Author's note: Just a slow-burn post-Christmas romp. Contains elements of mild consensual non-consent.
~~~~
The cabin looked bigger on the web site, but how much space did a guy need for a week alone? Ken dropped his duffel bag on the floor, surveying the cramped space. He left the door open a crack for the winter air to clear out the musty smell.
Though tiny and basic, the cabin walls and ceiling were varnished knotty-pine boards that glowed with golden warmth. The sitting area in the rear had an electric fake fireplace and overstuffed recliner. Sliding glass doors opened onto a narrow balcony that looked down to the expanse of the frozen lake.
Other than the wind creaking the tall pine tree outside, the world was silent: no traffic, sirens, or voices—just sporadic calling of crows. Ken closed his eyes, enjoying the peace.
It was December 27. Ken had until New Year's Day to enjoy the solitude before the two-hour drive back to the city and his wreck of a life. He was determined to force himself to do nothing but doze, read trashy thrillers and walk the shores of the frozen lake if he found the energy. Ken rarely had energy lately, though it was spiritual and not because he was approaching forty.
His cabin was the last in a row of others sitting atop a slope overlooking a wide lake. The other cabins were empty, including the "executive chalet" that sat like a palace in the middle of the lesser cabins. A strip of gravel parking lot separated the cabins from the dense forest and a narrow lane led into the trees, eventually connecting to the crumbling rural highway beyond.
From outside came the crunch of tires on gravel. A small car emerged from the lane.
Ken felt his heart sink and temper rise.
Just great. The owner swore the other cabins would be empty all week, he thought.
He took a breath. Okay. Maybe it was the owner checking up, making sure he had everything.
Not likely. The car was tiny: cherry red with white racing stripes and a streamlined ski box on the roof. No one used to rural roads would drive that in winter on a road so far from everything. Even driving an SUV, Ken had struggled a few times on the winding, snow-packed roads.
The car parked in front of the executive chalet. A woman unfolded herself from the driver's side and, facing the car, stretched then began unlocking the ski box on the roof.
She was alone, but Ken had little doubt someone would be joining her—probably more than one, given the size of that chalet and what it cost to rent. His mood darkened, thinking of the loud music and drunken whooping when more people arrived. Fortunately, one cabin sat between his and hers. That would muffle some of the hoopla, and maybe they weren't staying long.
With a sigh, he stepped back outside to greet the new neighbor—and to set a few ground rules.
As he approached, Ken saw the woman was tall. Her tight yoga pants presented an exquisite ass and thick toned thighs. Honey-blonde hair fell in enchanting waves down the back of her clinging turtleneck top.
He called out a greeting and she turned.
His thriller novels might describe her as 'a cathedral of a woman'—towering and beautifully architected. With wide shoulders, large high breasts and a narrow waist, she even had blue eyes.
Ken began to speak, but faltered when he saw her face. Her down-turned mouth, squinty eyes and arched, furrowed eyebrows made her look like she had just smelled something foul.
"Uh, hello," he said. "Looks like we're going to be neighbors. I'm Ken. I'm staying in cabin one."
Weakly, he gestured behind him while scrutinizing her face. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but that scowl added years.
"Nice to meet you," she said, her face softening. "I'm Allison. But call me Allie, okay?"
Ken realized that what seemed like an annoyed glower was her natural neutral expression—it was simply how her face went.
"Staying here long?" he asked. "I'm booked right through to New Year's Day."
"Me too. We got a last second deal on the chalet and since this is the only time I can take an entire week off, we booked it."
"I see. Are many others coming?"
"My boyfriend's coming soon."
Ken sighed. "The owner assured me none of the other cabins were rented this week."
"He told us the same thing. We were supposed to be alone."
She studied him, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. Ken thought that made her look especially foul.
"Hey, are you..." Her eyes widened then narrowed. In a falling tone she said, "Ohmygod. You're Kenneth Henry Hellenberg."
He flashed a tight smile. "You know me?"
"You look different without your glasses and the famous cardigan. I, uh, follow you on social media."
"Do you. Well, thank you for that. Are you into cryptocurrency too?"
"Crypto and all types of investments," she said. "And I was at the Melrose conference. About a year and a half ago? Actually, we talked a little after your keynote."
She grimaced. Ken thought if he could capture her expression at that moment, it would make a million-selling Halloween mask.
"In fact," she said, "maybe you remember... we had a little argument."
Ken searched his memory, but he presented at so many conferences. They blended together. After every talk, some audience members would trap him at the foot of the stage to slather praise, press him for more advice or, too often, argue and promote their pet theories.
