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“I need to run into the office quickly and grab the keys to my shed. I left them in my desk the other day by accident. You want to wait for me in the truck or come with?” I realize now he’s holding a pie box, and I already know he’s got a Sky-High inside.

In the ten years I’ve known him, I don’t think he’s once set foot in the diner without taking out a slice or two of Sky-High apple pie. It’s his favorite, and though I know he’s also very fond of their chocolate cherry, he always requests Sky-High for his birthday and every other occasion that requires sweet treats, though he also requests my muffins and my cookies at least once a week too.

The man certainly has a sweet tooth.

“I’ll come with you.” I shuffle behind him, scuffing my feet into the giant marks his boots leave behind. “I want to grab the Christmas binder out of my desk.”

Truthfully, I’d be fine without the Christmas binder. I don’t have anything in it anyway except for some holiday stickers I grabbed from the craft store the other day, but I’d much rather follow him back into the office than sit in the truck and wait.

A moment later, we’re standing in front of the office door, Mike’s key in the lock before a rhythmic click springs the door open, and the wind pushes us inside the ultra-dark space. We both turn on the flashlights on our phones and use the light to guide us through the office. I’m surprised how quickly this place is cooling down since we lost electricity. Must be all the big picture windows.

Mike settles the pie on the counter and disappears into the back to look for the key, while I pull open my drawers and rummage around for the Santa-clad folder I needed to get so badly. It’s probably time to clean this thing again.

It’s odd that I can keep thirty different types of sticky notes but can’t find one man to hold on to.

I have my hands on the sticker book when I hear Mike holler out from the back office, “Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” The words have barely left my lips when I see the alert on my phone flash across the screen.

ALL NORTHBOUND ROADS CLOSED.

“Looks like I sent your date into a war zone.”

“He has a phone, so I’m sure he got the same message. Plus, you said you saw the plow go up, and you know they close the roads before anything gets too bad.” I glance out into the street to see the flashing lights of the Rugged Mountain police blocking the one main artery we need to travel through. “Not sure we have a choice. Looks like we might be stuck here.”

“Damn, haven’t seen it this bad in years. Good thing I grabbed that pie.”

I grin and lift the box open. “Sky-High, your favorite.”

“You know it.” He grabs two forks from the kitchenette. “Figured I’d grab a couple slices for us to take on the road, but clearly they were meant to keep us alive through a snowstorm.”

“Well, I can’t imagine getting through a storm any other way.” I take a fork from his hand and stab into the pie. “You know the heating and cooling guy I just had that date with? He said he hates this pie.”

“Hates?”

“Hates!” I shake my head and take another bite of the slightly tart cinnamon sugar heaven that is Rugged Mountain’s signature dessert, though I think Josie’s bear claws are a close second.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet,” Mike says, his mouth full as he talks.

“Definitely.” I shake my head and lean back against my desk as we take turns shoveling pie into our mouths. “He wasn’t my type. I think I’m done with blind dates.”

“Yeah, he didn’t look like your type.” Mike drags a chair out from behind the desk opposite mine. I’m not sure why we have that desk. No one has ever sat there, and we mostly use it as a transitional catch-all for everything we don’t know what to do with right away. For instance, right now, there’s a box of paint swatches and random drill bits sitting there.

“You know my type?”

“Well, no.” He bites back a grin. “But… maybe.”

“Okay then.” I lean back and grin as I lick the sugary syrup off the plastic fork. “What’s my type?”

“Shit. Putting me on the spot.” He blows out a breath and takes another bite of pie as he thinks. “I reckon you like a guy who works with his hands. Somebody strong, a leader. I think you question yourself so much that having someone you can really trust makes you feel grounded.”

“Yeah,” my chest warms, “that’s pretty spot on. What about you? What’s your type? I mean, I thought Shannon was the whole package, so I can’t imagine how anyone tops that.”

He laughs under his breath and taps his fork against his lips as he thinks. “Well, you’re wrong about Shannon. She was successful, driven, and presented herself well, but I don’t value those things like she does. I like a woman who’s kind. Not only to me, but to everyone. I want someone soft that I can take care of.” His gaze holds steady with mine in the dim light of the room as he talks. “Someone who wants to be taken care of.”

“Well,” I laugh, desperate to break the awkward tension in the room, “it’s nice to know we both have unrealistic expectations.”

“Do we?” I’m pretty sure he’s staring at me now, though it could be the light playing tricks on my eyes.