Your hands fly away from the window as you rush to gather things to take to the ski shop. Money. Keys. Where are your keys? There. Wallet. There's no explaining this, but there's no way you can deal with it if you have nothing to wear. Groaning at the coat that huddles you closer than before, struggling the boots on with soft, wet suction that settles your feet into them, you bull through the door.
One of the workers, clad from head to toe in puffy gear that makes him look like the Michelin Man, raises a dark leather glove to his checkered hat with earflaps. "Eyyy!" he says with a rich accent somewhere between Minnesota and Saskatchewan. He looks at you as a puff of swirling breath curls into the air, his snaggletoothed smile homey amid the blonde stubble on his chubby face. "Goin' out then?" he asks. His partner huffs with effort, accompanied by the scrape of metal and a white cloud of snow, his broad back hunched as he looks over his shoulder, one dark eye twinkling above a smirk, pencil thin black mustache perked in curiosity. He takes another shovelful, getting back to work. "So," the first man says, leaning on his shovel, "Figured you'd wanna walk acrost a clear walk, so we come out ta do our thing. Nice weather after all that."
Another chuff of a shovel. Another toss. An awkward silence.
"Is it safe to go down to the lodge?"
Snaggletooth grins wider. "Oh yah. Road's clear. We been workin' all mornin', but it's good work. Keeps the blood goin', eh, Jake?" Pencil-'stached Jake smirks with a quick appraisal of your clothes and a thrust of his shoulders, scraping the shovel into the snow. "Sorry, Jake don't talk much. Not much for talkin', but he makes a good shish-ka-bob. Cooks down at the lodge some nights. Oughta come out and try one, dontcha know." Snaggletooth notes your bag. "You need a ride then? We're still digging your car out, but we can take my sled." He points at a pair of snowmobiles, gleaming clean despite the snow.
You look over at the vague humped shape that might be your car... and you tell that it is because of the antenna sticking out. You nod weakly, And Snaggletooth's chill breath barrels out like he swallowed a cigar. "Just stack your gear in the net on the back then. Short trip to the lodge."
"The ski shop open?"
"Oh yah. Always got to get some good clothes for the weather." He glances down at your sweatpants that are barely tucked in at all. "Got whatever you need over there."
"Thank you very much..."
"Jeff," he offers pleasantly.
"Jeff," you grin back, just as friendly.
As you pack your things into the netting on the back of his snowmobile, you hear them talking, but can't quite hear everything. Your ears perk to catch two things through the cold, crisp winter air...
"Jeff, I think she's into it," Jake says between shovelfuls, his voice soft and dangerous like velvet dragged over gravel.
"Ya, Jake... Coming along fine. She'll be a lot better soon."
The ride to the ski shop, uncomfortable as he company suddenly has become, is gracefully short.