He vaguely recalled a heated debate with a woman who was tall, astute, and had a profound pickle-sucking expression. Her blonde hair was short with neon blue highlights, though.
"Ah, he said. "I think I remember you. You had short hair then, right? You took me to task over my assertions about smart contracts."
Allie nodded. "Yeah. You were way too dismissive about reentrancy attacks."
"Nonsense. I urged suitable caution."
"You said it wasn't an issue at all! When I called you on it, with examples, you completely dismissed me then called me a deluded twit." Her scowl deepened unpleasantly.
Ken frowned. "Did I? Well, sometimes I forget my manners when debating. But... oh, I remember. Then you called me an 'arrogant know-it-all' or something."
"I think it was 'pretentious myopic windbag'."
"Ah, yes," Ken said, nodding. "How very delightful of you."
Allie's mouth became a thin line. "I really wanted to call you an arrogant asshole. You were incredibly rude. And not just to me—you were rude to everyone who wanted to talk to you."
"Is that so? I recall you being remarkably crass yourself, shoving your way through the crowd, interrupting someone else who was talking, rattling off a bunch of facts and half-baked ideas. Quite frankly, it's ill-mannered people like you who make me want to stop going to those conferences."
"Yeah? Well, it's self-centered, self-appointed experts like you who make me want to stay home! I never understand why crypto attracts so many egotistical, misogynist pricks."
"You think I was rude because you're a woman? That's a highly sexist assumption."
"Okay, then maybe it was because you're just a self-centered
asshole.
"
Ken reddened. "And you, lady, are an entitled, ignorant, lemon-sucking bitch!"
He fumed. She glared. A Halloween mask of her expression would sell
billions
, Ken thought.
"Well, I just wanted to let you know I was here," he said. "I'll leave you to be bitchy with your boyfriend."
"Great," she said. "I'll leave you to be with the person you admire most—
yourself!"
Allie turned her back to him and again fiddled with the ski box.
~~~~
Back inside his cabin, Ken was thankful for the distance from the chalet—less chance of ever seeing that Amazonian gargoyle.
In the kitchen, he began moving mountains of Christmas leftovers from a cooler his sister had packed into the fridge. She insisted her family couldn't eat it all, but Ken knew she worried without it he would eat nothing but instant noodles during his week alone. She was right.
As his temper cooled, he felt his cheeks burn thinking how rude he'd been. But she was rude too!
With that attitude and that face, it's a wonder she has a boyfriend, he thought, then immediately felt bad for thinking it.
He tried to not let being a so-called "cryptocurrency expert" go to his head, but sometimes, he knew, he did act like a know-it-all. For the hundredth time, he swore to keep his ego and his temper in check. He needed to find some way to make amends to her.
He went to his car to fetch something from the trunk.
~~~~
After he unpacked everything, Ken plopped into the sitting area recliner with a glass of scotch in one hand and a trashy thriller in the other. Starting a classical playlist on a portable speaker, he pressed the remote for the fake fireplace and sipped, watching the simulated flames wiggle. For one week he didn't have to think about writing a new book, recording podcasts, or applying to speak at conferences. He didn't have to think about giving it all up and finding a new way to make a living.
As the fireplace warmed the room and the scotch warmed his insides, he gazed out of the patio doors to the expanse of the snowy lake and the forest lining the opposite shore. Daylight was fading, turning the trees dark and the snow a deep blue and gray.
Someone was out there. Just coming into view, Ken saw a lone figure striding over the snowy lake toward the cabins: a cross-country skier. He stood to get a better look.
Allison. She must have headed out while he unpacked.
She strode easily through the powdery snow using the classic style: reaching with one ski and the opposite pole while kicking with the trailing ski. Her graceful rhythm made it look easy. He remembered trying it as a kid and never getting the hang of it.
Reaching the shore below the cabins, she popped off the skis, slung them over her shoulder and trudged up the slope. When she noticed Ken, her natural sour expression deepened to a peevish scowl. But she waved and flashed a tight smile before continuing to her chalet.
~~~~
Thirty minutes later, Ken's peace and the soothing tones of Chopin's Nocturnes were shattered by thumping music blasting from the chalet, the screeching and throbbing booms pounding his cabin's thin walls.
Her boyfriend must have arrived
, Ken thought as he stomped to the chalet. But only Allie's car was parked in front.
She answered her door wearing a thigh-length fuzzy gray bathrobe trimmed with fake white fur. Her golden hair was damp. She pulled the robe's loose hood over her head, revealing its long floppy ears. Ken couldn't decide if the ears were supposed to be bunny, donkey or wolf.
She had turned the music down when Ken banged on her door, but it still rang and boomed.
