I really enjoyed Winter Jacket, the first of the now three book series. It was a fun read, even if I did think that it should’ve ended a few chapters before it did.
Needless to say, I was kind of shocked when the author released a sequel to it. And now, there is a third book in the series. Honestly, I haven’t read books two and three because I’m not sure the story needed more books. That being said, I did check out an excerpt of the new release. Keep reading if you wanna do the same.
There are signs everywhere if you know what you’re looking for—signs that tell you you’re doing something wrong. Go back. Detour. Choose again. Do not collect two hundred dollars when you pass Go. But I hadn’t paid attention to the warnings, too blinded by ambition and the desire to experience something new. Simply put: I was making a terrible, horrible mistake.
It was at an off-season ski resort in Colorado where Hunter began to second-guess my decision to move to California.
Her pale blue eyes were watching me when I woke up. A window was cracked open in the hotel room, and the translucent curtain fluttered from an outside breeze, struggling to block out the early morning sun.
“G’morning, love,” I said groggily.
Her mouth twitched in one corner. “I keep hoping you’ll change your mind.”
I sat up in bed and rubbed roughly at my face. The bed was serviceable, but far from the luxury resort I had been expecting when we’d checked in. I hadn’t made any reservations or done any research on places to stay along our route from Minnesota to southern California. Not having a schedule allowed us to stop periodically and take in things like the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, but we also risked staying at underwhelming hotels like the one we currently found ourselves.
We’d stopped in the ski resort town the previous night. Because it was the off-season for the mountain town, rooms and rates were reasonable even at the fanciest of ski lodges. I had been hoping for ski resort luxury, but the section of the hotel where they’d put us looked as though it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. The room description called it a junior suite, but it better resembled a king dump. I hadn’t seen any bugs, but that wouldn’t have surprised me. The cream-colored carpeting was worn and stained. The formica countertops in the kitchenette were peeling at the edges and a foreboding scent was coming in the direction of the refrigerator. I hadn’t been brave or foolish enough to seek out the foul-smelling culprit. Our patio had no furniture, unless you counted the two metal folding chairs I found propped against the wall, not that we had a mountain view to tempt us outside. It was probably the only room in the whole resort that didn’t look out onto the mountains that surrounded the quaint town.
“We’ve been over this,” I said.
“I know we have. And I know I said I’d support you either way,” she sighed, “but I think I underestimated what that would mean for us with you in California.”
“We’ll only be apart for a short while, Hunt. It’s just a few months.” The words I spoke were for myself as much as they were for her. I was giving Troian from the end of August through December—the entire length of my sabbatical—to see if I had a future in writing for television. “I want to be scared,” I said. “I want to be challenged. I’m not saying teaching is easy, but it’s too easy to dial it in now that I’m tenured.”
She threw the comforter off her side of the bed, and I watched her pad away. “I’m going to take a shower,” she called over her shoulder.
I stared at the doorway through which she’d disappeared with knots in my stomach. Even if I had been invited to conserve water with her as was our tradition, the shower was too small for the both of us. I’d probably have a hard time washing my own hair later without bruising my elbows.