Chapter 16 Margot
16 MARGOT
Dear Margot,
You’re halfway through! Release the confetti! Do a shimmy! I hope the latest excursion was incredible. I can only imagine the things you’ve seen! If you haven’t been taking photos, this is a slap on the wrist to get snapping. Make sure you’re taking pictures of whoever is with you too. I’ll need to put faces to names, especially if any ruggedly handsome mountain men are involved (PLEASE say there are ruggedly handsome mountain men involved).
I think I just felt your eye roll from here. I realize you only barely tolerate my belief that every situation is a rom-com plot waiting to happen, but just imagine if, on top of writing your next bestselling novel, you found TRUE LOVE in Alaska. Bear with me for a second (get it?!). Maybe he’s a hardcore survivalist who only speaks in grunts, but you somehow get snowed in together (because classic) and you charm him with your L.A. girl addiction to avocados and Pilates. The title possibilities for your future memoirs are endless . Snow One Like You. Love on Ice. Northern Nights. Polar Promises.
Okay, sorry, I’m done. Glacial Heat ! Okay, now I’m done. Of course, I know you’re reading this thinking I’m crazy for hoping you might find romance, especially after I read your Happily Never After file. But I guess old habits die hard, and I’m the kind of person whose day-to-day life sort of depends on ridiculous hope. Even when hope is the fastest route to disappointment. I know I don’t need to explain that to you—you’ve had more than anyone’s fair share, Margot. And yet through it all, you’ve always managed to put aside your own pain to continue taking care of me. Case in point: Evan Ferris.
Do you remember that night you went to his seniors-only party in high school? I can’t even tell you how jealous I was, watching you get ready. You were the prettiest girl in the whole world that night (still are, UGH), and I tried so hard to stay up so you could tell me EVERYTHING. Namely and specifically whether you’d finally caught Evan’s attention. But because I have the energy reserves of an elderly koala, I fell asleep.
Later, I didn’t hear you come in, but I felt you crawl into bed with me. Or maybe it was being punched in the nose by your cucumber-melon body spray that woke me up. Either way, I went completely frozen because, unbelievably, you were crying. You who never cried. You who always wiped my tears. You were trying to be so quiet, but you were shaking, and I didn’t know what to do, Margot. I pretended to be asleep because I told myself that’s what you wanted. Now I can admit it was because I was scared. I’m so sorry I made you be the big spoon that night. I’m sorry I made you comfort me when you were the one who needed to be held.
You only told me what had happened years later, but honestly, I knew that night. I knew you’d given Evan everything you had to give, because that’s what you do, Margot. You give. Evan and his dickhead friends spread the rumors at school, but even if I hadn’t heard a peep, I’d have known from the way you never said his name again. How you never said any boy’s name again, if you could help it. I would have known from the way you started sacrificing even more of your time to take care of me.
More than anything, I regret taking advantage of your apparently limitless generosity. For not seeing how much you were compartmentalizing. I hope Evan fucking Ferris regrets it, too, and if I ever set eyes on him again, I hope you’re ready to bail me out of prison.
But even if I can’t go full “Vigilante Shit (Savannah’s Version)” on all the men who’ve hurt you in the past, I have hope that one day you’ll stop letting them control your view on love. You give so many readers a blueprint for the kind of partner they deserve, and after all the bullshit you’ve put up with over the years, you deserve a Happily Ever After more than anyone. So yes, weeks from now, when you’re reading this and I’m missing you like I’ve lost a limb, I will also be manifesting that you’re cuddled up with a bearded giant who has a heart of gold and the equipment and stamina of a wild bull. You’re welcome.
Stay safe, but not too safe (except with contraception!),
Savannah
I let out a groaning laugh and pick up the envelope this week’s letter came in. Forrest gave it to me tonight after we’d cooked and eaten together, and he graciously didn’t point out that I’d completely forgotten to ask for it. I don’t want to admit, even now, how preoccupied my mind has been with him this week. How, ever since seeing what he did to adapt his father’s rooms, I can’t stop noticing the responsibility he takes for everyone at North Star. Somehow, even the romance heroes from my own books are starting to fall short of him. I have no idea if Savannah’s got the “wild bull” part of her letter right, but “bearded giant with a heart of gold” feels scarily accurate. I exhale, forcing myself to stop thinking about him, and take out the picture Savannah included with her letter.
