0 out of 5 Chars
That’s right, folks. My first ever zero out of five. Trust me when I say I did not make this decision lightly, but in the face of what I experienced, zero Chars was my only option. For those with sensitivities to blatant unprofessionalism, TMI about my sex life, and world-class assholery, turn back now. You’ve been warned.
Stomach clenching, I scroll beyond another gorgeous photo of Charlotte posing on the snowy porch to get to the next paragraph.
Okay, friends, grab your popcorn. One week ago, Dr. Forrest Wakefield picked me up from Anchorage to drive me to his family’s lodge, and ladies and gentlemen, I’m not ashamed to admit that I was instantly smitten. For a girl who’s been around the world and seen it all, Forrest checked all the boxes. In fact, once we’d established that my interest wasn’t one-sided, he checked boxes I didn’t even know I had, okay? Every moment I spent with this man made me think I was living in a snow-dusted made-for-TV movie. He made me think he felt the same way. But that was until yesterday, when it was time for me to leave, and instead of accepting my phone number (like a decent human being), Forrest informed me that he thought a clean break would be best.
Now, maybe he assumed I’m the kind of girl who has a fling in every place I travel to (I’m not). Maybe he assumed I wouldn’t catch feelings for him or find out about the string of guests he’s left brokenhearted (wrong). Maybe he assumed there wouldn’t be repercussions for leading me on, or for his complete lack of professionalism (wrong again). And sure, maybe things between us started out casual. Maybe I could have been clearer about my growing feelings. But ultimately, I feel used. Heartbroken. One of who knows how many guests he’s hooked up with and discarded.
To add insult to injury, my experience at North Star has been not only subzero, but subpar as well. Between having to hike to the main lodge for every barely edible meal, and the overly rustic Lincoln Log accommodations, this trip has felt less like a cozy retreat and more like an exile from society. And maybe that’s what some people are looking for, but it certainly isn’t me.
Lastly, since I’m an influencer with a predominantly female readership, I want this to be a warning to any woman still thinking of booking a trip here. The proprietor’s son who seems too good to be true? He isn’t.
xx, Char
Quickly, I exit the browser and sit back in the office chair, heart pounding. I realize that up until now, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s all I’ve ever known from the men in my life. But even with my record-low expectations, having proof that Forrest is no better than the rest of them doesn’t hurt any less.
A small, desperate part of me is clinging to the inconsistent details she mentioned about the food and accommodations hereat North Star, since my own experience has been so different. I want to believe she might have made everything else up too. But why on earth would she lie? What would she gain from being so malicious? And most painful of all, why didn’t Forrest tell me about this? My stomach curls around a knot of hurt at the question. After reading all my Happily Never Afters, he knows how hard it is for me to trust anyone. Heshouldhave known I’d want to hear about this from him first. But he didn’t tell me. And now, without his side of the story, I have to take Charlotte’s word for it.
I drop my face into my hands but tell myself I’m glad. That I’m better off finding out before my heart got even more involved. By the time he gets back in a few days, maybe I’ll believe it.
20FORREST
It’s incredible how quickly you can tell someone’s pissed at you. Thanks to this evolutionary superpower, it takes me less than a second after returning from Anchorage to understand that the only welcome home I’m likely to receive from Margot is a detailed instructional pamphlet on how to fuck off.
It’s problematic, because ever since the sauna, the attachment hormones I’ve been desperately trying to repress have decided they’re moving in and putting up fucking wallpaper. Naively, I actually believed going to Anchorage would help me get some control over them. But this feeling in my chest has only gotten more settled in the last week. Margot has a home inside me now, even if it’s just for the next two weeks, and the idea that she might not want it chafes so deep I can barely breathe.
Unfortunately, I haven’t had a second to talk to her about it. From the moment I got back, I’ve been inundated with settling my dad back into his rooms, preparing for tonight’s snowstorm, and making dinner for eight hungry people so that Jo can have a break, all while feeling like there’s a freshly sharpened ax dangling above me. But thankfully, dinner’s over, and I no longer have atable full of people watching as I try to break the icy wall of polite formality Margot has put between us.
“Hey,” I say to her profile as she loads her plate on top of the others.
“Yes?” she says without looking at me. Her tone is curt—the same as when she asked me to pass the goddamn rolls, and nothing like the warmth she used while planning her cozy fucking Scrabble rematch with Ollie.
“We need to talk,” I say more brusquely than I intended. “Please,” I add.
She takes a breath and lowers her shoulders like she’s been preparing for this moment. I’m bewildered, mind clawing for what I did, when she finally looks at me. “Let’s go to your place.”
I nod, wanting to feel relieved, but she turns from me without another word. She’s silent on the cold, dark walk from the lodge. Silent when we reach my place and take off our outerwear. Silent as she perches on my couch like she doesn’t plan to stay long. I hurry to light the fire, my anxiety building with every sharp pop and crackle of burning wood. Until finally, I turn to her.
“Well?” I blurt. “You want to tell me what I did? Why you won’t even look at me?”
It comes out like I’m the one who’s pissed, and I want to staple my tongue down. I’m not pissed. I’m scared and jealous as hell, but I can barely tell the difference right now. Her light-brown eyes narrow at me, and I know I should sit down next to her, but I’m too nervous. I cross my arms instead.
“I think the real question,” she counters, crossing her arms right back, “is whether you were ever going to tell me about Charlotte.”
My tapping fingers freeze against my ribs as her words deliver the relief of understanding what’s wrong, and horror because—shit. My shirt begins suffocating me as I mentally scan words I wish I didn’t have memorized, this time from Margot’s perspective.
“Charlotte,” I repeat hoarsely. “You read her review.”And I bet I know who showed it to her.
Margot’s eyes drop to her hands, which have twisted in her lap so tightly, her knuckles are white. “Yeah, Forrest. I read it.”
Goddamn it, Ollie. Half-panicked, I take a step forward, needing her to look at me. When she doesn’t, I automatically kneel down to be at her level, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“You’re right. I should have told you about Charlotte sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But you need to know there’s more to this story than what was in that blog post,” I say, summoning all the loyal earnestness of a golden retriever. “I’ll tell you everything if you’ll let me.”
“I think her review said it all,” Margot shoots back, but her bottom lip is trembling. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m upset. You’ve read my Happily Never Afters. You know I got canceled for not believing in fairy tales. You’d think—” She stops and closes her eyes for a moment. When she looks at me again, all the hurt she’s tried locking away is still there. “You would think I’d have learned this lesson too many times to be surprised by another asshole in good-guy clothing. But I guess you really had me fooled, Forrest. Bravo.”
Her voice hitches on my name, and everything in me wants to reach out and pull her close. Knowing I gained her fiercely guarded trust only to have it broken overthisis intolerable, but I try to hold my focus.
