Fifi.
I should’ve kept walking. Kept moving down the trail and out of my head. But instead, I stood there like an idiot under the trees, replaying her flustered, soap-themed apology from earlier like I had nothing better to do.
She’d been covered in hay.
Cheeks pink from the sun and probably embarrassment.
That smile. The way she talked was a mile a minute, as if her thoughts arrived early to everything.
She was… a lot.
But not in a bad way.
In awhat the hell is happening to meway.
I stopped at a bend in the trail, the path opening up just enough to give me a glimpse of the lake below. Buttercup Lake, the lodge brochure had promised, wasa tranquil jewel nestled between tall pines and warm memories.
They leaned into the nostalgia thing around here. I suppose that if a person’s childhood was all unicorns farting rainbows and teddy bears belching glitter, it made sense, and somehow, I got the distinct feeling that was how Fifi’s was.
I stood still for a moment, watching the lake shimmer between the trees. It was beautiful. That soft kind of beauty that didn’t announce itself, because it didn’t need to.
But it was almost too quiet, too still, and too easy to think.
And I didn’t want to think. That’s why I’d brought the laptop, why I’dkeptthe laptop.
I told myself I needed it to tie up loose ends. To finalize a few things before I could fully check out, whatever that meant.
But the truth was simpler. I didn’t know how to stop.
I didn’t know what it meant to sit still without guilt. And to not fill every second with some kind of productivity, even if it was just cleaning the same unread emails out of my inbox, like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.
I let out a breath and turned back toward the trail, retracing my steps.
Enough wandering.
The lake would still be there tomorrow.
Right now, I needed to go back, open that laptop, and get through the last of the work I’d promised I’d finish before letting myself evenpretendto enjoy this place.
I followed the bend again, the lodge roof peeking through the trees ahead. A red squirrel darted across the path in front of me like it had urgent rodent business, and I muttered under my breath.
“Even the wildlife here looks motivated.”
I made it back to the edge of the clearing, pausing for a second at the wooden fence. The goats were still out, one of them chewing on a baseball cap that wasn’t theirs. The miniature donkey watched me approach, eyes half-lidded like I owed her an apology for existing.
I passed the barn and stepped back onto the gravel walkway toward the lodge.
It looked too cheerful in the midday sun. Quaint. Inviting. The kind of place where someone might try to offer you homemade apple butter and emotional insight.
And sure enough, through the window, I could see her.
Fifi.
At the front desk, laughing about something with a clipboard in her hand and a smear of flour on her cheek.
I looked away fast.
Nope.
