“Guess that answers that,” he mutters.
It’s a good thing the cash register is made out of industrial steel. Otherwise, I’d have broken it. The thought of another man between Adelaide’s plump thighs makes me want to rip the machine off the wooden counter and drive it through Leo’s shaggy blond head. I remove my hands from the heavy metal register, and take a couple of deep breaths. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” I ask as evenly as possible. Leo’s my cousin, and I know my mom would take issue if I dragged his ass home, bloodied and maimed.
“Not really.” He wanders into the back room to deposit the coffee mug. “I’m helping out Eli with a new corporate tour group this week, but I won’t be required to go over until tonight.”
I run a finger down the list of incoming tourists. There are three groups arriving today. In the winter, Pine Falls, Minnesota, serves up dog sledding, cross-country skiing, winter hiking, and visits to the brown bear and wolf rescue centers. In the summer, we have a non-stop flood of outdoor enthusiasts who canoe and kayak on the glass-clear lakes of the Boundary Waters.
Eli’s is not the only corporate camping retreat in the town, but it’s the best because his guides know the backwoods better than anyone, unlike Pat Samson who apparently has a tour booked for the next three days.
I shake my head. How that fucker stays in business, I have no idea. He couldn’t lead a group of Pine Falls natives down the main street without someone injuring themselves.
“I see Pat Samson has a group coming in.” I whip my sheet around to show Leo.
He frowns. “That guy’s going to kill someone one of these days.”
“Let Eli know. Maybe he can send another guide out to keep watch over the Samson group.”
The bell over the door chimes, letting us know we have a customer. I check my watch. It’s not even eight.
“We’re not open,” I start to call out, but the words stick in my throat when I see who it is.
“I know you’re not open,” Adelaide calls out cheerfully. “But I was hoping you could help me out.”
“Tell her you can help her out of her clothes,” Leo mutters under his breath.
Ignoring Leo, I step into the main room. “Sure. What can I do for you?”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans so I don’t reach out and grab Adelaide. She looks like a fresh peach this morning. Her perfect skin glows like she’s lit from inside.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and the Boundary Waters is full of beautiful things. Nature at its finest: pure and untouched wilderness, wild animals, water so clear and clean that you can see to the sandy bottom no matter how deep the pool. But none of it compares to Adelaide.
I eat her up with my eyes—the only action I allow myself. Watching her is fine. Touching her is not.
“You know I hired the Miller girl to help me out on the weekends, right?”
I nod. There’s little about Adelaide I don’t know. She likes strong coffee in the mornings, and doesn’t mind that I prefer tea with lots of honey. She has a good work ethic. Her spa is open six days a week, and up until about six months ago, she was there every day. But she hired Dean Miller’s daughter and has reduced her hours to just five days a week. Mondays are the worst for me because I don’t see Adelaide at all.
“Well, um, I’ve decided to finally go camping. I think I must be the only one in Pine Falls to have not done the camping thing.” She claps her hands together, and the two rings she wears glitter under the lights.
When Adelaide first arrived in town wearing those rings, I thought she was taken, but I learned that they were just pretty things she liked to wear.
I kind of wish she was taken. Maybe I wouldn’t be so goddamned obsessed with her.
“That’s good,” I finally say when I realize she’s waiting for me to respond. “You going with Francine?”
Francine owns the coffee shop and runs some kind of girl-power business organization in town. No men allowed. Only women who have a business or are interested in owning a business.
“No. I’m going with Pat Samson.”
“You’re what?” I roar. My Adelaide out with Pat Samson?
Behind me, I hear Leo snorting.
Adelaide blinks at my outburst. “Do you have a problem with Pat Samson or is it just me in general?”
“Why would I have a problem with you?” I growl. “Pat Samson is a shitty-ass guide. If it was winter, I wouldn’t let you go. He’d kill you out there.”
“You wouldn’t let me?” She puts her hands on her hips, and my eyes drop to the nipped-in waist. My hands could span that distance easily. “Since when do you decide when and where and with whom I can camp?”