature continuously dropping makes the lull of sleep an easy one. I’m dreaming about spackle and spilling a gallon of navy blue paint all over my freshly polished hardwood floors when a slight knock drifts into my ears. My dream self pauses, searching the room for the sound as the knocks become louder and more persistent. 

My eyes flash open when my body realizes the sound is happening in real life and not my dream, only to lock eyes with a face plastered against my window, the person holding a flashlight in their right hand blinding me. My reaction, of course, is to scream bloody murder. 

“I’m here to help!” the voice says, slightly muffled through the glass. 

I stopped yelling, remembering the situation I was in and that I desperately needed help. But here I am, alone, in a snowstorm, without any resources, and the person who comes to save me is a man? Of course. 

I yell loud enough so he can hear me through the window. “Are you planning to murder me?” 

The flashlight shines away from my car for a moment before blinding me again. “I’m not planning to murder you.” 

“I can’t say I feel very confident with your answer,” I reply. 

“Listen, my truck is parked in front of you. I’ll meet you there when you’re ready.” 

The man does what he says and trudges off to his truck. I look through my front windshield and see the taillights of said pickup truck, the still thick snow building up in the bed. 

I take a deep breath, place my keys in between my fingers so I can shank the man if need be, and head out into the freezing cold. 

The man pops the passenger side door open, and I hop inside, immediately placing my hands on the blasting air vents. An unexpected sigh of pleasure escapes from my mouth, and I quickly defend myself. “It’s really freaking cold out there.” 

He chuckles in response. “You think? What were you doing out here anyway? Every news station from here to New York City said to stay indoors.” 

“Um, well. Funny you should ask. I was out of coffee, you see…” I trail off, unsure how to not sound utterly ridiculous in this situation. 

He bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, but please do not tell me you left your house in this weather for coffee.” 

“Well I was going to be snowed in for a few days, and I realized I was out of it…” 

He’s hysterical now. Unnecessarily so. 

“That may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but you've got guts. Or something along those lines.” He holds his hand out. “I’m Jake.” 

“Holly,” I say, shaking his hand in response. 

I can only make out some features of his face highlighted by the lights on the dashboard. Short, dark hair. A thin yet strong worker build, the Carhart jacket confirms it. I’m guessing 30-35 years old, probably around my age. 

“And can I ask what you are doing out here? No one is ever on this road, so I’m highly suspicious about your presence. Even though I am grateful. I guess I didn’t thank you. So, thank you. But not if you’re going to murder me. Then I take it back.” 

He laughs again, and I notice he has one dimple on his right cheek. “Don’t mention it. I’m pretty sure you would have died if I wasn’t here.” Well, I guess we’re not sugarcoating things. He continues. “My lovely sister had an epic breakup with her boyfriend and couldn’t stand to be in his house a minute longer. So, since I have a truck with four-wheel drive, I was chosen to pick her up and bring her home.” 

“Wait, Suzie is your sister?” I ask. 

“Yup. Little sister. We’re only two years apart.” 

“Wow. I would never wish a break up on someone, but I’m so glad it happened on this night.” 

Jake turns to look at me. “What are you doing out here? The only other place on this road is the Asher house, and that old man died a couple months ago.” 

My heart sinks at the mention of my grandfather. His death was imminent but still unexpected. I feel suddenly protective of my grandfather at Jake’s nonchalance at his passing. 

“That old man was my grandfather, and I recently moved into the house.” 

He looks momentarily embarrassed before furrowing his brows in sympathy. “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive there. I actually knew Nate pretty well. I was sad to see him go. He didn’t mention anything about planning to leave the house to family.” 

“He didn’t tell anyone. Even my parents were shocked. I wasn’t.” I notice the seat warmer isn’t up to full strength and I push the button to change that. “We talked almost every day. He knew what I was going through. I think he was giving me a chance to start over.” 

Jake doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad for it. I already said more than I meant to. He simply nods his head up and down before shifting the car into drive. “Well, let’s get you back home then, shall we?” 

*

The two-mile stretch back to my house is treacherous, to say the least. It took us a full twenty minutes since we could only see about two inches in front of Jake’s truck. I have no idea what I was thinking trying to go out in this weather as a country newbie all for coffee. 

I look over at Jake as we pull into my driveway, his truck lights shining on my freshly painted yellow front door. He parks the truck and turns towards me. We both speak at the same time. 

“Well––”

“I really think––” 

We laugh. 

“You first,” Jake says. 

“Listen. Thank you so much for stopping when you did and braving these roads to bring me home. I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I can’t, under good conscience, send you back out there until it’s cleared.” 

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “Please come inside and wait this out. Even though I’m out of coffee, I have all the other necessary requirements to stay alive. Although I also have many weapons, so if you do end up trying to murder me, I suggest you think otherwise.” 

Jake laughs before shutting off the engine. “I appreciate it. I’m pretty confident on the roads, but even this is worse than I thought it was going to be. I thought I’d be able to make it home from Suzies.” He pauses for a moment before asking, “Are you sure?” 

