"This is as far as I can go with the tires I've got. Sorry, miss."

The cabbie with graying hair looked up at Lex in the rearview mirror with a curt shrug. Snow was falling steadily, and the wind whistled and shook the cab. He pointed up to a lone cabin in the distance. "There she is. The Strykowski Family cabin."

Lex nodded and gave the man his money along with a generous tip. He helped her with her bags, welcomed her to Vermont and tipped his hat to her before driving off. She watched the cabbie hum away, the exhaust sending plumes of white smoke into the air. The city girl zippered her coat all the way to the top and lifted the hood up over her head with snowflakes agitating her lashes.

Even in the distance, the cabin appeared striking. It was not a mansion by any means, but Lex had lived in cramped apartments her entire life. The cabin had three massive gables and boasted an entire west-facing wall that had floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A tiny smile spread on her face as she gathered her belongings and began the uphill hike on the curving trail. There was still some green visible beneath the patches of snow.

There was a thick and resplendent area of forest that met with the bottom of the hill beneath her. There were birds cawing through the mist from every direction. She made out the dot of a small, unassuming cabin set upon the edge of the forest nestled within a clearing accompanied by a single bare and twisting tree.

She could smell a wood-burning fire and caught sight of the outline of Mount Mansfield's summit further behind the Strykowski cabin. The closer she got she could hear music and then waves of laughter. One laugh in particular sent a flutter through Lex's chest. She slipped on some ice and caught herself by grabbing hold of the banister in front of her. Just as she ascended the stairs to the entrance, the front door flew open.

"Well, hello!" A charismatic, white-haired man greeted her with open arms. "You're the last of 'em. Get yourself in here quick. It's freezing outside."

He took both her suitcase and backpack from her and shut the door behind them. Lex could smell whiskey on his breath and noted a teeny scab on his chin from his morning shave.

After setting her bags down in the expansive common area, he held his hand out to her. "I'm Chester. I'm the groundskeeper slash manager here and completely at your service. If you need anything at all, don't be shy."

His cordial smile remained on his face while he placed a hand on her upper back and guided her further into the room. "You must be Alexandra, am I right, dear?"

"Yeah," She looked around at the wide-eyed strangers in front of her. She had broken up their little party. "Everyone just calls me, Lex, though."

"Ah, okay." Chester picked up his tumbler of whiskey from the newly-polished table next to them and addressed everyone in the room. "Now that Lex is here, that makes six. Roll call, everyone." He took a sip of his drink, crossed his arms and leaned against the table.

"I'm Justin Costa. I'm from L.A., and I'm working on a screenplay," said a man with sharp features and even sharper chocolate brown eyes. He scanned the people around him and flashed them all a brilliant smile. "I'm stoked to be here."

The remaining five retreat attendees seemed to be swaying in place, still awkward despite a little liquid courage. Lex almost spoke up to introduce herself, but a woman with wavy, luscious hair that bounced when she tousled it to the side spoke first.

"I'm Paloma Arias. I've been typing away at a memoir for the past couple of years. I'm a mom, and I'm from New Jersey."

Lex could see pink rise upon Paloma's cheeks. Her bronze-colored eyes met with Lex's. Their gaze came to an end when the next person spoke.

"Hello, y'all. I'm Timothy Sewell. I'm single," some laughter resounded in the room. "I'm editing a collection of short stories that I pray will be published one of these days." He searched the high ceiling for a moment. His fingers grazed the fade at his temple before he continued. "I'm from Atlanta, and none of my friends even know I write."

The slim man wearing thick, black-framed eyeglasses next to Timothy patted the younger man's broad shoulder and then introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Brad Jeong, and I know plenty of people who wish I didn't write at all."

Timothy grinned and soft laughter sprinkled about the room. Brad continued, "Let's see. I'm a dad," he nodded at Paloma, "and married, which doesn't make this aspiration of mine any easier. I'm from Washington state, non-fiction is my poison, and I have two unfinished manuscripts. I'm here to see what will become of them."

Those that had glasses rose them up and took a drink.

Lex had removed her heavy coat, scarf and gloves. Chester had whispered in her ear to ask if she wanted anything to drink, and she told him a beer would be fine.

The shortest and meekest looking of the attendees introduced herself next. Her copper tresses were fastened into a messy low bun, and the sleeves of her corded sweater reached down to the tips of her fingers.

"Um, my name is Elizabeth Clarke. London. P--poetry."

She took a quick sip of her white wine and swallowed as she looked down at the floor.

Chester's voice boomed, and Elizabeth's head jerked up. He pointed his finger at her. "I thought I could detect an accent. Welcome to America, Miss Clarke. Is this your first time here?"

"Yes," she said, taking another tiny sip of her wine.

"Well," Chester finished off his drink and set his glass down behind him. "I trust you all to give her a very warm welcome."

He gestured to Lex, reminding her to take her turn.

Lex took a breath in and wound her fingers around the neck of her beer bottle. "You already know my name is Lex." She bit down on her bottom lip and shifted her weight from one side to the other. "I hope coming here will help foster some creativity for me. Born and raised in New York City. I'm attempting to write my first novel. I've written here and there since I was a kid."

Chester titled his head and a smile played upon his eyes. "You're in good company. This cabin has a singular way with novelists. I've witnessed it many times. Alright," he gestured for everyone to follow him into the kitchen through the front entryway. "Time for the tour and then I'll get out of everyone's hair."