I throw my arms up. “Do youeven knowwhat that freaking magazine is about?”
“Fly-fishing,” he replies, without missing a beat. “With a feature on how to properly build a firepit without losing your eyebrows.”
Huh? “It does not have an article about losing your eyebrows.”
Maverick shrugs as if he doesn’t care that I don’t believe him.
Which I don’t.
Not that he cares.
UGH!
The only thing worse than being trapped in this cabin with a total stranger is being trapped with a stranger who’s good looking and completely disregarding me. He hasn’t even asked what I do for a living, or where I’m from! I might as well be here alone, which was the original plan.
I am blaming Lucy for this. This washeridea. Herbrightsuggestion that I unplug and recharge for a few days after my job imploded and my situationship imploded and my sourdough starter died all in the same week! Close and cozy. Silent.
No cell phone, no computer, no planning committee, no brides. Far be it from me to point out that my apartment is literally across the lake—a mere forty-five-minute drive through winding roads and overly picturesque trees. I could’ve stayed home. I could’ve taken a bath, lit a candle, watched a documentary and chilled the fuck out.
But I live in Star Lake, let’s be real; everyone knows everyone, and it’s a town so small that one is never truly alone.
Ever.
Even the barista at Loon Landing Café knows that I recently dumped my boyfriend because we were barely sleeping together and I was sick and tired of being more friend than lover. Not to mention, dating the mayor’s son was a drag—I always had to be on my best behavior, when in reality, I’m kind of a brat.
“So do you live in Arizona year-round?”
Flip.
I sigh, louder this time. “I’m being incredibly generous by not calling the cops on you and filing a report.”
The report: Too hot to handle. Too stubborn to leave.
He flips a page.
“Do you talk? Is that part of the knee injury?”
Honestly, it’s impressive. I’ve never met anyone so aggressively uninterested in conversation that it borders on being fascinating.
With a dramatic exhale that’s mostly forme, I grab the blanket off the couch and stalk over to the sliding glass door on the far side of the room, throwing it around my shoulders like a cape of resignation.
The sun’s starting to dip below the edge of the trees, casting this syrupy orange glow over the water. One of those sunsets that looks fake, like someone turned up the saturation on the entire forest.
It’s gorgeous.
I slide the door open and step outside onto the deck, the cool wood pressing against my bare feet as I pull the blanket tighter around me. Breathing in deeply, I will my brain to stop spinning, inhaling the campfire from the resort, a smell I’m all too familiar with, having grown up in a resort town.
Out here, it’s only me and the water and the kind of quiet you could lose yourself in.
Or find yourself in.
I settle into one of the deck chairs, tucking my knees up and resting my chin on them, watching the orange melt into pink and then purple across the lake. The surface glows like glass, and for a second, everything is calm, including my inner thoughts.
Mostly.
This is what Lucy meant when she said I needed to “reset.” Fewer people. Less noise. Less constantly trying to prove I have it all under control when I absolutely do not.
The sky keeps changing. The bugs start humming. My ears strain as I listen for the door of the cottage to open, but so far, nothing. Of course not.
