Page 10 of Off the Trail

“Rain?” Shawn glances up at the crystal-clear evening sky, then laughs. “How do you know what the weather’s supposed to be without an app?”

I cock my head at him. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I have intuition about these things.”

He squints at me, and I relent. “Also, I have the internet at my house.”

“Your house?” He looks at me inquiringly.

“I live on the other side of the lake.” I point. “About a mile away.”

He glances in the direction of my finger. “Nice commute.”

“It’s pretty sweet.” We get to the boathouse, and I unlock it using the keypad. “I’ll take care of this stuff. You’ve got dinner waiting.”

He hands me the fishing poles but doesn’t leave.

“I’ll take the fish to Nolan,” I say, thinking that’s what’s keeping him here.

“Okay. Thanks, Blaze. I mean, thanks for tonight. I really needed it.”

“Oh, sure.” I’ve heard that refrain before. That’s why this place exists, why I have a job. We remind people that life can slow down, and it’s okay.

I put the poles away, stow the tackle box, and flip off the lights. I’m hungry for my dinner, too, but Shawn hovers.

“So a hike tomorrow,” he says, “if it doesn’t rain?”

“You got it. But I’m pretty sure it’s going to be wet.” I hoist the cooler and pat the side. “Gotta get these to the kitchen.”

“Right. Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night, Shawn.”

I wait until he’s taken a few steps toward his cabin before heading to the lodge. I don’t especially want to say goodnight to the guy, but it’s not like he’s going to ask me to eat with him. That’s definitely something I’ve never done with a guest, outside of the occasional Sunday supper. I’ve barely even been in any of the guest cottages. My territory is the boathouse and the lake itself.

Shawn’s probably a little adrift, a little lonely. It’s nice that he seems to enjoy my company, but he’s a guest—keeping him happy is part of my job. The fact that his smile makes me feel curiously aware of my body is my problem, not his.

Chapter 5

Shawn

My bedroom window is dotted with rain when I wake up, and even though I can’t check the forecast, I’m sure Blaze was right and today won’t be a hiking day. I roll onto my back, then stretch out in the big king-sized bed. The mattress is more comfortable than any hotel mattress I’ve ever slept on. I guess that’s because this isn’t a hotel. It’s some magical alternate universe where I’m cut off from the outside world and there’s nothing to do but enjoy the moment. I find myself more okay with that by the minute.

Last night after our almost cornily wholesome fishing experience, I went back to my cabin to find the magical elves had struck again, leaving a meal warming on low in the oven. I ate every scrap of it, hungrier than I realized after being out in the fresh, chilly evening air in shorts and a polo shirt. Next time I’ll wear layers, like Blaze.

Just when I was regretting not ordering dessert, I looked in the freezer compartment of the half-sized kitchenette fridge and found a pint of salted caramel gelato. I happen to have a weakness for anything salted caramel, and for a second I thought maybe this cabin was actually magical and I could conjure up anything I wanted if I thought about it hard enough. Then I made the connection—Callie. She must have given them a list of my preferences or something.

I ate half the container, took a shower, and went to bed before midnight.

Eventually, I force myself off the comfortable mattress, head to the bathroom to execute my morning routine, even if I have no plans to see anyone today. I hesitate over the razor. Blaze’s handsomely bearded face swims into my mind, and I scratch my barely bristly chin. Should I take this opportunity out of society to see if I could grow my own beard? Then I remember how patchy it came in the last time the team made a no-shave pact when we were on a winning streak. Jett made fun of my peach fuzz for days.

It’s stupid, but that easy camaraderie is what I miss the most about being on the team. I don’t have siblings. My team was my family, and I took it for granted it would always be that way.

A knock comes at my door as I’m patting my freshly shaven cheeks dry. I answer to find an insulated hamper on the steps. I bring it inside and set up my breakfast on the living room coffee table so I can enjoy watching the rain from my window. The mushroom omelet I picked at random from the suggested menu is there, as is my brook trout. The other fish aren’t present, and I hope Blaze is somewhere getting to enjoy his catch.

It’s odd to eat another meal alone. Which is odd in itself, since I’ve been eating the majority of meals alone lately. But this is different. I’m used to the TV always blasting the sports networks, or deliveries, or cleaning people coming in and out, texts and emails and phone calls to return. Here, it’s just me and my breakfast and the soft sound of rain on the glass.

It should be lonely, but it feels peaceful.

Then again, as I eat the best mushroom omelet I’ve ever had and bite into the tender, lightly breaded briny trout, I think about Blaze and how it would make sense if he were here to share this with me.