A faint snort leaves Ollie’s nose, and I’m fully aware that “complicated” is exactly what he offered to help me avoid.
“I guess I get it,” Ollie says, looking back over at me. “He’s got that whole ‘I know I look like an NFL quarterback, but I’m just a humble doctor genius’ thing going for him.” He uses air quotes and a mock baritone to imitate Forrest.
“It’s not that,” I say defensively.Or notonlythat. “He’s much closer to my age, and we…” I pause, thinking of how he dropped everything to go to Anchorage for his father. “We have a lot in common.”
“It’s fine,” Ollie says. “Am I bummed? Duh.” A corner of his mouth lifts ruefully. “But mostly, I just want you to be careful. I said I like you, and I meant it. Even if we can only be friends without benefits.”
“Careful?” I repeat, my eyebrows drawing together. “About Forrest?”
Ollie stops spinning the stone. He looks down at it but doesn’t say anything.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” I ask, as the fine hairs of my arms raise.
Ollie lifts a hesitant shoulder. “I’m not one for spreading gossip,” he begins ominously. “But you should know you’re not thefirst guest at North Star Lodge who’s fallen for Forrest. I’d hate for you to get hurt, too, is all.”
The composure I’ve maintained ripples like a rock has been chucked into it. “What are you talking about?”
He looks at me with genuine remorse, which only makes my spine go stiffer.
“I only know because of Topher,” he says apologetically. “His family’s tight with Forrest’s, and I guess a few years ago, some travel influencer left a Yelp review after she stayed here. What she said about Forrest wasnotchill. She raked him over the coals for hooking up with guests and leading her on. It really impacted the lodge’s bookings for a while.”
Ollie’s words roll over me, slowly flattening out whatever tenuous hope had begun to grow. Is it true? Did this unknown woman open her heart to Forrest only to realize she was one of many? She was clearly hurt so badly that she felt justified in eliciting revenge. Am I setting myself up for the same injury? My mind isn’t so much jumping to conclusions as riding a heat-seeking missile toward them. And still I don’t want to believe it. I was just beginning to trust Forrest, and it felt… monumental. Like I could finally lay my armor down because he’d proved me wrong: that good, accountable men really do exist outside of novels. That somehow I’d done the impossible and found someone even better than a romance hero.
But as it turns out, I think bitterly,impossible is exactly what this fantasy ever was.
“I’m really sorry, Margot,” Ollie says, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. I feel so brittle, I’m surprised I don’t shatter. “Maybe talk to him first? Give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“Right,” I say through bloodless lips.
Ollie’s face falls. “Shit. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I force a small smile as frost spreads throughout my chest. “It’s fine. I’m glad you told me.”
He frowns doubtfully. “Well, I’m here for another week. If you want company as just, you know, friends, I’m around.”
I nod as he releases my shoulder with a final squeeze. “Sure,” I say, my eyes flicking up to his. “Have a good hike.”
“Always do,” he says, smiling.
He slides off the desk, setting down the salmon stone with a gentle click against the wood.
“Hey, Ollie?” I say before I think better of it.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t happen to know the name of that influencer, do you?”
He looks at me, chewing his lip. After a moment, he nods. “Charlotte Bard.”
We say goodbye again, and I force myself to wait until the front door has closed behind him before waking up the old PC. My throat is tight, palms sweaty, as I type her name into Google. I’m almost hoping the Internet stops working, but naturally, the satellite signal is clear as a bell. The page loads, and I’m immediately assaulted with images of a stunning woman with platinum blond hair and dark roots, whose job is clearly to be as #aesthetic as possible.
I find her website and click. The homepage is trendy, with a banner readingCharlotte Unchartedand a huge photo of her licking gelato next to the Trevi Fountain in Rome. Ignoring the hot, prickly surge of jealousy this inspires, I find the search bar and type in “North Star Lodge.” It’s another second—why isn’t the Internetalwaysthis fast?—to pull up the review she wrote.
My gut takes another walloping as I see her in a photo at the top of the post, posing next to the big stone fireplace I currently sit ten feet away from. I glance up, half expecting her to be there, cackling at me between licks of gelato. I don’t want to read this woman’s words. I don’t want a new chapter of disillusionment in my life. But I have to know.
Hello Darlings!
I hope you’ve been warmer than me, and by that, I don’t just mean temps. For the last week, I’ve been in Middle of Nowhere, Alaska, trying to find out if the rising trend of remote adventure resorts is worth experiencing. So without further ado, here’s the Char Report for North Star Lodge:
