I thought coming home to see Mom and Dad would cheer me up, but of course, something has to happen to ruin my plan.

Something always does. I swear God or the Universe or whoever is in charge of things just plain hates me.

Ugh. I hate this piece-of-junk car.

I got this stupid, old sedan from the money I had saved up working as a professional burger flipper at the local diner as soon as they gave me my driver’s license.

When I moved to the city, I left it here in Ashbourne. I had read that San Francisco had a pretty good public transport system, and I didn’t want to show up in the city with this beat-up car.

I figured it wouldn’t help me make the best impression. Besides, not having my own car would give me an excuse to get a lift from some cute guy at the office.

Little did I know, carpooling with Harry was going to be one of the worst decisions of my life.

On the other hand, it’s not like I’ve ever made a good decision when it concerns men. I do my best, but then life just kicks me in the butt and laughs at me.

Like I said, someone up there hates me. Maybe there’s a pantheon of bored Greek gods gambling with my fate right now, watching to see what I’ll do.

I mean, seriously, what kind of a sick coincidence is this? Why does my car have to break down right in front of this cabin?

Well, okay, it’s not right in front of the cabin. I’m a few yards away from it and there are some trees partly blocking my view of it, but I’m close.

Ashbourne is also pretty close. I’m only, like, ten miles away. That’s an entire town not too far from here where someone’s bound to be able to help.

Hell, I drove this useless car all the way to the next town to buy Mom’s medication at the big drugstore. It cruised smoothly down highways and through villages.

Why does it suddenly decide to stop working now? And here, of all places?

Maybe it’s my own fault for not taking the car to the garage before taking it for such a long drive. I meant to do that this afternoon, but that’s apparently too late already.

Perhaps everything that has gone wrong in my life is my fault.

In a way, that’s a comforting thought because maybe there’s something I could do to fix things even if there’s one big thing I won’t ever be able to fix.

Luckily, my phone still gets a signal here. I Google the number for the only mechanic in town, Eddie. I call him up as I wrap my jacket tighter around me. I hope it won’t take him too long.

I hear a dial tone, then a robotic voice picks up and says, “You’ve reached—” a pause, then Eddie says, “Eddie’s Garage.” The first voice finishes with, “Please leave your message after the beep.”

I curse in my head. This will probably take longer than I’d hoped, and snow is starting to fall. Tiny flakes stick to my windshield before the heater melts them into little water droplets.

I wonder how much gas I have left in the tank. The fuel gauge hasn’t been working for years—another thing I probably should’ve fixed before starting to drive it this morning.

I hear a beep from the other end of the line and say, “Hi Eddie, this is Sophia York. My car won’t start, and I’m stuck on the highway to Dewhurst. I’m about ten miles from Ashbourne, parked close to the Stromes’ cabin.”

I ask him to call me back as soon as possible, leave him my number, and thank him. I let out a big sigh as I end the call.

What do I do now? If Eddie doesn’t come soon, I’ll be in real trouble. Mom and Dad are minding their coffee shop, which is understaffed because their barista is taking a vacation, so they won’t be able to pick me up until after closing time.

I stare at the cabin. There are so many memories tied up with that place my chest tightens at the sight. I can’t even count the number of nights I fell asleep thinking about what had happened in there, what Eli and I had done in that warm, cozy cabin.

Damn it, warm and cozy sound really good right now.

I narrow my eyes at the cabin.

It doesn’t seem like anyone’s inside. There are no tracks leading to the door, and there’s no smoke coming out of the chimney.

After what happened yesterday at Bertha’s cupcake shop, I don’t want to see Eli ever again. But maybe . . . Maybe I won’t have to see him. He doesn’t even have to know I’ve been inside.

I yank open the glove compartment. If Mom and Dad haven’t thrown out anything, it should still be in there . . .

I fumble around, tossing scraps of paper out onto the passenger seat until, finally, I hear metal jangling.

The key—it’s still in here!

My fingers urgently move things aside until I touch something hard and cold.

The key. I really still have it.

I stare at it then flick my gaze toward the cabin.

Am I really about to do this? I could . . . But, do I really want to?

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t even know if this key will still open the door. It’s been seven years. Eli has probably re-keyed it.

That’s right. There’s no need to worry about whether I should go in there because I don’t even know if I can get in.

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

I grip the car key in the ignition, my hand frozen in place.

This is breaking and entering, right? Even though Eli is the last person I want to speak to right now, maybe I should give him a call . . . except I don’t know his number.

The only reason I’m aware Eli has changed his number is because after moving to the city, I tried to call him, over and over again, day after day. I kept hearing the dial tone, but nobody ever picked up. After a few weeks of that, I tried calling and didn’t hear anything—not even a dial tone.

I guess he didn’t want to hear from me. This knowledge tortured me, especially at night when I was lying alone in my new, unfamiliar bed in a new, unfamiliar city. I lay awake going through all the conversations we’d had, wondering what I’d done wrong.

Outside, even more snow is falling, but it’s barely cold enough for the snow to remain solid until it touches the ground. Damp, white clumps cover the road.

I have to walk a few yards to reach the cabin. If I wait any longer and the snow/rainfall grows any heavier, I’ll be soaking wet by the time I get inside—that is, if I can get inside at all with this old key.

I attempt another call to Eddie’s Garage, but no luck. I just hear the voicemail prompt again, so I hang up.

Turning off the ignition, I open the door. The cold bites into the exposed skin of my face. As the dampness seeps into my clothes and my shoes, the rest of my body starts to feel the sting.

If I can’t open the door, I can at least take shelter on the front porch of the cabin, which is covered by a roof overhang. But, as soon as my trembling fingers insert the key into the lock, it turns easily, and the door unlocks with an effortless click.

Without any hesitation, I step inside.

It’s too cold out there to overthink things. Besides, what’s the alternative? Just wait in the car until I run out of gas and I run out of heat?

Immediately, my eyes find the gas fireplace. Thankfully, I’m lucky for once and the pilot light is on. I take off my wet shoes and socks then turn the control knob to the max and park myself by the dancing flame.

This feels good. I’ve obviously made the right decision coming inside. My bare feet feel particularly good by the flame.

I take off my wet, heavy jacket, but my jeans and my shirt are damp, too. They’ll probably dry after a few minutes sitting by the fireplace, but . . . I mean, I’m the only one here, right?

As I scan the place and look around, I tell myself it’s not like I’ve never been naked in here before, anyway . . .

So, I shed my clothes, all the way down to my underwear, and let the warmth from the flame dry my skin and penetrate into my flesh.

I close my eyes and lie down on the wooden floor. This feels really good.

If I had some of Eli’s delicious hot chocolate, this would be perfect. But, I know how impossible that is.

He hates me. And, after I made a spectacle of myself yesterday, he probably thinks I’m an idiot.

I almost drift off to sleep when I hear the door creak.

Crap.

Did I forget to lock it?

Did the wind blow it open, or did someone open it?

“Who the fuck are you?” a gruff, angry voice demands. “And what the fuck are you doing here?”

My sleepy eyes snap awake to see the open flame flickering right in front of me. Realizing I’m wearing nothing but my underwear, I reach for my shirt.

“Hey! Don’t move. I have a rifle pointing right at you,” the voice says. “Turn around slowly. Put your hands up high over your head.”