9. Sierra
9
SIERRA
After days of working on my screenplay in total isolation at my cabin, it felt weird to be working side by side with Drew and Tristan at the long table under the skylight. They were both quietly typing on their laptops, but I couldn’t tune them out entirely. The sound of their large hands on the keyboard, the way their clothes rustled when they moved… hell, even their breathing tugged at my attention. I was used to total silence, and there was no way I was going to get that here.
Still, at least the men seemed to take their work seriously. At lunch, I’d seen all the beer in the fridge and half wondered if they’d come up here just to drink and party. But Tristan and Drew seemed focused—far more so than I was, at the moment. And Carter had excused himself fifteen minutes ago to make a call upstairs. I still didn’t know what they were working on, but they seemed to take it seriously.
Zeus whined by the door and made us all look up.
Drew stopped typing and stretched his arms out to the side. “I’ll take him out.”
“You sure?” Tristan asked.
“Yeah. I’m at a good stopping point.” He hopped off his stool and raised his arms above his head. From the corner of my eye, I caught the way his sweatshirt rose up, revealing a tan stomach and a smattering of dark hair. Then that strip of skin disappeared when he walked away—though it didn’t stop me from watching that view, too.
Once he and the dog were gone, it was quieter. Tristan typed away, but his fingers were softer on his keyboard than Drew’s. It took me a few minutes, but I actually got into the scene I was writing. In it, the protagonist had just been berated by her boss.
It hadn’t been hard to paint him as an unreasonable jerk—I had lots of experience with directors like that in Hollywood. But I wasn’t sure how to write the next part where she quits. My main character was a badass, but I wasn’t, so that part of the writing didn’t come easily.
For a while, I managed to forget where I was and who I was with—at least until a string of curse words reached my ears.
Tristan and I automatically looked toward the stairs at the end of the hall. Then he met my eye and winked. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he put the call on mute first. Probably.”
The vivid blue eyes in front of me were impossible to look away from. “Um, does he do that often?”
“Often enough.” Tristan grinned. “It’s a real problem since he’s in charge of our public relations.”
“He is? Seriously?” Seemed like Drew, with his easy-going, boyish charm, or Tristan himself would be better for that role.
“No. We don’t have a PR department yet, but we will—and he won’t be allowed anywhere near it.”
Oh. I felt a little foolish that I’d believed him. “So, um, you three are in business together?”
“We will be,” Tristan confirmed. “After years of planning, we’ve finally got financial backers and things are moving in the right direction—mostly.”
I’d assumed that most of the people who stayed in these cabins were artists of some sort, but it made a certain amount of sense to get away from it all and nail down the details for a new company. “What kind of business will you do?”
He explained briefly, and I had to admit, it was a surprisingly worthy cause. When I was a kid, before I started earning steady money from various acting projects, my mom had dragged me from one low-rent apartment to the next. Half had had black mold on the windowsills, flaking paint, substandard plumbing, or all three. I was very familiar with shoddy buildings, and I admired these men for wanting to build things the right way.
Still, it surprised me. At lunch, I’d nibbled at the sandwich Tristan offered me, while the three of them had chowed down like it was their last meal on Earth. At times, they seemed like loud, immature, overgrown boys, even though they were all older than me. But still, they were trying to do something that would help people and help the planet, and I had to admire that.
“So, what’s your book about?” Tristan asked. “Can you name a character after me?”
His question pleased me somehow. It seemed like the kind of thing one would ask a real writer. Of course, as far as he knew, I was a real writer. That’s what I’d told them, and it wasn’t like I had a sign on my forehead that read: “I’m secretly an actress.”
Still, working on this screenplay was proving to be one of the hardest things I’d ever done, and the fact that he seemed to casually accept that I was a writer gave me a boost of confidence, somehow. So much so that I found myself telling him more than I’d planned to.
“It’s a screenplay, actually.”
“Really?” His eyebrows rose, and for a moment, my heart pounded faster. He was a good-looking guy, with his tousled hair and his sexy blond stubble. “Going to try to make it big in Hollywood?”
My cheeks reddened. If he only knew how long that had been my goal and how hard I’d worked toward it. But in a very real sense, I was just starting out—as a screenwriter, that was. “Something like that, yes.”
“So, what’s your screenplay about? Can you name a character after me?” Tristan asked with a grin, and I couldn’t help laughing.
“I’ll think about it.” It was easier to answer his second question first. “As for the story, I’m writing the script from a female point of view. Where a strong, decisive woman is the lead instead of being just the love interest hanging off the hero’s arm.” Of course, the likelihood of a script like that ever getting made into a movie was very slim, but that was something I’d worry about later.
“Sounds like something Hollywood needs,” he replied. “Is it an action film or a rom com or?—”
“It’s a bit of a mix,” I said evasively. Partly because I didn’t feel confident enough in my writing to talk about it, but also because I felt like my story was walking a fine line in terms genre.
Traditionally, most movies with a female lead were either romances or romantic comedies. My screenplay didn’t fit into either of those, but to make sure it didn’t eventually end up there, I hadn’t introduced any male characters who might be seen as a potential love interest.
Tristan gave me a charming smile. “Just tell me one thing about it. Who’s your strong, decisive female lead?”
My default setting was always to lean toward privacy, but Tristan’s smile and his vivid blue eyes were wearing me down. “A young, single mother.”
“That’s a good start. Drew was raised by one.”
“Me too.”
“Ah. Is your character based on your mom?”
