“There are no hotels, motels, or Airbnbs in Green Oak. There’s no other available property to rent short- or long-term. Just the Lazy Elk Lodge. I could look in the towns close by, but that means you’ll have to drive back and forth. It’s also the end of the high season. There’re lots of trekking routes, waterfalls, lakes, beautiful—”
“Kelly,” I said, unconsciously using my boss’s voice. “I’m not interested in what the area offers. I’m interested in finding some other accommodation. Any other. I can’t stay here.”
She hesitated, then said, “Define ‘can’t.’ ”
I appreciated Kelly, I really did. She always worked hard, had initiative, and never allowed anyone to walk over her, which was why I had snagged her from the ticketing division, where her raw potential would have been wasted. But sometimes she tested my patience.
“Picture a hunter’s hut.” I humored her, going for a clear enough picture of where I was. “Rotten and creaky wood that bends under your weight, one single window, the biggest set of antlers you’ve ever seen hanging off one wall.” I zeroed in on the thing, goosebumps running down my spine. “And before you ask, no. They’re not even the cool kind of antlers. They are the kind that make you think of death and flesh and bones.”
She clicked her tongue. “But the pictures looked so cozy. Isn’t there a little fireplace?”
My gaze jumped to the so-called fireplace. It was some sort of iron furnace that made clanking sounds. “In theory, yes. In reality, it’s a black hole that probably hosts something I don’t want to stir awake.”
“You mean, like a spirit? Or—”
“Kelly,” I said, shaking my head. “A living something, possibly with teeth and claws.”
She hummed. “What about the bed?” I glanced at the horrible piece of furniture. She continued, “It was so… rustic and low-key sexy? Like the kind of bed a lumberjack would do nasty—”
“It’s a very dated four-poster bed,” I rushed out, my eyelids fluttering shut to spare me the sight of that monstrosity. “And I am—was—your boss. I don’t want to hear about your sexual fantasies. Particularly not if they involve lumberjacks, and especially not if they involve the four-poster bed I’ll have to sleep in tonight.”
“I guess you’re more of a bodice-ripper girl, boss. And I don’t blame you. I’m just a little darker than that.” I blinked, at a loss for words. “Maybe it’s not so bad?” she offered. “Maybe all you need to do is yassify the cabin. Make it yours.”
I looked around, wondering if I could take advice from this woman who claimed to have a migraine at every minimal inconvenience and once signed off an email with “apologies for existing. :)”
No. I wasn’t Kelly. We weren’t that far apart in age but we were universes away, and in my universe, yassifying wasn’t something I could or knew how to do.
“Hey, boss?” Her voice brought me back. She hesitated, then said, “I need to go.”
I thought I could hear someone in the background. “Is David there?” I rushed out. “With you?”
“Er…”
I couldn’t believe what I was going to say, but I needed to escalate this. And unfortunately, that meant talking to my ex. “Pass him the phone. I want to speak to him.”
There was some rustling. Then Kelly said, “Sorry, but we already have an office paper supplier.” What? “We also are against deforestation. In fact, you should be ashamed of yourself. Paperless offices are the future, sir.”
“I know David is there.”
“I’ll be right with you, David, yes!” she exclaimed, her voice piercing my ear. Then she added in a hushed voice, “I need to run, boss. Remember to stay strong.”
Stay strong? “What do you—”
“Bye!”
And the call ended.
Stay strong. What did that even mean? And why had Kelly pretended to talk to somebody else? Something was amiss. And usually, that kicked me into action.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I unlocked my phone and started snapping pictures of this horrible, tiny, grisly shed-turned-cabin that had been decorated by a psychopath. I needed proof that this place wasn’t… habitable.
Once done with that, I rolled my suitcase to the narrow and slightly crooked coffee table that sat between the alleged fireplace and a one-person settee I had no intention of ever gracing with any of my body parts.
I started working the zipper, side-eyeing the settee, the four-poster bed, and… everything, when his words smacked right back into me.
I don’t think you’ll make it a single night there.
With a huff, I pulled my suitcase open and located my makeup bag. I couldn’t forget that I was on assignment here. I still needed to drive into town and find the Green Warriors. Who knew, maybe I’d misjudged the whole situation. Maybe this was just how rentals worked in the area. No hotels or motels, just… this. Cabin fever was a thing. In fact—
A noise outside caught my attention.
I stiffened, turned around slowly, walked to the window on my tiptoes, and shoved the flimsy curtain aside with a finger.
A tall figure was crossing the space between the cabins with long, determined strides.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Look at you,” I murmured under my breath. “Strutting out of your fancy lodging like you own the place.”
Which, technically, he kind of did. He rented the place. Or half of it, at least. The good, fancy half.
Now that I’d had a few minutes to myself, I couldn’t ignore how bothered I was. It irked me that he’d been right and I’d been in the wrong. I wasn’t used to being put in that position and when he’d pointed at Sweet Heaven Cottage, I’d felt… stupid. Dumb. And his quick judgment of my character, even if probably deserved, had made me feel even worse. He had hurt my pride, my intelligence, my sense of direction, and my ability to read. Perhaps, if this had happened at another time, I wouldn’t have cared. But it had happened today, and I wasn’t used to repeatedly embarrassing myself.
I could still see past my pride to know I should have apologized, though. At least for accidentally hitting him with the car. I felt horrible about that. And yet… as he walked the gravel path crisscrossing the property, I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked me up and down, skeptical and knowing, as if he could see how everything about me was inappropriate and unsuitable. Out of place.
I was out of place.
But so was he.
