The UnLucky Glimpse of Him
913 Words
Elara woke to a pale, grey light spilling through the frost-coated window. The streets outside were unnervingly quiet, shimmering with a fresh layer of white. The storm had finally eased overnight. She rubbed her arms and pulled the thin quilt tighter against the chill. Tomorrow, her rescheduled flight would leave. One more day and she could finally escape this city. She could almost taste the cedar-scented air of the cottage.
Breakfast was meager. It was a tray of cold, hard toast and coffee so watery it was translucent. But it was something. Today, she decided she would take control of one small thing. If the universe was going to keep her trapped here, she would at least be trapped with company.
She bundled herself into her coat and made her way to the front desk. The old woman behind the counter didn't even look up from her crossword.
“I’d like to host a tea gathering in the lounge,” Elara said. “Just for the guests stuck here. Nothing fancy.”
The woman tapped a withered finger against the counter, her eyes narrowing as she calculated the effort involved. “I suppose that’s alright,” she said finally. “Just be careful with the candles and don’t spill anything on the rugs. They're older than you are.”
Elara nodded. She felt a small, unfamiliar surge of pride. Even in the middle of a disastrous December, she could carve out a tiny win.
She set to work in the lounge. She arranged the mismatched cups, the chipped plates, and a steaming pot of tea. A few curious guests drifted in, lured by the warmth and the faint, herbal scent of the tea.
“Morning,” said the young man with messy hair who she had seen in the hallway earlier. He settled into a chair with a groan of relief. “Looks like we’re stuck here a while.”
“Morning,” Elara replied. She poured him a cup with a steady hand. “At least there’s tea. And biscuits. They're slightly stale, but they’re edible.”
He laughed. “Better than cold toast. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for three hours wondering if I could hike to the airport.”
A middle-aged woman joined them next and brushed a dusting of snow off her boots. “You organized this?” she asked. “That’s thoughtful. I was just going to stay in my room and sulk.”
“I thought some company might make the day pass faster,” Elara said. She offered a small, genuine smile. “Misery shared is misery halved.”
The woman chuckled. “I like that. I’m June.”
“Elara,” she said. “I'm glad you came down.”
Another guest, a man named Marcus with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, hesitated in the doorway before joining the circle. The conversation eased into shared stories of missed buses, frozen streets, and the sheer incompetence of airline customer service. Laughter trickled through the room. It was tentative, but it warmed the space better than the radiator ever could.
Despite the warmth, Elara’s attention drifted toward the window.
Across the street, a dark truck was idling. A man stood beside it. He was dressed in a rugged, dark work jacket that stretched across broad shoulders. He wasn't wearing a hat, and even from here, she could see the sharp, clean lines of his profile. His jawline was strong and stubborn, dusted with a light stubble that caught the morning light.
He was holding a small child. The girl was squirming, her pink mittens waving in the air, but the man held her with a practiced, gentle strength. He looked down at the child, and for a split second, his expression softened into something so tender it made Elara’s heart give a strange, sudden thud.
He carefully tucked the child into the truck and adjusted a small, thick blanket around her before climbing into the driver's seat himself. As he turned to check his blind spot, his gaze seemed to sweep across the B&B windows.
Elara froze. She felt a jolt of heat climb her neck. Then the door shut, the engine hummed with a powerful vibration, and the truck drove off.
“Who’s that?” June asked, noticing Elara’s sudden silence. “The local eye candy?”
“No idea,” Elara said. She quickly looked back at her tea, her pulse still drumming in her ears. “Just someone leaving, I guess. Nothing important.”
Marcus smirked. “You sound suspiciously interested for someone calling it nothing important. He did have a hell of a truck, though.”
She ignored him and took a careful sip of her tea. The image of the man lingered in her mind. He looked like the opposite of her life. He looked steady. He looked like someone who didn't let the wind push him around.
Inside, the tea gathering continued. The soft chatter filled the room and for a few hours, the chaos of December felt far away. Elara had created something meaningful in the middle of the mess. The snow outside glimmered, a quiet reminder that she was leaving tomorrow.
One day left. She just had to survive one more day without the floor falling out from under her
- Writer
