The UnLucky Bear
1075 Words
The morning of the twenty-second arrived with a soft, persistent snowfall that muffled the world in white. Elara spent the first hour of her day sitting on the porch of the cottage, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching a tiny, shivering shape approach the steps.
It was the terrier. The "menace" from the day before.
"Oh, back for more, are you?" Elara asked, her voice raspy from the cold. "Looking for another ankle to bite or just here to see if the universe has dropped a piano on me yet?"
The dog let out a small, hopeful whimper. Elara sighed and reached for a small piece of turkey she’d saved from her sandwich. She tossed it onto the snow. The dog bolted for it, tail wagging so hard his entire back half shook.
"Yeah, yeah. Eat up. You and I are the same, pal," she muttered. "Just wandering around in the cold hoping someone doesn't lock the door on us. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with airport security. A dog with your attitude would be in a federal holding cell by noon."
She reached out a cautious hand, and to her surprise, the dog didn't nip. He leaned his cold, wet head against her palm.
"Great. Now I’m the patron saint of stray mutts," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Don't get used to it. I’m scheduled to fly out in forty-eight hours, assuming the sky doesn't decide to stage a coup."
She retreated inside to the warmth of the fire, the dog lingering on the porch like a tiny, furry gargoyle. She was just settling in with a book when her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
The caller ID made her stomach do a slow, uncomfortable roll. MARK.
She stared at it for three full rings before answering. "Mark? Did you accidentally dial the 'too heavy' person by mistake?"
"Elara," his voice came through, sounding smooth and rehearsed. "I’ve been thinking about you. It’s Christmas, and... well, the apartment feels a little too 'minimalist' without you. I miss you."
Elara let out a sharp, bark-like laugh. "You miss me? Or you miss the fact that I was the only person who knew how to fix the Wi-Fi? Because last I checked, my 'vibe' was a personal affront to your aesthetic."
"I was stressed, Elara. We had a good thing. I saw the weather reports—I know you’re stuck. I thought maybe when you get back, we could grab a drink? Start fresh?"
"Mark," Elara said, looking at the fixed handle of her suitcase and then out the window at the spot where Rowan’s truck usually sat. "A 'fresh start' with you is like trying to reboot a computer that’s currently on fire. It’s a bold move, but ultimately a waste of everyone's time. I'm busy. I have a life to live. And surprisingly, the weather here is actually warmer than your heart. Don't call me again."
She hung up, feeling a surge of adrenaline. It was the first time she’d ever had the last word with him.
"One-nil to the heavy vibe," she whispered to the empty room.
The evening brought Rowan. He arrived with a bag of groceries and a look of quiet contentment. They spent the night in front of the hearth, the firelight dancing across the stone. They didn't do anything grand. They just sat.
"You're quiet tonight," Rowan said, leaning back against the sofa.
"My ex called," she said, poking at the fire with a brass rod. "He misses me. Apparently, the minimalist life is less fun when there’s nobody there to admire how empty the room is."
Rowan’s eyes darkened. "And what did you tell him?"
"I told him that I was busy becoming a person who doesn't trip over her own feet anymore. Mostly." She glanced at her bruised shin. "I told him no, Rowan. For the first time, I didn't feel the need to apologize for being in the way."
Rowan reached out, taking the fire poker from her hand and setting it aside. He took her hand in his, his thumb tracing the palm. "Good. Because the person who let you go is the only one in this story who’s actually unlucky."
The tension in the room thickened, the air becoming heavy with everything they hadn't said yet. Rowan stood up, pulling her with him. They stood in the center of the cottage, the only sound the crackle of the wood.
"Twenty-third tomorrow," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "One more sleep."
"I don't want to sleep," Elara breathed.
Rowan leaned in, his hand cupping her neck, his thumb stroking her jawline. Elara tilted her head back, her eyes fluttering shut. This was it. No airport delays, no broken suitcases, just this.
His lips were a breath away from hers when a thunderous pounding erupted on the front door.
"BEAR! BEAR, YOU LITTLE RASCAL! ARE YOU IN THERE?"
They jumped apart as if they’d been struck by lightning. Rowan let out a groan that sounded like a physical ache.
Elara pulled the door open to find a frantic older woman in a neon pink tracksuit. Behind her stood the terrier, looking incredibly guilty.
"Oh! There you are!" the woman cried, scooping the dog up. "I’m so sorry, dear! Bear has a habit of finding the prettiest girl in the county and refusing to leave her porch. I hope he wasn't a bother!"
"He... he was fine," Elara managed, her voice two octaves higher than normal.
"Well, thank you! Happy Christmas!" The woman marched off, the dog yapping a final goodbye.
Elara turned back to Rowan, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with his head in his hands.
"I'm starting to think," Rowan said, his voice muffled, "that the universe isn't just trying to stop you from leaving. It’s actively c**k-blocking me."
Elara let out a hysterical laugh. "Welcome to my world, Rowan. Where even the neighbors’ dogs have a sense of comedic timing. I guess that’s my cue to go to bed."
Rowan looked up, a frustrated but fond smile on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Elara. And I'm bringing a muzzle for every dog in a ten-mile radius."
- Writer
