Chapter 3
OLLIE
I was second in line at the reception desk in the lodge's main cabin.
On the outside, it looked like a rustic cabin with notch and pass edges, much like my log house back home.
Inside, the furniture matched the exposed log walls: rugged and sturdy.
The modern touches stood out. Two long and thin monitors faced the reception desk clerk.
Along the wall, a raised bar table lit from above with can lights held several USB charging towers.
A plastic sign holder displayed the instructions to log onto the lodge's Wi-Fi.
Long hallways led to the right and left, and a short hallway framed by glass walls led out the back, where snow-covered cabins lined the glistening sidewalk. Thankfully, it looked wet, not icy.
The lodge's glass door reflected the cheery Christmas lights hung everywhere when it opened, and it blinded me for a moment. A now-familiar voice shouted, "Hey!" It was the guy from the plane, and he sounded pissed.
I must have died on that plane, and now he was my personal demon in hell. My super-hot demon in a sparkling blue suit that made his eyes look darker than they were.
"You stole my cab!"
"I did?" The snow had been whirling so hard I couldn't see, even with my enhanced bear vision. I'd smelled him, sure, but the scent was faint, like he'd already gotten into a cab and left. "I'm sorry."
"You … are?" He gaped at me.
"Yes. I didn't see you. If I had, I wouldn't have taken your cab. I'm really sorry."
"Well, okay." He blinked. "Thank you."
He wasn't all bad. I offered what I hoped was a soft smile before turning back toward the desk.
"Next!" the young man called as the deer shifter in front of me picked up his bag and hurried toward the main entrance.
"Hi. Ollie Beaman, cabin 123."
"Fantastic, Mr. Beaman. How many keys do you need?"
"Just the one."
He nodded. "Perfect, perfect. I'm Branson. Feel free to call and ask for me if you need anything." He looked me up and down. "Anything."
Was he hitting on me? I cleared my throat and pointed to the wall, where rows of numbered hooks held keys for each cabin.
"Right!" He spun, found the keyring for cabin 123 and handed me the first of two. "If you go out the back door past the restaurant, it's three cabins off the main path. You can't miss it." This time, he winked.
"Great, thanks." He was cute, but already my bear savored the smell coming from behind me. My bear wanted me to stay and eavesdrop on the hot guy from the plane. So much for thinking the beast didn't like him.
I extended the handles on my suitcases and followed the hall in the direction Branson had pointed. "If things are meant to be," I muttered as I walked the chlorine-scented hallway, "we'll see him again."
My bear hated chlorine, and he really didn't want to walk away from the man from the plane, but I didn't have a choice. Once I found my cabin, I needed a hot shower to ease my aching muscles. Even with more legroom, the seat had been cramped, and everything from my neck to my tailbone hurt.
Instead, I got lost. It was dark, and while cheery Christmas lights hung from every eave, not all porch lights were on. I found cabin 132 before I found 123.
By the time I backtracked to the right cabin number, the door was already open. I swore I was dreaming because standing in the cabin's main room was the man I'd been hoping to see again.
"Hi."
"Holy fuck!" He let go of his suitcase handle, and it crashed to the floor. "What are you doing here?" He gestured wildly around him. "This is my cabin."
"It's 123." I held up my key. "Mine."
He looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel in his forehead, but then he held up his keyring and compared our matching numbers.
"I thought it was strange when he gave me the second key to your cabin.
" He must have been watching me. My bear puffed up with pride. "This can't be right, can it?"
I pointed to the old-school phone on the desk beside the door. "Let's call Branson and ask."
"You do it," he said. "Please. After the day I've had, I would only fuck it up."
"Sure." Talking on the phone was my least favorite thing in the world, but my bear would do anything to make this man happy.
The phone had a red quick-dial button for the main desk. I pushed it and listened to it ring. Three times. Five times. Seven times.
"No one's answering," I said. "Do you want to walk over there?"
"Hello! Branson here, room 123!" He sounded out of breath.
"Hi. It's Ollie Beaman again. I'm here with …" I still didn't know the guy's name.
"Blake Stokes."
I repeated his name into the phone, and my bear rumbled with appreciation. "We both have keys to cabin 123."
"You do?" His voice broke. "I mean … let me check on that for you."
He placed me on hold. Tinny instrumental music filled my ear.
He was back a moment later. "Yes, you've both booked the cabin. Single bedroom with a full bath, king-size bed, and galley kitchen. I can comp you both another day's stay, free of charge?"
I wanted to ask him what good that would do. Instead, I repeated the question to Blake, who squinted at me and shook his head.
"No? Well, we could change your vacation dates to any time on the calendar you'd prefer."
"I prefer these dates," I said without relaying the message to Blake.
He must have heard it, or gotten the gist from my answer, because he said, "Same."
Branson cleared his throat. "I won't be able to book you another cabin until January fifth. I'm so sorry."
"Is this couch a pullout?" I asked. It looked more like a loveseat. It wasn't long enough for either of us to be comfortable.
"Let me check!" Branson sounded cheery for a moment, but when he returned from placing me on hold again, his tone was even more dejected. "I'm sorry, it's not. It's just a two-seater sofa."
Blake snorted. "No shit."
"Do you have cots available?" If the loveseat and cot were around the same height, I could use both to make a single, albeit uncomfortable, bed.
"We do," Branson said, "but someone checked out the last one for the night. I'll call and let you know when someone checks a cot back in!"
That wouldn't be necessary. I could sleep in the woods in my bear form, except he was furious with the idea. He wanted to stay in the cabin with Blake, even if that meant one of us scrunched onto the uncomfortable loveseat all night.
"It's fine," Blake mumbled as he sank onto the offending piece of furniture. "I'll take it tonight. Maybe we can switch tomorrow, or something?"
"Did you need anything else?" Branson's false cheer grated on my last nerve. I hung up the phone without saying goodbye.