“Positive. It took us twenty minutes to get here, and we weren’t even close to Suzie’s house. I don’t think I would be able to live with you saving my life only to die in return. This is not a soap opera movie.” 

“There’s still time,” Jake jests. 

I flick on the lights as we make our way inside, taking my jacket off while Jake immediately heads over to the wood-burning stove, getting it ready without me asking him to. He stands up and rubs his hands on his pants, locking eyes with me as a flush of embarrassment suddenly comes over him. 

“I should have asked before doing that. I’m so sorry. I always used to do it for Nate.” 

This surprises me. Jake said he knew Nate well, but I know Nate didn’t just let anyone come around. He must have really liked him. 

“How often were you over here?” I asked. 

“Ah, just a few times a week. Nothing crazy.” Jake shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. 

“Nothing crazy? It sounds like you saw him more than I did,” I scoff, pushing back a wave of emotion that suddenly comes over me. The publishing house has kept me so busy the last few months that I haven’t been able to take any time off to visit Nate. He asked me to come out the weekend before he passed, and I couldn’t, or should I say, wouldn’t, take the time off. 

Jake is polite enough to not say anything. It’s refreshing to have someone give me the space I need in a conversation. I head to the kitchen and start pulling out things to make a charcuterie board. 

“Hungry?” I ask. 

“Starving.” 

Jake quickly picks up on what I’m doing and begins to silently help. He grabs the meats, cheese, and olives and aligns them nicely on the serving platter I took out. I grab a beer for him and a glass of wine for myself before we make our way over to the couch, soaking up the warmth of the wood-burning stove in front of us. 

I can tell Jake’s at ease in this space. A mark of someone being here often, and I’m oddly comforted by how comfortable he is. Knowing he knew my grandfather so well has me feeling all sorts of ways. When the lawyer called to tell me Nate had left the house to me, I immediately asked if he had the correct name. Surely, he meant my mother, but no, he meant me. I took a weekend to think about it, but the moment I was sent to get yet another coffee for a co-worker who was fully capable of getting it himself, I put in my two weeks' notice. I vented to Nate often about my job, and he always asked me why I didn’t quit. I usually blamed it on rent and other responsibilities, but I think he knew I was afraid to start over. Giving me this house gave me the opportunity to, and I’m immensely grateful for it. 

Jake clears his throat, and I zone back in, realizing I went to my own little world there for a second. 

“Thanks again for having me here. I promise I’ll head out as soon as the roads are clear.”

I wave a hand, “No worries. I think you and I both know that’s not going to be anytime soon, but it’s okay.” 

Jake smiles, and I’m momentarily caught off guard by how adorable his one dimple is. Who knew dimples could be cute? 

“What did you do for Christmas?” Jake asks. “I can’t believe that was only last week. This time of the year always has me feeling in limbo.” 

I can’t believe it was last week already either. I didn’t even stop to celebrate it. Mom called and asked why I didn’t want to come home for Christmas, and I couldn’t give her a clear answer as to why. I’m grieving. I’m determined to fix up this place. I forgot what it’s like to enjoy the silence. The silence is suffocating without Nate here. I’m in over my head. 

“I was here. I’ve been working on fixing up parts of this house, and I didn’t want to lose my momentum.” 

Jake studies me. I know he can tell there’s more to the story, but he doesn’t press. “I know Nate would be really proud of all you’re doing here, but I don’t think he would have wanted you to be alone for the holidays.” He turns to look out the window. The snow continues to fall in sheets of white with no sign of letting up. “But at this rate, you might not be spending New Year's Eve alone. Just with a stranger.”  He winks. 

The clock over the stove reads 11:05 P.M., less than an hour till New Year's Eve. Thank goodness it’s not already New Year's Eve. Talk about the awkwardness we would’ve had there at midnight.

Jake looks around the room before his eyes land on what he’s looking for. “Nate and I used to play Rummy 500 a lot. Do you want to play?” 

I smile at the memories of playing the same game with my grandfather. “I’d love to.” 

We played cards for the next two hours, talking intermittently about life and nonsense. I learned Jake owns a construction company in town and often did projects for Nate around the house; mowing, weeding, fixing leaky faucets, and things like that. I told him about my stressful job at the publishing house and how I’m looking to send my resume to the local one in town. Funny enough, Suzie happens to be an assistant there. He already promised to put in a good word. 

Around 2 A.M., I made up the guest room for Jake, setting him out a fresh towel and some old sweats Nate still had hanging around. I thanked him again for his help and wished him good night as I made my way to my room. In bed, I stared up at the ceiling, reflecting on how unexpected this night turned out to be. How a simple, albeit stupid, coffee run turned into one of the best evenings I’ve had in years. I rolled over, cocooning myself into my duvet comforter, soaking in the feeling of a house well-loved, given to me by my favorite person, right on the precipice of sleep when I realized something. 

I was still wearing my TinkerBell pajama pants. And Jake didn’t say a thing.