So moving hotels would be a pain. I’d have to re-pack, notify the lodge, and coordinate the checkout. And then I’d end up in a motel with questionable stains, no view of the lake, and Wi-Fi that only worked if you stood on one foot and whispered to the router.
Still.
It would get me away from her.
Fifi.
Every time I saw her, she said something that crawled under my skin and stayed there. Like a burr I couldn’t brush off. And worse…she made me laugh.
Against my will. With her weird metaphors and unsolicited commentary on my room scent.
I didn’t come here to flirt.
I didn’t come here to get pulled into whatever energetic storm cloud she operated under, with her wild hair and ridiculous optimism and the way she looked at me like I was more than a walking grumble in boots.
I came here tobreathe.
And now I was considering changing hotels as if it were a matter of national emergency because a woman with a clipboard and a cleaning caddy made me forget my own name for five seconds at a time.
I rubbed a hand over my face and stood up.
Paced.
I could leave.
Icould.
I could reframe this whole trip. Go somewhere else. Find a secluded cabin and go fishing. Maybe one of those weird Airbnb treehouses that brag about composting toilets and spiritual energy.
But I didn’t move toward the suitcase.
I sat back down.
Because if I was honest with myself, and I really didn’t want to be, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave.
Fifi was infuriating, yes.
But she was also real and unapologetically herself in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. And that thing I kept mistaking for chaos?
It was life.
Alive. Colorful. Messy. And somehow, exactly what I didn’t realize I’d been missing until she barged into my morning with a caddy full of cedar soap and told me I smelled nice, like it was a threat.
I exhaled, dragged the laptop closer, opened a new email draft, and typed the following to my assistant back home:
“Hey, pushing back the Monday call. Still out. Still unreachable. Don’t forward me anything unless it’s literally on fire.”
Then I clickedsend.
And leaned back again.
Maybe I didn’t need to run.
Perhaps I needed to stay.
Even if it meant getting lightly insulted every time I opened my door.
Even if it meant another two weeks of sunshine, sass, and a walking reminder that not everything in life had to be perfect to be worth it.