Suddenly this conversation was far less pleasant. “No,” I said shortly. “Do you mind if I wash my clothes?”
I said that only partly to change the subject. The sleeves of the sweatshirt Drew had lent me were rolled up so much that they dug into my wrists when I typed. Plus, it would be nice to wear my own clothes.
Tristan studied me for a moment before answering. “Did they actually survive the journey yesterday?”
“I think so. There were a few rips in the leggings, but the hoodie’s okay.”
He nodded, then pointed to a door at the far corner of the living room next to a bookcase. “It’s through there.”
“Thanks.”
Obviously, it didn’t take me long to gather my clothes from the small bedroom. The leggings were torn a bit worse than I remembered, but if nothing else, I could wear them under the borrowed sweatpants for extra warmth.
The laundry room was bigger than the one in my cabin, which had the kind of washer and dryer that stacked on top of each other. The machines here were full-sized. If I ever did this again, I’d rent the bigger cabin and hire someone to chop down the trees around it so they couldn’t crash through the roof.
I was just adding the detergent when a voice came from behind me. “Hey.”
A yelp escaped my lips as I jumped. Then the lid of the top-loading washer came crashing down, the sound making me startle again.
Drew stood in the doorway to the living room. “Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t doing a very good job of concealing the amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
My hand was on my chest, and I could feel my heart pounding underneath it. “I just didn’t hear you come in.” Belatedly, I realized that his hair and coat were wet. “It’s snowing?”
“Yep. Just started when I was out there.” He took off his coat, sending water droplets my way.
I stepped back, not wanting to get my feet wet. “Is that good or bad in terms of how damn slippery it is out there?”
Drew hung his coat up on a garment rack where some other winter wear was drying. “To be honest, I don’t know. Ask Carter; he’s the outdoorsman of the group. But I sure as hell will be glad when we can walk without slipping.” He moved past me and opened a small closet.
“What’s in there?” I asked curiously.
“This,” he said, pulling out a towel. Then he bent over and rubbed the towel vigorously over his thick, wavy hair. When he straightened up, his hair stuck up in all directions, but it didn’t detract from his handsome appearance.
“I meant to tell you earlier that there’s some stuff in the bins down at the bottom. I don’t know if it’s a lost-and-found or just crap that previous visitors left behind, but there might be something you can use, since most of your things are under a tree.”
Anticipation pulled me forward. Drew held the door back as I peered inside. Sure enough, there were two large plastic containers on the floor. I started to dig through one, but then realized that bent over like that, I was practically mooning the man behind me. Changing courses, I dragged a bin out into the middle of the laundry room. Then Drew did the same with the other.
Crouching down, I examined our find. There were some books. An old notebook. I set that aside because sometimes I liked to make notes on paper, rather than a computer.
“This might fit you,” Drew said. He held out a blue t-shirt that wouldn’t provide much warmth, but at least wouldn’t be so baggy on me.
“Thanks.” I took it from him and added it to the washer, which had just started agitating.
“Maybe leave it off until we see what else is in here,” he suggested.
That was a good idea, especially since I also found a fleece vest that looked to be around my size. But it was Drew that made the best find.
He dug around in the second bin until he pulled out something from the bottom. “Would these fit you?” He held out a pair of blue and gray ski boots.
I took one, hope filling me. If I had boots, I could go outside. Maybe I could even make it down to my cabin to get my things once the ice melted. But then I took a closer look at the boots. “I think they’re for children.”
“Really?” Drew frowned. “This place doesn’t strike me as a very family-friendly destination.” Then he pulled out a yellow bucket, the kind a kid might use on a beach. “But maybe I’m wrong.”
“You never know.” I set the boot down on the floor and placed my foot next to it. “It looks pretty small.”
“Yeah, but your feet are small.” That was true, but right now I was wearing large, fuzzy socks, so I didn’t know how he could tell that. “Try them on.”
I hesitated, looking at the boots. They were puffy, with synthetic colors that must’ve been bright and festive at one point.
Drew cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”
Feeling foolish, I looked away. “Nothing. It’s just… they’re shoes.”
“Which is what you desperately need.”
“Yeah, but they’re used .” My cheeks heated. I knew I was being ridiculous, but still, I couldn’t help it. “I just… I’ve never been a big fan of feet. And toes kind of gross me out.”
Drew chuckled. “Haven’t you ever worn bowling shoes?” He stood up.
“I’ve never been bowling.” Between filming and working with tutors, there hadn’t been much time growing up for things like that. Nor had I had many friends to do recreational activities with.
He winked down at me. “I’ll show you what they do at the bowling alley.” Plucking a canister off a dusty shelf above the dryer, he bent down again, a can of disinfectant in his hand.
“Good idea.” I held one of the boots open while Drew took aim. A cloud of noxious scent filled the air.
“Hold your breath,” Drew gasped, and I quickly grabbed the other one. Once he sprayed that too, we both ran out of the small room, coughing and sputtering.
Tristan looked up from his laptop. “Please tell me you two didn’t blow up the laundry room.”
When I stopped coughing, I couldn't help returning the grin Drew gave me. I liked the way Tristan had lumped Drew and me together—as if we were the mischievous children and he was the adult. Drew was a few years older than me, but he was the least intimidating of the three men. He seemed like the kind of guy I could actually be friends with someday.
When the fumes cleared from my lungs, I got some water, restarted the washer and tried to get back to work, figuring I should get some writing done before the next distraction.
As things turned out, it didn’t take long for that to happen.