Page 11 of River & Rue

A grinning Kirk lopes toward me on his large, knobbly, and excessively hairy bare feet. A powerful, cloying combination of patchouli and marijuana burns my nose as he grabs my hand and pumps it so aggressively my teeth clack. But I can’t help grinning back at him. His dark-blue eyes are warm and kind, surrounded by the kind of wrinkles that speak to a lifetime of laughter.

“You must be Rue. Welcome, welcome. I’m Kirk, property manager and jack-of-all-trades here at PAC. Can’t do anything about the Wi-Fi, so don’t ask, but I’m a wizard of a handyman.”

He releases my hand, then coughs and hocks another loogie to the side. I surreptitiously wipe my fingers on my shorts.

“Nice to meet you, Kirk.”

He winks at me. “You’re a good one. I can tell. Maybe you’ll rub off on this crabby-cake right here, eh?” He claps River’s shoulder, laughing at the resulting scowl. “Alrighty then. Your bags are on the porch. Keys are in the door. I’d stay to chat, but someone saw their Maker over the toilet in the Lodge and woo-wee am I about to earn my paycheck. Catch ya later!”

My

soul

shrivels.

Kirk swings himself back into the golf cart, turns it on, and hits the gas. The cart rockets backward ten feet, beeping loudly, then jerks to a stop.

He laughs. “Whoopsie, let’s try that again. Better move your butts, kids!”

I’m yanked out of the way seconds before the golf cart tears through the space I’d been standing.

River shakes my arm, glaring down at me. “Of all the times for you to space out! He almost hit you.”

Tugging free of his grip, I look anywhere but at him as I step back onto the path. “Thanks. Can you show me where my cabin is now?”

“Why are you…” He trails off. I glance at him right as a wicked grin overtakes his face. “Aww. Did you have some tummy troubles?”

I hate him so much.

My face feels like it’s going to melt off, but I force a bemused smile. “Nope. Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, plus all the driving and traffic and such.”

Suppressed mirth makes his eyes sparkle. “Uh-huh.”

In lieu of running headfirst into the nearest tree and hoping I knock myself out, I start walking as fast as I can without actually running. The path curves, then forks, and to my utter relief, I glimpse the side of a cabin off to the right. I veer down a smaller path and burst into a clearing dotted with native grasses and wildflowers.

The scene is incredibly picturesque, but I can’t appreciate it because my mind is trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

One cabin.

One long, single-story cabin with wide steps leading up to a covered porch. But there’s no door at the top. Instead, two identical green doors sit at either end of the porch. My duffel and backpack lean against the railing by the leftmost door.

No. Please, no.

I spin around just as River appears. For a second, I have the illogical hope he’ll tell me I’m in the wrong place. But he merely rolls his eyes and walks past me.

“Relax, Killer. All we’re sharing is the porch and a bedroom wall.”

He scales the steps, wood creaking under his feet, and heads to the right. I watch, unmoving, as he opens his door and disappears inside.

6

river

​. . .​

the wall

At dinner last night, I overheard one of the other artists complaining about sharing a wall with Dan. Given her personality, I’d assumed she was embellishing for the sake of attention.