Snowbound

Her eyes were already heavy from the drive, and now the darkness made it worse. Snowflakes attacked the windshield like a Star Wars hyperdrive scene, making it feel as if she were moving much faster than she was. The wipers struggled to keep up. No tire tracks and no other lights. She could barely even see the road anymore.

Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. While she was no stranger to harsh conditions, this area was unfamiliar, yet she knew better than to expect any signs of civilization soon. Her last surge of adrenaline had faded.

Then, a flicker of hope—lights ahead, clustered in the distance, just beginning to come into view. She slowed, refusing to let her excitement override caution. She exhaled in relief. An outdated neon sign glowed: Vacancy.

A few hundred feet away, inside the modest motel, a man leaned over the sink rinsing his hands while staring blankly into the mirror. He was grateful not to be hurt, and to the lone truck driver who pulled him from his car, which was now likely buried under several feet of snow a few miles away.

Whatever luck he had left, he knew his options were limited. Whatever came next would have to wait until the weather improved. He inhaled deeply, trying to relax for the first time since the accident. Tearing off a towel, he dried his hands, wiped his face, and tossed it in the bin. He was done with the unexpected. No more excitement for the night.

Walking in from the storm, she shook off the snow and began to peel off her coat. She rolled her eyes, gave an audible sigh, and offered the girl at the front desk a forced smile.

As she approached, the girl’s expression looked reluctant, almost nervous. When she asked for a room, the girl hesitated.

“Um… well… we kind of have a room.”

“Perfect. I’ll take it!”

Before she could break the awkward silence, the man stepped out from the nearby bathroom.

The clerk froze, her brows furrowed as she realized the situation—whatever this was, it wasn’t simple. He’d only told the clerk he wanted a room when he arrived, before quickly retreating to the bathroom. He hadn’t officially checked in. With his coat folded over his arm, he apologized for interrupting and placed his identification on the counter, signaling he was now ready for his key.

The clerk glanced between the two of them, her discomfort growing with every passing second. She slowly closed her eyes and shook her head, a silent cue they both understood. The man avoided eye contact, but could feel the woman’s glare. The clerk’s discomfort was palpable. Finally, the young girl opened a drawer and placed the key to room #7 on the counter.

Knowing the man had arrived first, but hadn’t checked in, the clerk turned to him as if expecting him to defer the room to the newly arrived guest.

Nothing.

Frustrated, the clerk muttered, “I seriously don’t get paid enough for this,” before walking off, leaving the key lying awkwardly between them.

He felt her gaze again, but this time it was softer. Exhaustion was starting to take over. Understanding their situations, and what she must be feeling, he offered a kind smile. With gentle eyes and a soft voice, he simply said, “I’m sorry.”

His words didn’t solve the problem, but something in his voice eased her frustration. A slight sense of relief and a bit of comfort came with his temperament. She let out a soft, dry laugh.

“How cliché,” she murmured, unsure whether to laugh or groan.

They stood outside the room, snow crunching beneath them. The door opened slowly, letting a sliver of outside light spill in to illuminate the first few feet. He held the door open as politely as he could.

She squeezed past him, brushing the snow from her hair. She dropped her bag and searched the wall for a switch. Failing at that, she used the little amount of light from the window to make her way to the bathroom and shut the door.

Their brief conversation in the lobby hadn’t erased all the discomfort, but it had offered enough reassurance they would both likely wake up the next morning. Both had valid IDs and credit cards providing some proof of identity. They learned both were divorced professionals traveling for work, each about three hours from home.

She had a preteen daughter, and he had two teenage girls, and it seemed their kids shared more than a few hobbies and traits. Most importantly, each represented themselves as thoughtful and intelligent through their honest, empathetic, and sympathetic conversation.

If they had met under different circumstances, it might have been a pleasant introduction, perhaps one that was even welcomed.

He wedged the door open with his foot, giving his eyes time to adjust before locating the switch. Now being able to look around the room, he realized their situation had not improved.

After several minutes, the bathroom door opened and she stepped out to find him sitting on the bed, his face buried in his hands.

He looked up to see her expression, which fell somewhere between fear and frustration as she also realized there was only one bed.

Despite her expression, he noticed—for the first time—just how attractive she was. The way she carried herself only deepened that impression.

Still, he forced a wry smile in her direction. “Cliché indeed.”