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Except it hadn’t been a bear.
I think I might’ve preferred a big, Yogi-smart grizzly at this point. Or even a slashing and clawing one like in that Leonardo DiCaprio movie.
Because this man is angry, which is why I’m listening closely and watching even closer. I tend to see the best in people, but I’m not an idiot, so I’m keeping my position by the front door. Ready to make a run for it, just in case.
“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do?” he snarls into the phone. He runs a hand through his hair, finding a leaf which he frowns at as if it personally offends him. He strides to the kitchen, opens a lower cabinet near the sink, and throws the leaf away in the trashcan, obviously familiar with the layout, which gives me pause.
Could he be right? Am I the one who shouldn’t be here? But I can virtually picture the confirmation email in my mind, complete with dates, notes on the location, and the door lock code. Not to mention the dozen times I’ve made lists, checked calendars, and rehashed plans for this vacation. I know I’m right. Probably.
Turning back toward me, he’s nodding, but his jaw is clenched tight, not happy with what he’s hearing. “Fine. Yeah, I know. Thanks, Anderson.” He hangs up, slipping his phone into a back pocket as he meets my questioning gaze. He narrows his eyes, but I can still see the storm raging in their blue depths. “Fuck.”
I almost say ‘your eyes are pretty’ but manage to swallow that not-helpful commentary down for a change. Instead, I ask hopefully, “What’d he say?”
The man sits in the armchair nearest the cold fireplace. “This is a vacation for you?”
“Yes,” I answer slowly, feeling like he’s leading me somewhere, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a non-refundable reservation to be right here where I am. Non-bear, grumpy, likely-murderers, notwithstanding.
I’m pretty sure that has to fall under some refund clause somewhere, right?
Sighing heavily, he explains, “There was a delay when Anderson pulled the availability of the cabin from the short-term rental website. That delay allowed you to book after he’d already told me I could stay here.”
I open my mouth to argue. Whatever delay isn’t my fault, and I have a confirmed and paid-for stay. The man holds up a hand to stop me, but it’s the stony look he flashes that actually makes me clamp my mouth shut.
“Anderson is concerned about his rating or whatever with the website and wants you to stay. I get that, but this is a work situation for me. I need to be in this area.” He glances out the window at the forest, which is getting darker by the minute. “I’ll be out for the most part and can sleep in my truck, but I’d like to come in for a shower in the evening before bedding down. It’ll be a few days at most, and I’ll reimburse your whole stay for the inconvenience. Any chance you’d be agreeable to that?”
I’m good at reading people, always have been with a family like mine, and only got better at it when I started working at the care center. I see families, patients, and doctors, sometimes at their best and more often at their worst.
It’s those skills that kick in as I evaluate this guy. And the more I see, the more I grow intrigued.
There’s a formality to the way he asks to strike some sort of deal, like he’s negotiated before. He’s dressed in all black, and while there’s a tactical vibe to the clothing, it’s high-end and expensive. He didn’t buy this crap from your average Army-Navy store. He’s laid back in the chair casually, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency as though every muscle is poised for action. He’s dangerous, but I don’t feel in danger. The distinction is important.
And if I’m not mistaken, he’s offering to pay for my entire stay in exchange for a few showers. If he’s not a murderer, it’s a pretty sweet deal. For me.
I give myself a moment to think, aware that I have a well-documented weakness for helping people in need at nearly any cost, including my own well-being. But still, I trust my gut. It’s (mostly) never steered me wrong.
Plus, I remember that drive in and it’s getting late. I can’t, in good conscience, turn him out to traverse that in the dark. I’d never forgive myself if something happened.
“What’s your name?” He blinks like that’s not what he expected me to say. “If I’m sharing the facilities with someone, I’d like to at least know his name,” I explain, having mostly made my decision.
He moves slowly like he doesn’t want to startle me, and I watch warily as he stands and approaches. At the last minute, he reaches for the closet next to me. Huh, I didn’t even notice that door with the eye-catching view out the back windows.
