“Um, okay,” I say awkwardly, not sure how I feel about him reading the steamy scenes my readers are (correction: were) so fond of. It’s not like I’m usually shy about my writing, but twentysomething rock climbers who are actively trying to get in my pants aren’t my usual demographic.
“Actually, I can walk her back,” Forrest informs us as he stands to collect plates. “She needs to sign our liability waivers after dinner.”
“Liability waivers?” I ask, slightly alarmed. “For what? The local moose problem?”
“I’m happy to wait,” Ollie offers.
“Might take a while, and you and Topher need an early start tomorrow if you plan on reaching Curry Ridge,” Jo points out, her eyes sliding from me to Forrest.
I watch as Ollie bites his lips together. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He throws me an apologetic look. “But I’d love to catch up tomorrow night if you want. Maybe I can pick up the book then?”
“Of course,” I say, slightly relieved.
The feeling doesn’t last. After the group disbands and Jo assists Trapper into his chairlift, following him upstairs with Scout loping close behind, I’m left alone with Forrest and his candlelit cheekbones and surly attitude. Not that I didn’t ask for it—I haven’t been cold to him in hopes of bringing out his cuddly side. It’s almost a relief to know his hackles are raised as high as mine. That I might just scare him too. In the silence of the dimly lit lodge, we approach the book nook like two wary animals, ready to bare our teeth at the slightest provocation.
“These are the standard liability waivers all our guests sign,” he says when we reach the desk, sliding a folder and pen to me with a sharpshhsound. “In case you do decide to go on any of the weekly excursions.”
I cross my arms over my slouchy sweater, accidentally pulling it off one shoulder. His eyes tick to my bra strap and immediately away. “I didn’t realize I was allowed to,” I say.
He slowly crosses his own arms, and I swear I hear a shoulder seam in his Henley pop from the strain. “You said you didn’t want to go. I was doing you a favor.”
“A favor is walking someone through dark, moose-infested woods. It’s not calling someone an amateur in front of the entire ‘I’ve Scaled Everest’ contingent.”
“I did walk you through the woods, and I’m about to do it again.”
“I don’t need you to walk me through the woods,” I declare. “Ollie gave me a headlamp. And who knows? Maybe I’ll change my mind about that hike.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder and lean down, scanning the paperwork. Alarming phrases jump out at me.Remote areas without medical access. Encounters with dangerous wildlife. Grievous bodily harm and/or death.
I glance up at Forrest and the annoying smirk he’s wearing on his smug, handsome face. “Still want to come?” he asks.
Grinding my teeth, I sign all the paperwork in a flurry, not bothering to read any more of it. It’s not like I’m going on any of these excursions, but his judgment is intolerable.
“Maybe I do,” I say airily, standing up straight again. “Ollie said he’d be happy to slow his pace for me.”
Forrest snorts, smirk firmly in place. I want to yank it down. “Ollie can’t resist climbing any boulder he sees. He’d leave you behind in his chalk dust before the first mile.”
“I flatter myself that I can be more interesting than rocks.”
Forrest stacks the papers neatly into the folder while his glossy eyebrows communicate a one-word response:Sure.
I turn in a huff to get my coat.I have a headlamp,I remind myself.I’ll be fine to make it back to my cabin. Probably.But as I zip up and walk toward the front door, Forrest catches up with me.
“I said I can make it back on my own, thanks,” I say tartly.
“I’m going the same way,” he explains.
“Oh yeah? Is it poker night with Bullwinkle?” I say as we walk out into the frigid night.
“I’m going to bed. My cabin’s the one just past yours.”
So he doesn’t sleep in the lodge. I don’t know why I find this interesting. I shouldn’t find anything about him interesting, because I happen to know that Forrest is a human phishing scam. Men like him always seem familiar and trustworthy thanks to Hollywood and the romance novel industry, but they never actually live up to their fictional counterparts. Instead, they lure you in with their good looks and noble careers only to steal your heart and stomp on it before moving on to someone new. Maybe that’s a bold assumption to make about someone I’ve just met. But my life is strung with the blown-out lights of disappointing would-be heroes, and this time I’m not taking any chances.
Along the wooded path, he points out helpful markers for the next time I’m forced to leave my cabin, but mostly, our mutual dislike keeps us silent except for the crunching snow beneath ourboots. When we reach my front door, I fumble to find my key, nervous that he’ll keep walking before I’m safely inside.
“It’s in here somewhere,” I say, patting all my pockets while secretly praying he won’t abandon me to the wolves. I finally find it and let out a relieved breath that clouds around my face. I hasten to unlock the door, and when it’s open, I turn, half expecting him to be gone already.
To my surprise, however, he’s still there, solid and unmoving as the evergreens around us. “You good?” he asks. And I may not want to admit it, but knowing he’ll be in the next cabin down makes me feel like I might actually sleep tonight.
