Blizzard Boy ✓

III

"We do not remember days,
we remember moments."
–Cesare Pavese

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Miles leads me through the café, weaving between tables and couches. He halts in the back as we face a rustic-looking bookshelf.

"This building was made almost a hundred years ago," he explains. "It has an interesting history and a lot of secrets. Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Okay. Sure."

He grins and turns toward the bookshelf. Standing beside it, he gives it a rough, hefty push. As the piece of furniture slides across the hardwood, it slowly begins to reveal something extraordinary: a secret passageway.

I suck in a breath, thoroughly impressed. It's like something right out of a fairytale, the bookshelf moving aside to display a doorway. Inside appears to be a staircase. Perhaps it goes to the attic?

"Cool, right?" Miles grins. "The owner showed me it when he hired me. It goes upstairs."

"Can we go up?"

"Of course," he says, and gestures. "After you, m'lady."

I giggle before slapping a hand over my lips. I'm giggling like a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl, flirting with her crush. Hello? Yeah, I'd like to order a black eye, destination is my face, thank you.

Together we head up the steps, dipping our heads to avoid crashing into beams. At the top, there's a door, and he leads me inside.

My eyes scan the room. "Wow," I breathe. It's only about the size of a small closet, but it's absolutely adorable. There's a little table with two chairs, covered in a red and white checkered tablecloth. Both chairs face a window. It's too dark to see anything properly besides the rapid, chaotic snowflakes.

"Yeah," he says, and gestures to one of the chairs. "Care to sit?"

I obey, and he takes the other chair. For a few moments we bask in the peacefulness of it all, me fixated on the blizzard outside and him watching my reactions.

"So," he says carefully, "You want to become a reporter, right?"

I twist my braided bracelet around my wrist. It's surprisingly dry now. "Yeah but I'm not good at talking to people, and I don't know who I'd interview, and..."

"Interview me. You can get a little practice in, and you can learn more about me in the process. Since we're stuck together, after all." His eyes shine like the glimmer of starlight on a beetle's wing. "Except, you have to answer your own questions, too. Then we can learn about each other."

"Okay," I agree. This will be fun. "Sounds great."

"So, Miss... what's your last name?"

No sense in steering clear of that question now. Acting evasive would only seem suspicious. "Ruiz," I confess. "Astrid Ruiz."

His features are blank. If he recognizes the name, he doesn't show it. "Ms. Ruiz," he amends, flashing me a smile. "What is your first question?"

I bite my lip. Honestly, I have no idea what to ask. Most curiosities are discarded as too personal. "Well, Mister..." I trail off.

"Haddock," he supplies.

"Mr. Haddock." No decent questions come to mind. I blurt, "are you single?"

He hesitates, and raises an eyebrow. "Not too subtle, are you?" He teases me.

"That's not what I mean," I blush, knowing what he's implying. I scoot my chair away from the window, shivering from the draft. "I was just wondering."

"Yes, I am," he informs me, lips twitching, "but I'm not looking to date right now."

I pretend to retrieve an imaginary notebook from my pocket, acting as if I'm writing down his replies. "I see. And how come?"

"Real life got in the way." His answer is vague, mirroring the one earlier, so I sense he doesn't want to talk about it. In respect, I change the subject and offer other questions.

Miles tells me about his experiences with sports, his short-lived glory as captain of the soccer team in high school. That takes me aback. He must've been a shark in the cafeteria's dreaded food chain. But then he describes a time when a guy stole his clothes from the locker room, and I find myself breathless with laughter, forgetting all about my social ineptness.

"It was like..." he snorts, rolling his eyes. "Like a high-speed naked chase all the way around the school. It was the worst prank of all time."

"Oh my god," I double over, wiping my eyes. I haven't been treated well in school, but a naked escapade sounds horrifying. "Did you ever get your clothes?"

"Nope," he laughs. "I actually had to borrow a track uniform from the PE coach. Went into his office practically nude. He never looked at me the same way again."

The conversation shifts then, and Miles informs me of his basic background. He was born into an impoverished family with kind, caring parents. His ethnicity is mostly Italian, though he was born in the United States. I listen as he shies around his current living conditions and I don't pry – that would be hypocritical, since I'd rather not discuss my own situation.

I tell him that I'm mostly living independently, and my main focus is grades right now. Dating is the least of my concerns, and I haven't done besides running. Parties aren't my cup of tea. I don't have many friends, either, which isn't a complaint. I enjoy time alone.

"You know, after this blizzard ends, I'd like to be your friend," he offers, giving me a smile. "I know we just met, but hell, I like you. Maybe we could hang out sometime."

I find myself smiling back. "That would be really nice, actually." Other than Quin, I've never been too outgoing. This could be a good time to start. "You're very kind."

He waves me off. "Naw, don't worry. I'd like to be your friend for my sake, not yours. I have a feeling you'll be great entertainment."

Whether that's a compliment or an insult, I'm not sure, but it does get us talking again. Blushing, I inform him of the time I slipped and fell in the school lunchroom, definitely providing my grade with good entertainment. I expected him to laugh at this, but instead, a frown creases his face.

"Were you hurt?" Miles asks, concerned.

"I was fine, just super embarrassed."

"Ah." His muscles lose their tautness.

We chat for another few hours. The storm doesn't let up. Snow and hail strike the window relentlessly, and lightning cracks occasionally in the distance.

After a while, my tongue grows heavy, words slurring together. The exhaustion of the past week has began to weigh on me. I try to hide it, but with his magical mind-reading abilities, Miles catches on quick.

As I'm attempting to respond to another question, he interrupts, gently asking, "Are you tired?"

"Yeah," I admit. "Very tired."

"You should sleep."

"I don't think I should."

"Why not?" he snaps. At my incredulous stare, he backs up in defense. "Sorry, it's just... we could be stuck in here for a few days. We should sleep. If you want, both of us can settle down in the storage room. I'm pretty sure there are some blankets, too, for situations exactly like this."

"I would..." I hesitate. "I can't."

Nightmares. I'd forgotten all about them. I usually have medication to keep them on a low, but my pills are at home. I'd rather not go through a rough night while Miles is around.

"You can trust me," he says softly. "I know I'm a stranger, but I promise, I would never try anything."

"Right..." I'm about to make an excuse but my eyelids are so, so heavy. Regardless of my mind's protests, it doesn't take long for them to flutter shut, and within a few seconds, I'm fast asleep. And for the first time in months, Quin's death is far from my mind.

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