Chapter 8 Forrest
8 FORREST
Goddamn sauna. Goddamn warped boards. Goddamn shipping costs. Goddamn hardware. Goddamn… everything.
As I finish up my latest list of things to damn, I wedge the last replacement board into the sauna’s wall. I drill a screw into the pilot hole with a satisfying squeak, and I line up the next one. Nearly done . This whole project has been a pain in my ass, but as usual, I try imagining the look on my dad’s face when I tell him the sauna’s fixed. This time, though, instead of Dad’s crow’s-feet and silver mustache, my mind’s eye conjures a face that would probably be even more excited by the prospect of a sauna. A face that tilted toward mine last night, flushed with whiskey and heat. Full lips that parted invitingly and—
I accidentally hit the trigger on my drill, and the screw at the end of the bit goes flying.
“Goddammit.” I get down on my hands and knees and naturally find it hidden under the bench in the farthest, darkest corner. I groan as I stretch for it—Margot isn’t a large person, but carrying her for miles tested my strength, and I’m feeling it now.
Serves me right. I should be paying a price, because as much as I want to blame everyone and everything around me, Margot was right when she said I started all the trouble last night. Despite my so-called ironclad rules, I took one look at her tears while she read her sister’s letter and I asked her to stay for a drink. I sure as hell didn’t move my leg away when hers slid against it, or stop my hand from touching her face.
My eyes close at the memory of her smooth skin beneath my fingertips. Her voice when she said she wouldn’t mind seeing how I’d handle her.
At the thought, desire instantly spikes in my bloodstream, like every other time I’ve replayed that moment. It’s chased immediately by a jittery, almost panicked feeling when I think of how close I came to fucking up. How close I came to picking her up and taking one more short hike with her to my bedroom.
God knows it’s been long enough . I scrub a hand down my face and line up the next screw, trying and failing to stem an upsurge of self-pity. The last time I had the company of someone other than my left hand was back in L.A., where a casual arrangement with one of my work-driven colleagues checked a weekly box. Nothing too distracting. In other words, the polar fucking opposite of what I feel with Margot.
I exhale and drill in the last screw. Get a grip , I command myself. She’ll be gone in less than six weeks. I didn’t give up my whole career and move my entire life only to jeopardize my family’s business with another ill-fated fling. Margot already implied that she isn’t beyond writing North Star Lodge a review that could seriously damage us, and after last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got one drafted. After all, that’s what happened four years ago. Charlotte Bard—the lifestyle influencer and destroyer of worlds I made the mistake of sleeping with while she was here reviewing the lodge—aired her grievances about me to her entire following and the Internet at large the moment she regained Wi-Fi access.
I’m not sure if my dad and Jo could forgive me twice. And to judge from the way Jo talks about Margot, she probably has wider influence than Charlotte. Which is why it’s even more essential to keep my distance. I came here to care for my father, period. Not to get tangled up with a woman who represents everything I left behind. A woman who could make my future a lot harder than it already is.
I sigh as I look around the sauna, taking a moment to admire the finished result. I’m considering giving the room a test drive when I hear voices coming up the path. A few seconds later, the door to the outer vestibule that serves as a changing area opens, and it’s like I’ve swallowed an emergency flare.
It’s Margot and Ollie. I can see her smile through the little window in the sauna door and hear her muffled laugh. She pulls her hat off and shakes out snow-dusted blond waves. One of the front strands catches on whatever the hell is making her lips shine like that, and my fingers itch to brush it away. Clearly, Ollie’s fingers are itching too. I can’t see him, but a calloused hand appears in the little window that frames Margot and gently pulls the strand away from her mouth. His thumb grazes one of her dimples, and the part of my brain that communicates exclusively in angry gorilla grunts takes over. Grabbing my drill, I march to the door and throw it open.
Margot and Ollie startle like they’ve been caught in flagrante, and as far as the poisonous green snake coiling in my belly is concerned, they might as well have been.
“Hey, man,” Ollie says with a cocky smile as Margot steadies herself on her crutches. My eyes automatically drop to check if they still have the nonslip guards I put on them last night, and I’m relieved to see they’re in place. But the last thing she needs right now is an unnecessary hike through the snow, and if Ollie had spent one second thinking about her safety, he wouldn’t have brought her here. Oblivious to my disapproval, he says, “I was just showing Margot the sauna. It’s open now, right?”
For fuck’s sake . When Ollie and Topher first arrived, I promised them the sauna would be up and running soon. But I didn’t mean it was open for the kind of recreational use Ollie sure as shit has in mind.
Not that I’m allowed to care, I remind myself. I turned Margot down, and she told me point-blank that she’s on the hunt for someone to keep her warm at night. If she wants to bunk up with Ollie for the rest of their time together, that’s her prerogative. Even if he’s barely out of footie pajamas and sure as hell can’t give her—
“Funny,” Margot says coldly, shifting her weight on her crutches as she looks at me. “You never mentioned a sauna to me , Forrest.”
