Double Booked

“I hate snow.” AnnaSophia mumbled to herself. She watched it fall from her spot, curled up on the seat of the bay window. The bay window overlooked the front yard that belonged to the little cottage she rented every year for the holidays.  

This was supposed to be her home away from home. Her little retreat. Her way of getting away from the overwhelming hustle and bustle of the city. That, and the constant calls from her editor asking about her next novel. To which she always replied, “I’m typing as we speak.” 

She wasn’t.  

She hadn’t been able to put words to paper in a month. 

She wasn’t surprised by her struggle, just irritated. January 1st to March 31st, she was a literal writing machine. Pumping out sentence after sentence, page after page, chapter after chapter. Then April would hit, the month of her birth, and the loneliness would creep in and rob her of her creativity. 

Once her birth month was over, she was back to her machine-like ways. Until mid-November. Then came Thanksgiving and Christmas, both holidays in which people are usually surrounded by their loved ones, and she never felt more alone.  

So, every year, she fled the city. Renting out this beautiful little cottage, in the middle of nowhere, for two months. She always told her editor that it was a way to focus. Her apartment was never quiet, too many people having holiday parties. She needed peace to be able to create her cozy little worlds. 

That was bull of course. She just didn’t want to watch, or hear, the families celebrating the one thing she didn’t have. Each other. 

So, here she sat. Surrounded by a mountain of pillows, covered in a fuzzy blanket, a mug of her favorite coffee in hand, staring out at the snow she hated so much. Her computer sat open in front of her, the cursor blinking at her incessantly. As if it was admonishing her for, once again, not completing a single sentence.          

She sighed, reaching over and slapping her laptop closed and pushing it away. Irritated by its very presence.  

Mortimer her, ridiculously large, Irish Wolfhound lifted his head to gaze at her. After a moment of staring at her with his big brown eyes he deduced nothing was amiss and, with a huff, laid his head back on the floor. 

“Well excuse me sir.” Her voice was all sarcasm. “How rude of me to disturb your slumber.” 

He didn’t even flick an ear in acknowledgement. 

Rude. She thought before turning back to continue staring out the window. The snow fell in great white puffs, blanketing the earth in a layer of softness. She raised her mug to her lips, only to find it empty. She pulled in a loud breath through her nose. Releasing the air in an unattractive whine before she threw off the blanket to head for the kitchen. 

“Oh great, magical cupboard, what teas do you hold for me this time?” Her voice was as dramatic as possible as she swung the double doors open.  

The entire left door was filled with different tea types and flavors. She had a habit of grabbing the most outrageously flavored one she could find, brewing it, then absolutely hating it. But she drank it. Every. Last. Drop. For she was no quitter. This time, however, she chose a delicate chamomile. 

She hummed a sea shanty to herself as she heated up the water in the kettle. And while she let the tea leaves steep.  

Mortimer had moved from his place beside the bay window to follow her into the kitchen and was sitting expectantly beside the little island. “You don’t need a treat.”  

He whined in protest, nudging the cookie jar with his nose. 

“Nope.” She replied, popping the p. 

 He replied with a high-pitched “awoo-woo” and nudged the jar a little harder. 

“Shhh, we’re trying to watch your figure. Remember? You’ve been looking a little pudgy lately.”  

He grumbled and growled at her criticism before barking outright.  

“Are you sassing me?” She asked, placing her hands on her hips.  

He barked again in response. 

“Look here sir….I am arguing with a dog.” Mortimer just stood there, staring at her expectantly. His tail swishing lazily side to side. “Oh my god, I’m becoming Kristoff from Frozen.” 

Mortimer continued to stare, waiting. She sighed, giving in. Her hand reached into the cookie jar and pulled out his favorite treat. He moved to her, tail wagging much faster now. She offered it to him, and he took it gingerly from her fingers. He munches on his prize before walking over and rubbing his side against her person like a cat. 

“Weirdo.” She says affectionately, scratching him beneath the chin. “And I’m doing it again. I really need to get real friends,” she admits to them both. Mortimer’s face looks quite perturbed, though that’s probably just in her head. She answers the expression anyway. “Human friends,” she corrects. 

Having received his prize, and some good scritches, he heads back to his place by the bay window to continue his nap. AnnaSophia finished making her tea and followed him. Snagging a book from the bookshelf on the way, before she settled back into her spot. 

Twelve chapters, and three full cups of tea later, the light had faded from the sky. The gas fireplace, and the single lamp she had flicked on above her head, the only light in the room. She pulled off the blanket and placed the book beside her on the window seat. Swinging her legs to the floor she stood and stretched. Her joints made solid cracks and pops as she reached her arms over her head toward the ceiling and arched her back. 

“Come on bud.” She said, reaching down to scratch behind Mortimer’s ear. “I’m ready for bed.” 

Mortimer’s tail thumped on the floor as he pulled himself up. He gave a nice, deep stretch before following her down the hall to the stairs that led to the bedrooms. They climbed the stairs together and made their way to the door at the end of the hall.  

AnnaSophia didn’t even bother with the light. She walked to the bed in the dark. She threw herself face first into the pillow, rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric. She felt the bed dip as Mortimer helped himself to the place beside her, laying down with his back to her side. 

