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2
A Different Kind of Hunger
The office cabin,where I was to check-in, was pretty much the same inside as on the outside—rustic and scratchy and quaint, like a little appetizer of what was to come. There was a small ‘general store’ of emergency items priced at a ridiculous premium, a few books gathering dust on a wooden shelf with a sign that said FREE, and a sticky check-in counter.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked, doing her best not to stare.
I knew I didn’t look like a typical camper. But that was no one’s damn business.
“Yeah, my friend Mella made a reservation here through Sunday,” I said, pulling out my driver’s license. “I think the rez might be under the name Stephens?”
She nodded. “Super, got you right here in our book. Says two cars, and you wanted to rent some gear, right?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not a problem,” she said, disappearing into a room behind the check-in counter.
She returned with a large rolled up thing that I assumed was the tent, and a sleeping bag that, while not exactly looking like it’d win any fashion awards, definitely looked soft and comfortable. “Oh, and let me get you a ground pad. Even with the pine needles on the ground, you’re gonna want it.”
The pad looked like little more than a yoga mat, but I wasn’t going to complain. “Great. My friend is supposed to meet me here,” I said, looking out the window for her car.
“Doesn’t seem to be here yet. But when she does arrive, I’ll check out her rental items as well. Now, you’re going to be in site eight, and here’s your parking tag.”
I had to hand it to Mella. She, or maybe Jeremy, had made and paid for the reservations and rentals. I just had to bring food. And she’d assured me she’d reserved a beautiful lakeside site, with good views across the lake and into the surrounding mountains.
Even a rocker girl like me couldn’t turn my nose up at that.
The one thing missing? Mella, and her big blue pick-up truck. We’d agreed to meet here at the campground at one o’clock, and by two I was still sitting on a rock by the lake, alone. Sighing, I went back to my car and checked my phone, grimacing when I saw that I had a missed voicemail from her.
“Fi, it’s Mella,” she said, her voice giddy and high pitched and excited. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m saying this but… Jeremy just asked me to marry him!”
A thud landed in my stomach. I knew I should be excited. But I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next.
“Look, I know this is sudden, and I’m really, really sorry but… to avoid all the family drama and stress, Jeremy and I are flying to Vegas in like, fifteen minutes.”
Well. I was not only dumped in the woods, but also not invited to my bestie’s wedding. I mean, it would have been a stretch to my budget, but I could have popped a last-minute flight to Vegas.
If I’d been invited.
“I’m really, really sorry that I’m not going to make it camping,” she gushed. I heard car doors opening and closing in the background. “But I’m sure you understand. Anyway, the campsite’s paid for, and when we get back, we’ll have a post-bachelorette party. When we next speak, I’ll be a missus!”
There was a smooching sound, and the voicemail ended.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” I grumbled, sitting back down on the rock I’d been using. “Now what?”
After thinking for a moment, the choices were clear. I could either stay here, at Black Mountain Lake, surrounded by bugs and nature and god knew what else… or I could go back to the city, where my older brother would no doubt try to get me to take a shift at the restaurant because one of the cooks had decided that they were sick and really needed a Friday or Saturday night off.
“Fuck it,” I grumbled, brushing off the seat of my black denim jeans. “I’d rather pull a shift chopping vegetables than fighting off bears.”
I turned to go, but as I did, a big SUV pulled into the site next to mine. As it came to a stop in its assigned parking spot, three guys climbed out.
And hell’s bells, these were not just any kind of guys. If you’d asked me before I arrived at Black Mountain Lake, I’d have expected my campsite neighbors to be tobacco chewing, gun-toting, country-music blaring types who crunched empty beer cans on their foreheads.
So much for stupid assumptions.
Thank the gods, these guys were anything but.
Despite being dressed for the woods and looking a little more outdoorsy than I was normally attracted to, these men certainly looked like they could defend my city-loving ass from any bears or raccoons or whatever else lurked in the woods around Black Mountain Lake.
