Ben Jensen could glower all he wanted. He could scowl and sigh and respond to my jokes with the emotional depth of a brick wall. But he hadn’t left. He hadn’t asked to switch lodges. He hadn’t, despite every opportunity, actually walked away.
And that meant something, even if I didn’t know what yet.
By the time I made it back to the front office and plopped into my rolling chair, I knew exactly two things:
One, I was completely and irrationally obsessed with Ben Jensen’s scowl.
And two, I was going todestroy it.
Not in a mean way. No, no. I didn’t want to hurt the man. I just wanted to knock that eternal storm cloud right off his handsome lumberjack shoulders. For the sake of the lodge. For the vibe. And okay, maybe for my own slightly selfish amusement.
He’d officially survived longer than any other grump who’d walked through our doors. Most turned to mush within 48 hours of complimentary lemon bars and sunshine-infused hospitality. Not Ben. No,hehad thatI don’t do joyenergy down to an art form.
But you know what I had?
A clipboard, access to the linen closet, the kitchen, and a mission.
OperationDe-Funk the Grumphad officially begun.
I spun in my chair once, purely for inspiration, then flipped open my planner.
Phase One: Lower Expectations.
Nothing extravagant. If he even suspected I was plotting, he’d retreat faster than a cat from a cucumber. This needed tolookcasual and spontaneous. Like it just… happened to be the world’s most adorably perfect evening.
Phase Two: Location, location, location.
The fire pit, since it was (a) Simple. (b) Safe. (c) Charming in that rustic wine commercial kind of way.
Plus, we already had string lights in place and Adirondack chairs ready. All I needed was a little cleanup, a few snacks, and a solid exit strategy in case it went south, and he left me emotionally drained.
Phase Three: Lure the man.
This was the trickiest part. Ben wasn’t the let’s all hang out by the fire and swap feelings type. But hewasthe kind of person who appreciated solitude. If I made it seem like it was already set up, for everyone, he might wander over on his own, especially if there were s’mores.
Which brought me to...
Phase Four: The Snacks.
No one can resist s’mores. No one. If he were immune to Graham crackers, melted chocolate, and toasted marshmallows, I’d have to call the FBI and report him as a national security threat. Not to mention, if he preferred savory to sweet, I’d invented a brie cheese and cracker version that was dynamite, so I’d be sure to have both types of ‘smores.
I grabbed a pen and scribbled a short shopping list:
Marshmallows
Chocolate (dark, obviously—he givesdark chocolate energy)
Graham crackers
