Snowstorms & Schnapps Chapter 2

Two hours was all the peace I got before Serena pinged me. She decided to do her job at 5pm on a Friday.

I paced back and forth in front of the crackling fire, my phone squeezed in my hand as Serena’s voice droned on about another delay in the project. We’d already lost connection once and the spotty reception grated on my nerves. I made a beeline for the bathtub.

“We need to move faster, Serena,” I snapped, feeling the warmth of the schnapps blend with the simmering irritation in my chest. “Deadlines aren’t suggestions.”

She sighed on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “Caroline, I hear you, but these things take time —”

“Time is what we don’t have,” I cut in, my grip on the phone tightening. “Do whatever you have to do. I’m not accepting any more delays, so figure it out. And I mean today.”

“Fine,” Serena conceded, her voice laced with resignation, but it didn’t matter. I’d established control — for now. “I’ll send you an update before the end of the day.”

“Not an update. Results,” I clarified, cutting through the tension like a knife. “End of story.”

I hung up. And everything around me went black. I stumbled out of the bathtub to check on the rest of the cabin.

The fire remained alive, casting its soft, warm glow, but every hum — the refrigerator, the heater — simply… vanished.

The reception on my phone died.

No more bars.

Emergency Calls Only.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered as the screen went dark. A complete power outage. And nothing seemed to come right back on.

I stood still, adjusting my eyes to the sudden change, the shadows from the fire leaping across the cabin walls. Panic flickered in my gut before I swallowed it down. It’s just a blackout, nothing more. After the steep climb up the treacherous mountain roads today, I should’ve expected as much.

I padded over to the kitchen, hands groping along the countertops, searching for an emergency flashlight or even candles.

Something.

“No candles?” I mumbled to myself, checking each drawer. I came up empty-handed. Great. Note to self: double-check basic survival rules before booking a solo getaway in the middle of the wilderness next time.

I wandered back to the living room and peeked out one window. The wind howled, and sheets of snow swirled in chaotic gusts, blanketing the cabin in a suffocating white veil.

Suddenly, the idea of being alone in this cabin for days no longer seemed as enticing.

I glanced at my phone again; it mocked me with its uselessness. The screen flashed — one bar, and it was gone. I entertained the idea of throwing it into the fire. But no, no — I was an adult. I had supplies, didn’t I? Schnapps, blankets, this lovely fire. It wouldn’t be so bad.

Or would it?

The flurries outside intensified, and the temperature dropped. I had the fire going, but the rest of the space felt like it could plunge into freezing temperatures if I didn’t manage this right. Surely, one night of snow wouldn’t be that bad.

I sank onto the sofa, clutching the edge of the blanket tight around my legs. An icy breeze rattled the windows again, sending an unnerving shiver down my spine. Taking a deep breath, I unscrewed the cap from the schnapps bottle sitting on the coffee table and took another long, steady gulp.

The alcohol spread warmth deep inside me, temporarily washing away the rising anxiety as I stared into the fire. I closed my eyes and considered my options.

Okay, Caroline. You’ve clearly overreacted just a little. The power outage was manageable. The storm wouldn’t last forever. And there is a ton of food in the cabinets you can eat.

I settled back into the cushions, just as I started imagining what my checklist for “things to survive the apocalypse” might look like when —

THUD.

I nearly jumped out of my skin as a loud, insistent knock echoed throughout the cabin.

I froze.

Who could possibly be knocking in this weather? My mind began conjuring up images of axe-wielding maniacs, maybe even a mountain psychopath who preyed on out-of-place city women in cabins tucked deep in the woods.

Another knock, this time louder, more persistent.

I swallowed hard, the alcohol still burning low in my throat. Logic slowly reasserted itself, reminding me that the more likely scenario was, of course, Doris’s nephew. Jake, wasn’t it? Yes, Jake had promised to help with any issues, and — given the current state of things — it would only make sense for him to check in.

Not… murder me or anything wild like that.

Gathering every ounce of remaining dignity, and still clutching my trusty bottle of schnapps, I tiptoed over to the door. My fingers hovered over the cold metal of the doorknob for a second before I twisted it and pulled.

And there he was.

The man standing out in the storm, snow dusted on the broad planes of his shoulders and the brim of his dark hat, looked like something straight out of an outdoors catalog. Tall, muscular, with rugged features framed by his thick winter coat and scruffy beard.

Where the hell did they make men like this out here, anyway?

“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of familiarity, though thick with that low, mountain-man kind of ease. “Came by to check on you. Looks like your power went out during the storm.” His face broke into an easy grin, as though standing outside in a snowstorm with an axe slung over his shoulder was all part of a routine Friday night.

I blinked. Alcohol did most of the lubricating in my brain at the moment, which accounted for why my next words tumbled out without any filter: “Well, helloooo there, handsome.”

His grin deepened at the ridiculous flirt that slipped out of my mouth.

What was I doing?

I recoiled in embarrassment, clutching the schnapps bottle tighter, the only shield between me and my boiling idiocy.

To my relief — or maybe horror — Jacob didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. “Mind if I come in and help you get that generator up and running?” He glanced toward the darkened room behind me. “Looks like you don’t have any other source of light.”

I widened the door.

“Wait, there’s a generator?”

He stepped in, the warmth of the fire rushing to meet the cold he brought with him.

I closed the door behind him, feeling the casual weight of his presence fill the tight cabin space. “So, you’re Jacob, then,” I said, trying to turn down the growing heat in the pit of my stomach. Focus, Caroline. Generator. Cabin electricity. Not lumberjack abs.

“Jake works,” he said, dusting the snow from his beard and hat. “It’s coming down pretty hard out there. Could get worse before it gets better.”

I took another sip of schnapps, more for the courage of speaking coherently than for the buzz. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll manage. I, uh, don’t really do the whole mountain thing regularly.”

His eyes lit with amusement as he glanced out the window. “I figured. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but… here I am to help the city girl.”

I rolled my eyes despite myself. “I’m fine on my own, really.”

With a shake of his head, Jake’s easy grin softened. He gave me a once-over, not unkindly, before responding with a chuckle. “Yeah, I can see that.”

He set down his axe and a canvas bag near the door and surveyed the space. “You’ll need a steady fire going, and I’ll give you a crash course on the generator. Lucky for you, I’m just up the road if anything else goes out. You turning this entire bottle into dinner?”

I shot him a look of mock offense, raising the schnapps bottle. “Please. It’s only my starter course.”

His eyes twinkled with laughter, and despite the embarrassment lurking within me, I smiled. Something about Jake — the calm confidence, the rugged kindness — seeped into the atmosphere. He wasn’t intruding; he wasn’t judging. He was simply… there. Helper-mode fully activated.

“So,” he asked, gesturing toward the kitchen, “let’s check that generator. There’s an access door to the shed in the back of the pantry.”