It’s a supremely corny photo of us in our prom dresses, and my eyes immediately begin to water. We’re posing under a blue and silver balloon arch in a classic couples pose. Being slightly taller, I hold my sister tenderly from behind, our corsages angled just right. We wear simpering smiles, and I can still remember how we practically vibrated from trying not to crack up. I almost skipped prom that year, but Savannah insisted and (as usual) got her way. Thanks to her, it was the best night of my entire high school experience.
But just because Savannah has an annoyingly good track record of being right about most things doesn’t mean she’s right about everything. Particularly about “true love.” My eyes roll at the thought like a muscle reflex, and I put the letter and photo on the bedside table next to me. I remind myself that Evan Ferris was just the first in a long line of romantic disappointments, and nothing in the intervening years has given me hope of finding a partner who isn’t another dick in good-guy clothing.
Liar liar , Savannah’s voice seems to whisper as images of Forrest flash unhelpfully through my mind. The straining muscles of his neck as he carried me down a literal mountain. His anxious hands as he bandaged my ankle. The moonlit expanse of his bare shoulders when he shared his body heat.
The memory sends the most confused, directionless butterflies in the history of winged creatures flying through my stomach. In an effort to rid myself of the disturbing images, I reach over to yank the chain on my bedside lamp. My bedroom is plunged into darkness, and I snuggle into my covers with relief. But after a moment, the mental PowerPoint presentation of Forrest’s selfless deeds and strained Henleys glows all the brighter.
With a frustrated groan, I turn huffily under the covers as if I’m capable of putting my back toward thoughts of him. Like every night since the camping trip, I force myself to think of Ollie. Taking advantage of his offer would’ve been a no-brainer for me before coming here. Before meeting Forrest. But now I couldn’t be less interested, and running down the clock seems like the best option. I exhale. In just three more weeks, I’ll be gone. Forrest will still be here, and I’ll be safely back in L.A. with my sister, who will be disappointed to learn that nothing remotely romantic happened to me during my stay. I sigh, willing myself to believe the lie.
I’m about to close my eyes when I register how unusually bright it is in my room. In the last three weeks, I’ve become so accustomed to being able to wave my hand directly in front of my nose at night and not see it that I already plan on buying blackout shades when I get home. But tonight my room looks more like it does in L.A. Wondering if I’ve left the overhead oven light on, I throw back the covers and get out of bed.
As I pad through the silent cabin, it becomes clear that the light is coming from outside. I walk toward the kitchen window, and I’m surprised to see a small building with a light on, not far from my cabin. I squint through the trees to get a better look.
It’s the sauna. What the hell?
I chew my lip, feeling a bit uneasy. Forrest didn’t mention that he finished fixing it. Could he have stopped by to work on it after dinner and left the light on? Annoyed, I glance at the digital clock on the oven. It’s almost midnight. There’s no way anyone is in there. The whole group is exhausted after today’s excursion, including me. I should just get into bed and deal with it.
But I don’t make any move to get back to bed. I’m thinking of Savannah’s weekly charge for me to “stay safe, but not too safe.” I imagine myself venturing out in the dark like a total badass, casually shutting the light off, and then making it back to my cabin like walking through the woods in the middle of an Alaskan winter night is NBD. I imagine teasing Forrest tomorrow for his negligence and casually dropping that I’ve taken care of it because I’m not a chicken. Stay safe, but not too safe . The thrill of doing something a little scary wakes me up as if I’ve had back-to-back espresso shots. Am I really doing this?
Apparently, yes, because I’m already moving toward the front door and pulling my parka on over my pajamas. Before I can second-guess myself, I turn on my living room light so that I’ll be able to see my cabin on the way back. I pull on my boots and Ollie’s headlamp and march out into the night.
Getting to the sauna is more difficult than anticipated because I have to cut through the woods and deep snow. Even though it’s not very far away, by the time I arrive, I’m shivering. Quickly stomping the snow off my boots, I don’t hesitate to push the front door open. The outer changing area is dark, but the small window in the sauna door emits a warm yellow glow. I shake my head with self-satisfied smugness as I open the door, imagining the look on Forrest’s—
Naked body .
Before I can fully register what I’m seeing, the world’s most appropriate cloud of hot steam blasts me in the face. I gasp at the same moment Forrest yelps, “Shit!”
As the steam clears, I see that he isn’t actually naked but is wearing a small white towel around his hips that only seems to accentuate what isn’t covered. I stumble backward into the vestibule, my heart thumping wildly as the door swings closed again, hiding him from view.
