After risking another obliterating review for nearly giving Margot hypothermia and then groping her during last week’s wilderness excursion, I played it safe this time by leading the group on one of Alaska’s most boring but quintessential winter experiences: ice fishing. Shockingly, everyone caught something, and perhaps more shockingly, no one sprained an ankle or required me to get half-naked in a sleeping bag with them. In other words, it’s the first excursion that went exactly according to plan, apart from my complete inability to keep my distance from Margot.
Ever since learning the truth about what made her flee to North Star, I’ve found it harder and harder to deny that my simple physical attraction to her has morphed dangerously into something more. It was never more painfully obvious than when I witnessed her helping my father with his nerve pain, her beautiful features schooled into complete focus as she worked with targeted acupressure points that I’ve since researched and practiced on him as well. All week, my interactions with Margot have been cordial, if awkward, and I can only hope she hasn’t noticed how fucking difficult it’s been for me to tear my eyes off her.
Back in the snug little fishing shack, I watched her eyes andnose scrunch every time she took a sip from the flask of whiskey that’s almost as essential to ice fishing as rod and reel. Listened to her laugh as everyone’s tales of misadventure got taller and taller, their hand gestures wilder and wilder. I didn’t indulge, of course. I knew it would eventually be up to me to lead five tipsy guests back to the lodge on snow machines without any mishaps, which is what I’m doing right now, with Margot riding pillion behind me.
The snow is a deep, soft blue in the falling twilight, and her arms tighten around my waist. I know it’s not something I should be feeling so goddamn self-satisfied over, since it was either ride with me or walk, but the way she automatically climbed onto the back of my machine without a single look over at Ollie had me revving the engine like a balls-for-brains idiot. Ultimately though, an urge to extend this ride as long as possible won out over the Neanderthalic urge to race him, and I led everyone back at the speed of a drifting snowflake. Now, as glittering powder swirls in the beam of my headlight and the lodge looms up ahead, my hand lets off the throttle against all sense and reason. I slow to an idling stop, and Alice and Yoon drive up next to me on one side, Ollie and Topher on the other.
“Everything okay?” Alice shouts over the rumble of our engines.
My mittened hand lifts to form a thumbs-up before I signal with a chopping motion for the group to go on ahead without us.What the hell do I think I’m doing?
“We’ll be back soon,” I shout, like this was all part of a presanctioned plan and not a sudden and alarming loss of impulse control.
Alice and Yoon give a thumbs-up and accelerate ahead, while Ollie gives me a long stare before throttling reluctantly forward with Topher behind him. Something like joy leaps in my chest, and with a flick of my wrist, I whip the machine around, snow spraying in an arc behind us. Margot presses closer against my back as we face the darkening trails once more.
“What are you doing?” she yelps through her helmet, but I can hear her excitement too. Feel it in the way her arms and thighs tighten around me.
I turn my head. “Want to go for a real ride?”
Her mittens curl into my stomach. “Yeah,” she says breathlessly. “Let’s go.”
I rev the powerful engine, and we shoot off like a rocket. Margot screams, then laughs, then screams again as her body welds itself around mine, and I decide that devising ways of making her this happy is now my number one priority. We practically fly over the snow, weaving in and out of trees and making hairpin turns on snowbanks that leave even me breathless. Margot is wrapped around me so tightly that she’ll need a crowbar to peel herself off, and that only spurs me to go faster. I grew up driving snow machines and know these hills and valleys like they’re an extension of my own body. With every one of Margot’s surprised shrieks and laughs, I feel more and more like a fifteen-year-old kid trying to impress the girl of my dreams, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s working.
By the time we’ve circled back to the lodge, we’re both covered in snow and grinning like idiots. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much actual, smiling-till-my-cheeks-ache, belly-laughing fun. Probably not since before my mother passed away, which, considering that happened almost a decade ago, makes my life seem pretty fucking grim. But there’s something about the adorable way Margot is stumbling off the snow machine and leaning on my forearm that makes me want to forget about the past, the future, and anything else that isn’t happening at this exact moment. I stare as her long golden hair seems to tumble out of her helmet in slow motion and she aims her megawatt smile up at me.
“Just so you know, I never signed off on being in theFast & Furious: Alaskamovie,” she scolds.
I pull off my own helmet, grinning right back. “Should I have talked to your agent first?”
Margot’s eyes lock on my post-helmet-disaster hair. “Only if you wanted a strongly worded email about the testosterone-fueled downfall of American cinema.”
“In that case,” I say, pointlessly trying to smooth down the unfortunate collective of cowlicks that is my hair, “I’m offended on behalf of the entireFast & Furiousfranchise.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a Vin Diesel stan,” she teases as we walk toward the lodge, her mittened hand on my forearm like it belongs there. “Ever try cosplay? I bet you’d look great in a leather vest.”
“The vest only comes out when I’m writing my fan fiction,” I say.
She beams up at me. “You’ve never seen a singleFast & Furiousmovie, have you?”
I pause. “No.”
Margot throws her head back and laughs, tipsy on whiskey, adrenaline, and this thing ricocheting between us. In the quickly gathering twilight, I feel as intoxicated as she is.
“Come on, California,” I say, holding the door open for her. “You need to eat something.”
Instead of protesting the pet name, she bites her lip against the smile she’s trying to tamp down and walks right in.
Inside the lodge, the rest of the group is hanging out at the large rustic dining table, the wine already flowing. Ollie sees us approach and looks glumly at Margot smiling beside me. Absurdly, it makes me feel like I’ve won some sort of antler-locking mating contest, and despite my agreement with Margot to keep things platonic, it costs me physical effort not to throw a possessive arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, everyone,” Margot says, accepting a glass of white wine as she walks up to the table. “Thanks, Yoon.”
“Would you like some, Forrest?” Yoon asks.
“Sure, why not,” I say a little too cheerfully. “I need to get cooking, though. Did Jo already grab the fish from you all?”
“She did,” Alice confirms, passing me a glass of red.
I nod and look to Margot, who hasn’t sat down in her usual spot yet. It’s an odd moment. Leaving to cook the group’s meal after spending all day shooting the shit with them feels like redrawing the line of staff and guest separation, which has become increasingly blurry. She raises her eyes to mine like she’s sensing the same thing, and after a moment, she says, “I love to cook. Can you show me the kitchen?”