She scooted closer. Throwing her arm, and one of her legs for good measure, over his side as she cuddled up into his soft fur. They both released matching sighs of contentment before falling asleep together.       

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the rumbling from Mortimer that woke her. 

“What?” She asked, trying to orient herself after being pulled from a deep sleep. “What’s wrong?” 

He didn’t answer, of course, but he did remove himself from the bed to stand at the door of the room. His rumbling turned to quiet growls as he stared out into the hallway.  

That’s when she heard the movement downstairs. 

Now, if there was one thing AnnaSophia had in spades it was imagination. She was a best-selling author after all. She wouldn’t be able to build the worlds she has, at the speed she has, without having an imagination that overflows.  

Mix that imagination and her love of scary movies.... She had come to all sorts of conclusions about what was about to happen in the little cottage.  

As she stood there, thinking of all the ways she might be murdered, whatever—whoever—was down below had made it to the stairs. The old wood creaked beneath the weight as they ascended. Whatever—whoever—it was must have been confident, as they—it—was making no effort at silence, 

She had a decision to make. Stand here and wait or grab the first heavy object she could find and use it to bludgeon the intruder. She chose the latter.  

There was a beautiful, metal figurine of a bear on the bedside table. It would do nicely. 

I don’t think this is quite what people think of when they hear ‘death by bear attack’. Her brain quipped as she moved to stand beside Mortimer. Her hand found his collar and together they inched out the open door toward the switch for the hall light. 

Her hand made contact just as whatever was on the stairs reached the top. 

 She flipped the light. 

A man, a very large man, stood at the top of the stairs.   

In the next second, three things happened all at once.  

AnnaSophia screamed.  

Mortimer lunged. 

And the very large man let out a very loud wail. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes, two near-death experiences—for him—and some explanations later, they found themselves sitting together in the kitchen. 

As it turns out, William—the name of, as he turned out to be, the very nice gentleman—had every reason to join her in the cottage. He too had rented the space and was just as surprised as she was to find another person inside. 

She supposed the shock really was worse for him. Imagine thinking you were alone, heading to bed after a long drive....Only to find a bear-wielding woman and her, very unhappy, dog waiting for you. This would be startling to anyone. Made worse by the fact said dog was the size of a small horse. 

And then Mortimer had lunged for him. 

Luckily, AnnaSophia still had had ahold of his collar. Not that it stopped Mortimer entirely. He had made it a good two feet before she had dropped the bear and used both hands, and all her strength, to stop him from making it to the poor man. 

(Now that she thought about it, she wondered if the floor survived. That bear figurine was as heavy as it was solid. She shuddered to think of the damage she may have done to the hardwood.) 

And, in his haste to flee Mortimer’s charge, William had spun back towards the stairs. Which would have been fine, if not for his socks. 

He slipped off the first step, started to fall, caught himself, continued his dash, slipped off another step, and this time he did fall.  

But, with some vigorous arm flailings and quite a few unmanly squeals, he managed to land on his bottom. All things considered; she thought that a better alternative to falling all the way to the bottom of the stairs. She wasn’t sure William agreed though. 

“So, what should we do?” William asked.  

It was a hard question to answer. Both had rented this cottage for similar reasons. Both had paid the renting fee, in full. Neither wanted to leave. 

AnnaSophia knew the polite thing to do would be to allow William the remainder of her rented time. She had already been there for a month, and it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford to take the loss.  Yes, allowing him to stay was the polite thing.  

She really did not want to be polite. 

“We could share.” She started, realizing how ludicrous that sounded only after the words had left her mouth. 

“I’m a stranger.” He began, concern for her lack of judgment plain to see on his face. “I could be a mass murderer.” 

AnnaSophia made a face, her nose scrunching as she shook her head. “Nah., I don’t think a murder would ever squeal quite so girly.” She was all cheek as she took a sip from her mug. 

His expression was one of offense. “I don’t think that is the appropriate way to discern whether someone has bad intentions. And I do not squeal like a girl.” 

She gave him a look. 

“I don’t!” 

“Sure, sure.” She replied appeasingly, waving her hand in his direction.  

“I still don’t think both of us staying here is the smartest idea.” He replied, getting serious once again. 

“Do you want to leave?” She was serious now too. 

“No, of course not—” 

“Neither do I.” She cut him off. “The only other option is; we both stay.” 

He stopped talking as he mulled it over. His face was both handsome and remarkably easy to read. She saw the moment he began to really consider her idea. She gave an extra push. 

“Besides, Mortimer would never let you do anything anyway.” At the sound of his name, Mortimer wandered over to them. No doubt the cookie jar, and the treats within, on his mind. 

“You mean this Mortimer?” He asked as he reached out to scratch behind one of Mortimer’s ears. 

Mortimer’s tail wagged and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. Gone was the image of fierce protector. Her fierce protector had been replaced by a doofus. 

“Traitor.”  

William laughed at that. 

“Okay.” He said with a sigh. “I guess we’ll share.” 

AnnaSophia couldn’t help the grin that overtook her face. She loved getting her way. 

“Well then, Merry Christmas William.” 

“Merry Christmas AnnaSophia.”