“Oh my God,” I say out loud, pressing the heels of my mittened palms over my eyes in an attempt to scrub the image of his sweat-slicked body from my mind.
Except, nope. It’s there to stay. It will probably be the image I see every time I blink from now until I’m wearing adult diapers and hoarding Werther’s Originals.
The sauna door opens again, and I can’t help it. I drop my hands to look at him. No. To ogle him. His huge frame is backlit in the doorway, but the sweat sheening his muscles picks up the muted light, gilding every thick curve and tight line in gold. My mouth goes paper-dry, then promptly fills with saliva, while everything below my neck clenches in unison. This is what I was snuggled up against in the tent? No wonder I instinctively dry-humped him. He could be Darwin’s poster boy for Survival of the Fittest, and while I might have the brain of a twenty-first-century woman, my body is clearly operating on the evolutionary urges of a horny monkey.
“Sorry—” I croak, trying to look everywhere and nowhere all at once. “I just saw the light on and came to turn it off. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Forrest explains, his big hand tightening on the too-small-yet-somehow-not-small-enough towel. “Sorry the light bothered you.”
“It’s fine,” I say in a high voice, finding a safe spot in the upper corner of the room to stare at. “I didn’t realize the sauna was fixed yet. I’ll leave you to it and skedaddle.”
Skedaddle? When did I turn into a middle-aged dad? Will I look down and see tube socks and Tevas? I’ve turned to hide my burning cheeks when he says, “Hold on. I can walk you back. Just let me get some clothes on.”
I turn back to him, my face radioactive. “No, no. That’s okay. The heat feels incredible in here, and you’re already—” My eyes drop to his towel. “Just stay.”
“The sauna’s for guests, and you were out on the ice all day.” His eyes tick up to mine. “If anyone should be enjoying it, it’s you.”
I stare at him. Swallow. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to warm up a little bit.”
He nods. “I’ll get out of your way, then. I just need to grab my—”
“You don’t have to go,” I hear my mouth say, like I’m a hand puppet being controlled by my vagina.
He pauses midturn and looks at me. Avoiding his eyes like that’s my life’s calling, my gaze lands and gets stuck on his very large, very at-my-eye-level pectorals. The soft chest hair I nuzzled in the tent is plastered to him in dark swirls that taper to a stripe down his hard stomach. He’s built like a house. Like, a house that allows extra biscuits on Thanksgiving, but only after a ten-mile Turkey Trot. My fingers curl in my mittens.
“You sure?” he says, and it feels like he’s asking something else.
“Of course,” I say lightly, like I’m absolutely in control of the bottle rocket of need blasting through me. “I wasn’t the only one out on the ice today.”
“Right,” he says uncertainly. “Well, I guess I’ll just…” He points a thumb at the sauna door behind him. “While you change, I mean.”
“Okay,” I say in a voice that rivals a dog whistle. Every warning bell I own is clanging together, but as he ducks into the sauna, my eyes slide down the two rounded columns of muscle bracketing his spine like they’re doing the luge right to his ass. My hand finds my zipper, and within a minute, my parka, mittens, and boots are in a heap on the floor. That’s when the full-body shakes start. What the hell am I doing? If there’s one single earthly activity that’s probably least conducive for keeping my distance from this man, it’s taking all my clothes off to sit in a hot, steamy room with him.
And yet the thought doesn’t stop me from yanking my pajama top off. All day, I’ve felt my resistance to him melting. I know that the wiser choice would be to pull my winter gear right back on and slip away to my cabin. Or better yet, to Ollie’s. But the whole theme of my trip could basically be “Fearless (Margot’s Version),” and if he can handle being nearly naked in this sauna together, then so can I. We’re adults with boundaries , I tell myself, sliding my pajama bottoms and panties off with a nervous swoop of my stomach. We want the same thing. Which is distance. Definitely distance. And if there’s a tiny voice inside me whispering that every romance heroine ever written has told herself this lie, I’m too distracted to listen anyway.
Finally, wearing nothing but goose bumps in the freezing vestibule, I spot a stack of fluffy white towels. I grab one and wrap it around myself, but even on my average-length torso, the bottom of the towel barely covers the tops of my thighs. Great . I reach up and undo my messy bun, letting my hair cascade around my shoulders to hide a little more skin. And then all that’s left to do is walk in.
With a deep, centering breath, I push the door open and am immediately engulfed by hot steam and bad choices.