He grunted something unintelligible and finally threw the door open again.
“Listen,” I told him, using the voice I always employed in press conferences. Polite but firm. Straight to the point. “Worst-case scenario, this is an unfortunate case of double-booking, which would be none of our fault. But if that’s what happened, we need to clarify this.” I checked on his expression as he reluctantly scanned the screen of my phone. “Best-case scenario, you’re simply wrong. In which case I’ll leave you a few hours to vacate and be back later. I have things to do in town. No harm, no foul.”
A snort toppled out of his lips. “That’s an awfully bad apology.”
“I’m not apologizing, I’m trying to be civil.”
“You’re also not the tenant of Lazy Elk,” he countered, making my eyes narrow. “It says there that you booked the Sweet Heaven Cottage in the Lazy Elk Lodge.” He arched that pair of angry brows, daring to look bored. “Wherever that is. Now, if you don’t mind, I have stuff to do back in my cabin.”
I retrieved my phone, zooming in on the details of the email. “That can’t be right.” I scrolled down. Two large fingers popped into my field of vision, bringing my attention to a line: Sweet Heaven Cottage, 423 Lazy Elk Street, Lazy Elk Lodge. “But that can’t be right,” I repeated. “I circled the property with the car when I got here and there was nothing.” My eyes scanned every single foot of property around, searching almost desperately at this point. “There’s no street. And there’s no other cabin.”
And there wasn’t. Not really. But I did notice something else.
To the right of the porch we were standing on was a shed.
Not a cabin. Definitely not the cabin I was staying in, right?
Only, the more I looked the more impossible it was to miss the number hanging off a… timber pole that bent sideways under the September sun.
The number read: 423 LAZY ELK STREET.
My stomach dropped with dread and… something else.
I hadn’t seen the interior, but I didn’t need to. I wasn’t equipped to stay there. That strange sensation intensified and for the first time in my life, I wanted to throw in the towel and run back home with my tail between my legs. I’d be a disappointment on top of being an embarrassment, but this? A shed in some rural area I was clearly unequipped for? It was too much. I—
A chuckle came from behind me, low and deep and dripping with such condescension that it snagged me right away from the edge of the hole I’d been ready to jump in.
This wasn’t me. I promised myself this morning I wouldn’t be wobbly Adalyn any longer.
“It’ll be perfect,” I announced, turning around and meeting his gaze. His green eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t cower. It was right then when it finally clicked. I knew without a doubt who this man was. It was in the way he’d been so… conceited. So self-assured. This was a man used to winning. And he’d just won. I’d been in the wrong. I squared my shoulders with the last ounce of dignity I had left. “And rest assured, neighbor, now that I’ve found it, I’ll get out of your hair and let you get to that very important stuff you have to do.”
“I’m not your neighbor.”
“Looks to me like we are sharing the property, though.” I spread my arms. “The beautiful and cozy Lazy Elk Lodge, in lovely Green Oak.”
“You’re not staying,” he said in a strange tone. “You can’t possibly live”—a nod in the direction of the shed—“there.”
The corners of my lips inched higher at the way he was telling me and not asking. “Of course I can. I’ve booked it and have very important business to do in town.”
He let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. “Darling—”
“Please.” My expression turned to stone. “Don’t call me that.”
He frowned, probably because I’d accidentally said please. “Adalyn,” he said in that English accent I’d been wrong to assume was fake, making my name sound a way I wasn’t used to. “Adalyn Elisa Reyes.”
I didn’t understand why he’d done that—said my full name like that. I narrowed my eyes. “So you know how to read, congrats.”
Rather than annoyed, he seemed amused by my jab. “That’s not a cabin,” he continued. “It’s hardly a cottage. It’s a goddamn shack.”
“Your point?”
His eyes gave me an incredulous once-over. “You can’t possibly think that you’ll make it in there. Not short-and certainly not long-term.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll make it a single night there.”
He wasn’t wrong, I probably couldn’t. But I’d spent half a lifetime surrounded by men just like him. Competitive, judgmental; I didn’t like to be underestimated. And I’d already lost one battle to him.
“I guess we’ll have to see about that.” I turned around and climbed down the steps. When I was at the bottom, I looked at him over my shoulder and added, “Neighbor.”
* * *
“What do you mean it’s all booked?”
“There are no hotels, motels, or Airbnbs in Green Oak. There’s no other available property to rent short-or long-term. Just the Lazy Elk Lodge. I could look in the towns close by, but that means you’ll have to drive back and forth. It’s also the end of the high season. There’re lots of trekking routes, waterfalls, lakes, beautiful—”
“Kelly,” I said, unconsciously using my boss’s voice. “I’m not interested in what the area offers. I’m interested in finding some other accommodation. Any other. I can’t stay here.”
She hesitated, then said, “Define ‘can’t.’?”
I appreciated Kelly, I really did. She always worked hard, had initiative, and never allowed anyone to walk over her, which was why I had snagged her from the ticketing division, where her raw potential would have been wasted. But sometimes she tested my patience.
“Picture a hunter’s hut.” I humored her, going for a clear enough picture of where I was. “Rotten and creaky wood that bends under your weight, one single window, the biggest set of antlers you’ve ever seen hanging off one wall.” I zeroed in on the thing, goosebumps running down my spine. “And before you ask, no. They’re not even the cool kind of antlers. They are the kind that make you think of death and flesh and bones.”
She clicked her tongue. “But the pictures looked so cozy. Isn’t there a little fireplace?”
My gaze jumped to the so-called fireplace. It was some sort of iron furnace that made clanking sounds. “In theory, yes. In reality, it’s a black hole that probably hosts something I don’t want to stir awake.”
“You mean, like a spirit? Or—”
“Kelly,” I said, shaking my head. “A living something, possibly with teeth and claws.”
She hummed. “What about the bed?” I glanced at the horrible piece of furniture. She continued, “It was so… rustic and low-key sexy? Like the kind of bed a lumberjack would do nasty—”
“It’s a very dated four-poster bed,” I rushed out, my eyelids fluttering shut to spare me the sight of that monstrosity. “And I am—was—your boss. I don’t want to hear about your sexual fantasies. Particularly not if they involve lumberjacks, and especially not if they involve the four-poster bed I’ll have to sleep in tonight.”
“I guess you’re more of a bodice-ripper girl, boss. And I don’t blame you. I’m just a little darker than that.” I blinked, at a loss for words. “Maybe it’s not so bad?” she offered. “Maybe all you need to do is yassify the cabin. Make it yours.”
I looked around, wondering if I could take advice from this woman who claimed to have a migraine at every minimal inconvenience and once signed off an email with “apologies for existing. :)”
No. I wasn’t Kelly. We weren’t that far apart in age but we were universes away, and in my universe, yassifying wasn’t something I could or knew how to do.
“Hey, boss?” Her voice brought me back. She hesitated, then said, “I need to go.”
I thought I could hear someone in the background. “Is David there?” I rushed out. “With you?”
“Er…”