“Sorry,” I begin to relax, “I don’t know.” I take another sip of shandy and listen to the silence over the line.
The voice sounds confused. “But shouldn’t you know?”
I smile to myself. “I think you have the wrong number.”
“Seriously? This isn’t the front desk at the lodge?”
“Nope, sorry. It’s just a room.”
“Oh…” There’s another pause. “Well, while I have you on the phone, have you been on any of the trails out here?”
“Yeah, a couple.”
“Any of them good?”
“Laurel Ridge isn’t usually crowded, so I’d do that one. There’s also a waterfall if it’s rained recently.”
“Yeah? OK,” he drawls like he’s mulling it over, “then I guess I’ll check that one out. Well, it was nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too! Have fun on your hike.”
“If it sucks, I’ll be sure to call back and complain.”
“Might be difficult if you actually dialed the front desk.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, “Alright, I’ll let you go. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Bye.”
I drop the phone back onto the receiver and stare at it in ironic amusement, realizing these are the first words I’ve spoken to a human since I called the actual front desk to make sure the phones work properly.
CHAPTER THREE
Brett
One Year Ago
“What do you mean you ran your car through the bushes at Chik-fil-A?”
It’s 7:00 in the morning and the day is already off to a zesty start. It doesn’t matter that I’m on a solo micro-vacation, Barrett still calls me on her way to work, without fail, right when I’m leaving for an early hike.
“I don’t know, Brett. I was just trying to start my day with a little treat and my mom’s on the phone telling me I need to cancel my Sirius XM because satellite radio is a deep state conspiracy. I just lost it. I took the turn too quickly and almost ran through the glass window in the drive-thru.”
“I thought you lost it last weekend.”
“Yeah, but this was way worse than that.”
Frankly, it all blurs together.
“So, how are you?” she changes the subject. “Where are you? I still can’t believe you just went off into the wilderness by yourself. But I’ve got a full caseload this week, there’s no way I could take off.”
Barrett always has a full caseload. She’s a therapist at the university, and she’s one of the best. Ever since her first day, fresh out of her Master’s, when her new boss assigned her a new client experiencing a delusional pregnancy after waking up from a three-year-long vegetative state, she made a name for herself as the one who takes the cases that no one else is equipped to handle. And, because of it, she has the highest retention rate in the department.
“This is Salt Fork, not Teton,” I laugh, “and I’m staying at the lodge. There’s Wifi and a continental breakfast.”
I stroll across the lobby and collapse into a brown leather club chair. If there’s coffee nearby, I’ll stay here a bit longer and hear more about Barrett’s mom and her latest conspiracy theory involving price gouging at the local Wal-Mart.
“I guess that’s not too bad,” Barrett concedes.
“No. And after last week, I just had to get away for a bit,” I say as I pick at my cuticles. I need to stop doing this. Spontaneous bleeding is never good for clothes, especially light colors. But anxious compulsion usually wins.
I lift my head and gaze around the lobby; it’s quiet except for the hushed voices at the front desk. “I’ve already gotten a lot of writing done, though.”
My gaze wanders across the room and something catches my eye. Or, rather, someone. And I immediately freeze.
A man is standing about 20 feet way, mid-step, staring at me. He’s tall, definitely over six feet, and his jet-black hair fades up the sides to a shiny swath swooped down over his eyebrows, making him look like he belongs in a punk band. He’s wearing a Navy-blue t-shirt and fitted jeans over scuffed, brown leather boots, and when he turns his body and squares his shoulders, I see his right forearm is covered in curls and zig-zags of black ink.
He studies me with dark, striking brown eyes as I glance from side to side to see if he’s looking at someone else. But when I look back at him, he’s still staring, a curious smile crawling across his face.
He’s…hot.
I hear Barrett’s voice in my ear, but I can’t comprehend what she was saying.
Finally, the staring man breaks the silence, “Front desk girl?” he asks in a deep drawl I’d recognize anywhere.
I blink, forgetting where I am and that I’m holding a phone to my ear.
No fucking way.