“Because it’s out of order,” I say, pointing my drill and triggering it at the sign I conveniently haven’t removed from the sauna door yet.
Ollie’s and Margot’s eyes snap to the words CLOSED FOR REPAIR , and I half expect to hear a sad trombone accompany the disappointed looks on their faces. In return, I try not to smile like the Grinch.
Ollie rubs the back of his head, ruffling his coppery hair. “Well, damn. Sorry, Margot. Any idea when it’ll be up and running, Forrest?”
“I’ll keep you posted,” I say, daring to glance at Margot. Her eyes narrow.
“Let me guess,” she says. “It’ll be fixed exactly five weeks from now.”
At this, Ollie looks confused, but all I feel is guilt. That was pretty much exactly the plan. I’m reminded of my selfish impulse to keep the Internet from her, too, which I still haven’t rectified. But maybe telling her about it now could be the perfect olive branch to offer. We still have over a month together, and if I don’t want North Star facing another terrible review, I need to find a way to reach civil ground with her.
“It won’t take that long. Just need to finish up a couple of things,” I promise, even though technically, the only thing left to do is sweep up. “Like I said, I’ll keep you posted.” I wait until she gives me a reluctant nod. I take a breath and go on. “In the meantime, I wanted to let you know that there’s limited satellite Internet in the lodge. It’s slow and disconnects every time a cloud passes overhead, but it works some of the time.”
“ What? ” Margot yelps so loudly that Ollie and I startle. “There’s Internet available? Right now? ”
I nod, careful not to say too much as a smile of pure elation and relief lights her up. Almost immediately, it fades. Her eyes become suspicious and search my face like I have hidden secrets in my beard. “But you said there was no Wi-Fi.”
“There isn’t,” I confirm. “It’s satellite, and it’s only on the computer in the lodge.”
“But it’s been connected the whole time I’ve been here?”
When I don’t respond at once, something worse than anger moves across her features. She’s hurt. “But you knew how badly I’ve been missing my—”
She stops and looks away from me, unwilling to show me any vulnerability. As guilt and regret short-circuit my ability to reply, I watch her firm up her chin. When she speaks again, her voice is stronger.
“Whatever,” she says flippantly. “I don’t know why I expected anything else. What’s the password?”
I stand rooted to the spot as my brain struggles with how to fix the situation. Back at Caltech, I specialized in solving complex puzzles on a cellular level, but apparently, not being an asshole to Margot Bradley is beyond me. I know I should apologize. Admit that it was a dick move and tell her I’ll move the fucking satellite to her cabin right now if she’ll just stop looking at me like that. I want to explain that I was planning to tell her, but I’ve been terrified that she’ll make good on her threat to tell the entire world how unpleasant staying at North Star is. But I’m frozen, and Ollie’s sizing me up like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“There is no password,” I finally manage. “Just open up the browser.”
Margot mutters something that’s either “For God’s sake” or “Go drown in a lake.” “I’m sorry, Ollie, but if there’s Internet, I need to work. I haven’t been able to fact-check a single thing I’ve written in the last week.”
“Cool, cool,” Ollie says, unable to completely mask his disappointment. “I can walk you to the lodge if you want.”
“Sure,” she says, looking directly at me as she says it. “Do you mind stopping by my cabin first, though? I need to grab my laptop.”
“Yeah, totally,” Ollie responds casually, while his face says he just found Willy Wonka’s last golden fucking ticket. “See ya at dinner, man,” he says to me, putting a hand on Margot’s back as she turns on her crutches without saying goodbye. “And keep me posted about the sauna.” He has the nerve to wink at me before turning away. The door opens and shuts behind them, and I’m left alone to contemplate the pros and cons of setting fire to the sauna I just spent weeks repairing.
My plans for arson are interrupted, however, when my radio chirps and Jo’s voice comes through. “You there, Forrest?”
I mutter a few choice words and unclip the radio from my back belt loop. “Here.”
“Just wanted to let you know Trap’s nerve block wore off a while ago. He’s mighty uncomfortable but denying it.”
I glance at my watch. Damnit . I’m also late for his anticoagulant. I never lose track of time like this. What the hell is happening to me? My father is in pain, and all because I’ve been too distracted, thinking about Margot. I pinch my nose bridge hard enough to hurt and take a deep pull of much needed oxygen. After a moment, I decide this is the wake-up call I needed. Bringing Margot to my cabin, trying to impress her in the kitchen, pulling the whiskey off the shelf… nearly kissing her: it was all a massive cascade of mistakes, but it’s not too late to course-correct.
“Thanks, Jo. I’m on my way now.”