“Remind me: Who was it who said I’d only slow the group down? That I’m an amateur? A danger to myself and everyone around me?”
The natural downward slant of his eyebrows that gives him resting don’t-fuck-with-me face shifts subtly from straight disapproval to disapproval with a hint of guilt.
“Your sister seems to believe in you,” he says.
“My sister also believes in crystal healing,” I snap.
“Not my problem.”
“Give. Me. My.Letters,” I say, my fingers landing on the edge of the desk across from him.
“No.”
“Why the hell not?” I burst out. “Savannah’s not here! She’ll never know!”
“And you’re perfectly fine lying to your sister?” he asks with a look of censure. “After she took all that time to plan this out for you?”
His words pack a bigger punch than he probably realizes. Squirming slightly, I think of how I hid my Happily Never After file from Savannah for years, letting her believe I was the same romantic, optimistic version of myself that she approves of most. Mr. Moral Compass is frowning at me like nothing about my response surprises him, and shame plucks at me with barbed fingers until I’m sure I’m covered in red splotches.
“I wasn’t planning on lying!” I lie. “I’ll tell her I couldn’t follow through,” I promise, edging around the corner of the desk. But as soon as I’ve said it, Savannah’s voice seems to whisper throughmy mind.I know you’re doubting yourself. I believe in you, Margot.I shake my head to clear it. “Give me my personal property,” I repeat in a cold voice, coming to stand directly in front of him. “Stealing mail is a federal crime.”
Without breaking eye contact, he crosses his arms over his lumbersexual flannel and puffer-vest combo. He shakes his head. “No excursions, no letters.”
I barely resist throwing a paperweight at him.Fine. I didn’t want to pull out the big guns, but all’s fair in love and (in my case) desperation.
“Look. Forrest,” I say, softening my voice around his name. I tilt my head innocently and take a step closer to him. He visibly swallows. “I’m a professional writer. If you let me have my letters, I will write fuckingsonnetsabout North Star Lodge and its extremely accommodating staff on every review site there is. If you decide not to give them to me…” I trail off and shrug, letting his imagination cook up the alternative.
Like clockwork, his whole body goes rigid, and his nostrils flare like I’ve inflicted a mortal injury. When he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s being forced through a meat grinder. “Thanks for the offer, but reviews are the last thing we need right now.”
Shit. I only meant to vaguely threaten him without actually acting on it, but I didn’t think of Trapper’s accident. I didn’t think about how they probably don’t want an influx of bookings while they’re adjusting,ora setback from the normal flow of business. I bite my lip, stewing in my guilt until Forrest takes the box of letters out of the drawer.
I gasp and make a grab for them, but his big hand clamps around the package and lifts it skyward, many untold feet above my head.
“You give those back!” I jump pointlessly, and he has the nerve tolaugh. I’m weighing the options of either climbing himlike a tree or kicking him somewhere soft and vulnerable when he steps away from me, arm still raised. “Where the hell are you going?” I demand.
“To put these in my dad’s underwear drawer.”
I let out a growl of frustration, to which Forrest only responds, “Hike starts on Saturday at noon sharp. Pack appropriately.”
And with that, I’m left to fume by myself, smelling like a smoked brisket and already strategizing how to push him into a ravine and make it look like an accident. Because one thing is certain—I’m going to get those letters or die trying.
6FORREST
Why the hell didn’t I just give her the damn letters? Margot would be safely holed up in her cabin right now instead of tagging along on a hike that’s well beyond her capabilities. It might have also established some level of civility between us, which has been sorely lacking in the last few days. Up until now, I’ve mostly been able to avoid her, but unfortunately, she and Scout have formed an alliance. He scratches at her door every time I take him for our morning run, and she always opens up, greeting him with affection while completely icing me out. I’ve never felt a colder shoulder than the one she’s been giving me, and I live in goddamn Alaska.
I glance back at the group I’m leading to the Eagle’s Point trailhead, which lies only a short distance from my cabin. Alice and Yoon are right behind me, followed by Topher, while Ollie pulls up the rear with Margot. Her voice lifts in a flirtatious laugh that makes my shoulders stiffen beneath the heavy straps of my pack, and I turn back to face the trail.
Yes, leaving her would’ve been the responsible thing to do. But after I got my own letter from Margot’s sister markedPlease read before delivering Margot Bradley’s package, that became anonoption. My fists tighten around my hiking poles as the words I memorized from reading so many times come back to me.
To the Excursion Leader of North Star Lodge,
I’m writing because I have a huge, unusual favor to ask, and somehow, a letter seemed like the best way to ask it. Please bear with me—I’ll do my best to explain.
By now, I’m sure you’ve met my sister, Margot, and that you’ve already formed opinions about her. I’m going to hazard a guess that they probably run along the lines of “What the hell is a woman like her doing in a place like this?” Rest assured that Margot is definitely asking the same question. It’s a classic fish-out-of-water trope to the extreme. Like, a fish in a desert… except with snow, and probably lots of flannel. But here’s the thing. You’d never guess it from her polished surface, but my sister’s the strongest, most selfless person you’ll ever meet. It’s also why you’d probably never guess that she’s been hurting deeply for a very long time.
Maybe Margot will tell you all about it on her own terms (it’s not my story to share), but trust me when I say that if anyone needs to find out exactly how resilient they are, it’s my sister. It’s why I’m asking you to tell her about these letters but withhold them unless she goes on wilderness excursions. I know it’s a big ask from a total stranger, but North Star Lodge strikes me as the sort of place that would specialize in personal growth adventures.
Should you decide to do me this solid and earn a lifelong IOU, you’ll see each letter is labeled for every week of her stay, as an incentive to get her out of her comfort zone. I warn you now, though—Margot is going to fight this tooth and nail. But more than anything, my sisterneeds to discover that she has what it takes to overcome what’s happened to her. Please keep her safe and help her find that strength.
