Story: Rapture, Pt III

My thoughts were interrupted as a young woman looking very comfortable in her leisurely attire asked me for my order. Her blonde hair cascaded off her head and over her shoulders.
"Hot apple cider, please," I said. As she started to walk away, I called to her, "Miss, could you tell me whether they're expected a blizzard to move in tonight?"
She looked at me with gentle blue eyes. "I don't know, sir. I'll turn on the Weather Channel and see what's going on." She grabbed a remote and switched the channel.
A man dressed in a black suit appeared on the screen in front of the surface map. "If you're near Denver right now," he said, "you might want to get to where you're going. There's a strong blizzard heading right towards you, and it should be in the Rockies west of Denver by 6:30 p.m.. The National Weather Service in Denver has issued a blizzard warning for the area, effective until ten tonight. This is quite an unusual storm, as it’s moving northward instead of southward as most winter storms do."
The blonde stared at the TV with concern. "I hope everyone gets off the slopes before that hits." She walked over to prepare my drink order.
I nodded to myself in agreement, glancing at my watch. It was 6:00 right now. If Jeff were stuck on the slopes somewhere, he might not make it down before the blizzard hit. I turned around, looking to see if Jeff had entered the room. Seeing no sign of him, I turned to face the bar again, my concern growing with each second.
Across the bar from me was a long mirror, with multiple bottles of various liquors ringing the bottom. Staring straight at my reflection, I sighed in worry. My reflection sighed back. I looked at myself still dressed in my ski clothes. Definitely not something worth writing home about, I thought. I wore a gray sweatshirt that bore the name of the university I attended, which had several wet spots on it from places where snow had worked its way underneath my coat during one of my falls. My egg-shaped face exploded off of my neck, and the wire-framed glasses that encircled my eyes gave me an appearance that was more scholarly than studly. My blue-gray eyes resembled the color of distant storm clouds on a summer afternoon, and they glittered with worry.
I brushed a rebellious lock of my sandy brown hair back into place with the others. The effort proved as futile as racing a Model T in the Daytona 500. The hair slid back into its original place with impunity. I tried again to contain the loose lock, and again it flew away. As I continued the war versus my hair, the bartender brought me my hot cider in a wide, white mug of porcelain.
I took a sip of the steaming juice and sighed deeply. I loved apple cider, and, as the scalding liquid assaulted my tongue, I slipped off for a second into nostalgia, remembering when I was very young, drinking hot cider on cold, winter afternoons. My mom would heat the spicy apple juice in a kettle and then serve it to me with a cinnamon stick in it. Often Jeff would stop by for a cup on the way to his house, and we would play (when we were younger) or talk (when we got older).
Jeff and I had talked and drank numerous cups of cider after I had broken up with my first girlfriend, and we had downed just as many cups each December at Jeff's birthday party. Over cider we had shared our dreams and our complaints, our frustrations and our fears. I could never drink cider without thinking about him.
Coming out of my reverie, I looked around the ski lodge. Where was Jeff?
A baritone voice burst over the din of the room. "Paging Mr. Jimson Williams!" The voice belonged to a man dressed in a brown suit who had just entered the room. "Message for Mr. Jimson Williams!"
I got up and walked over to the man. Identifying myself, I took the note from his hands. It was written on white notebook paper, narrow ruled. It was folded in half length-wise, and on the top flap my name was written in Jeff's firm hand. I read the note:
Jimson--
I have some business to take care of before coming to the lodge. I will meet you there as soon after 6 o'clock as possible.
Jeff
As I read the note, my concern grew greater. It was already past six o'clock. Why had this note come here now? And where was Jeff? Hopefully he wasn't outside with that blizzard nearing.