I hadn’t slept.
Not really.
Oh, Itried.
I’d turned off the lights like a rational human, laid down, and closed my eyes.
But instead of peaceful darkness and the sweet oblivion I’d been chasing since I got to this damn lodge, my brain had decided to stage a full-scale mutiny.
Starring Fifi.
Fifi in her ridiculous bee-print apron. Fifi with hay in her hair, yelling at a chicken. Fifi on my doorstep, grinning like she had a secret and holding a soap basket like it was a peace offering from her tiny, chaotic kingdom.
And the worst part?
The thoughts wouldn’t stay in the wholesome zone. They kept veering off course and sliding sideways into dangerousterritory. You know, the kind where her voice dropped a little lower, where her fingers lingered a little longer, where she leaned in too close, all wide eyes and trouble, and said something sharp and sweet that made me forget how to breathe.
I’d told myself it was harmless. She was just... new…unexpected. A temporary mental distraction.
But at 2:30 a.m., when you’re staring at the ceiling and your chest is tight and the pillow’s hot andyour own thoughts have turned against you, it stops being harmless.
By 4:00 a.m., I was alternating between shoving the pillow over my head and threatening myself with early-morning goat yoga, which I’d never done in my life but suddenly considered out of sheer desperation.
By 6:00, I gave up entirely.
I shoved off the covers, groaning as I sat up. My back ached. My brain ached. And everything smelled like lodge air and warm pine and her—like lemon soap and stubbornness.
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “I’ve been infected by joy.”
I dragged myself into the bathroom and turned on the shower, leaning one hand against the tile as the water heated up.
The steam hit my face, and I hoped it might also fog up my brain.
But no. Evenhere, she was with me.
I glanced down at the cedar-scented shampoo and snorted. Her voice, full of exaggerated sincerity, echoed in my head:“This one smells like emotional growth and mystery. Perfect for you!”
I swore under my breath and squeezed the bottle harder than necessary.
The water felt good, but it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t wash her out of my head. It didn’t unearth whatever switch she’d flipped in me.
I didn’t want tolikeher.
Liking her meant noticing things. Wanting things. It meant being the kind of person who cared if someone smiled at him across a breakfast table.
It meant waking up to a life where someone like Fifi existed, and where I might want to belong to it.
I toweled off, pulled on a plain navy T-shirt and jeans, and ran a hand through my damp hair. No effort. Just function.
Still looked like hell.
Still felt worse.
Downstairs, the lodge smelled like heaven with warm cinnamon, sugar, maybe nutmeg, and, of course, coffee, the kind that punched you in the soul. Someone, probably her sister, was already clattering pans in the kitchen.
I followed the scent like a man possessed.
The dining room was mostly empty, save for a couple I vaguely recognized. I gave them the barest nod and bee-lined for the coffee pot.
