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Oh, screw it. He already hates me. He’s hated me since the moment we met. He doesn’t want me working for him, and he’s going to fire me at the end of the night. Which means I’ve let down Marthe, who handed me a job and an apartment, and in return, I can’t make it through thirty minutes with her son.

Fine. I’ll pack in the morning and get the bus to Fairbanks right after I apologize profusely to Marthe. It’s the only thing for it.

“This isn’t the city. There are things out here that can hurt you.” He says this like a park ranger warning a troop of nine-year-olds on their first scout trip. Whatever.

“Got it. No wandering.” I turn away to follow the darkening landscape past the window and pretend I don’t notice his eyes reflected in the glass.

We reach the top of the mountain, the lights of Fairbanks coming over the horizon, and rocket down the other side like we’re skimming on ice. They disappear again as we sink into the valley.

“How many guests?”

“Five.”

I twist in my seat to get a view of the layout in the rear. It’ll be about half-full. There’s enough room for me to hang out back there. The company has to be better.

We cut through town and into the driveway of some chain hotel.

“Bottled water and blankets are in the back.” He pulls on the handbrake and presses a button on the dash. The door beeps and begins to slide open.

I’m out and around with waters in hand by the time Nick comes through the lobby with a couple in matching Montbell down jackets. A smile creases his face, and I nearly drop the bottles. It’s pleasant and welcoming. Most people would find it friendly, but it’s not genuine. Still, it’s more than I’ve got out of him. Between the foyer and the curb, his demeanor has gone from surly to consummate host. He deposits the guests and stands to the side without a word.

He’s testing me.

“Hi, I’m Ellery. Welcome aboard.” With a bright smile, I hand them each a water as they climb in.

“Yuki.” The woman bows her head and takes a blanket when I offer her one. Her husband takes one too, and immediately puts it over her knees instead of his own. Once they’re settled, I get in after them, taking up residence right behind the driver’s seat. Nick looks at the seat I’ve chosen, then at me, and closes the door.

As he pulls out onto the road, I turn to our guests. “What brings you to Alaska?”

“Honeymoon,” Yuki says, and her husband grasps her mittened hand.

“Congratulations.” They’re adorable. Honest to goodness life goals. “What made you choose Alaska for your honeymoon?”

“Moose.” She nudges him. “Kenji wants to get up close.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I ran across a moose.” I laugh. “Probably run. I hope you get to see one.”

Two minutes later, the next hotel, and this one’s got a valet stand. An older couple waits beside it, unfazed by the chill.

“Welcome aboard, I’m Ellery.”

The man ignores my offer of water and picks a seat toward the front, lowering himself down with a groan. I hand his wife a blanket.

“Thank you, dear. I’m Cindy.” She’s elegant, wearing a berry-pink quilted Barbour jacket. My mother has one just like it. “And that grump of a man is my husband, Donald.”

I lean in, letting my eyes slide dramatically to Nick standing behind us. “I completely understand.”

Cindy pats my hand and chuckles as she gets on board, while Nick practices his glare on me.

Donald grunts from his seat. “She’ll have your life story before we’re out of the parking lot.”

“And you’ll have said four words,” Cindy says, buckling up beside him.

She tells me they’re retired empty nesters from Vancouver. Donald used to work as an engineer at BC Hydro, and she was a flight attendant for Air Canada until she became a mom. I ask about all the places she flew and which one she loved the most. Cuba, it turns out. “There’s nothing as invigorating as dancing the mambo down the cobbled streets of Old Havana.”

She asks about my career plans, and I feel like a liar when I say I’m taking a gap year before grad school. Somehow, that’s easier than trying to explain that I ran away.

Every time I look up, he’s already watching me in the mirror. Somewhere between the second and third pickup, I stop planning my apology.