2. Archer
Chapter 2
Archer
The screech and slam of the screen door at the front of his cabin woke Archer from his drool-covered desk.
He bolted upright, a pencil clattering on his desk from where it was stuck to his forehead.
“Ouch,” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes as he looked toward the door, surprised to find someone standing inside his cabin.
Panicked, he snatched the cloth mask on his desk and fastened it to his face, tucking the elastics behind his ears.
“No need for that, it’s me,” said a familiar gravelly voice.
Archer relaxed his shoulders but kept the mask on.
“You can never be too careful. Apparently the Bramble twins were running around town yesterday without them on.”
“And yet, that didn’t stop you from stealing my last pale ale out of the fridge last night.”
He hesitated, then sighed, removing the mask from his face.
His father was right.
If his dad got COVID-19, there was no way he wouldn’t have also contracted it at this point.
He hadn’t bothered trying to set any social distancing rules with his family, even though he’d been doing his best to maintain those rules for the rest of Wild Pines.
Not like anyone listened to him, though.
Archer removed the mask, tossing it back on his desk.
Astor Vincent took a few tentative steps into the cabin, a place that he used to call his.
Archer hadn’t changed it much since his father passed down his role as resort manager.
Mostly because he hadn’t had time to yet; a global pandemic got in the way.
The Silver Falls Lake Association was adamant about their sanitation guidelines for all of the resorts surrounding the lake, and he was doing his best to keep their seven cabins in line.
An impossible task for Midwesterners, who believed social distancing and “Midwest nice” couldn’t possibly coexist. At least they heeded his rule of keeping resort activities outdoors.
Astor walked over to Archer’s wall of haphazard sticky notes.
It was a chaotic system, but it worked for him.
Every time a task came up that needed actioning, he wrote it on a sticky note and smacked it on the wall.
When the task was completed, he ripped it down.
There were currently thirty-four sticky notes plastered to the wall, rustling lightly from the north wind that blew in through the screen door.
North wind meant a chillier day on the lake and stronger breezes.
Perfect for sailing.
Not that Archer even bothered to hop in his sailboat; there simply wasn’t the time.
Astor retrieved his glasses from his front breast pocket, holding them close to his face as he leaned in to read a note.
“‘Send a reminder for the owners’ meeting,’” he read out loud.
He scanned the next one.
“‘Submit fees to the lake association.’” He stood up straight, his glasses falling to his side as he stared at Archer with wide eyes.
“You haven’t done that yet?”
Archer stood and rounded the desk.
“Getting to it, Dad. Not the highest on my list of priorities.”
“And what is, exactly?”
Archer crossed his arms, then flinched.
The new storm cloud tattoo next to his right elbow was still tender.
“Keeping people from dying?”
Astor rolled his eyes.
“People aren’t going to die.”
“The five-hundred thousand people who already did would beg to differ.”
His father sighed.
“You sure you don’t need me to help? I don’t mind hopping back into things. Your first summer managing wasn’t supposed to involve a pandemic.”
Archer felt his chest tighten.
Breathe . He reminded himself that if he could manage shaking fifty craft cocktails an hour at the most coveted bar in Minneapolis six nights a week, he could handle managing seven cabins in the middle of the woods.
Wild Pines was one of many resorts sprinkled across northern Minnesota, each a small collection of fishing cabins that eventually transformed into vacation homes.
While most of the cabins were available to renters for weeks at a time, some of the owners opted out, choosing to stay in their cabins all summer long.
The manager position at the resort had been in the Vincent family for generations, so for every summer of his existence, Archer spent the days between May and September in Cabin A, the small manager’s cabin at the left corner of the resort, with six other cabins lined up next to it, all connected by a shared lawn and beach that overlooked the lake.
He slept on the bottom bunk in the smaller second bedroom, his brother Austin at the top, but he didn’t mind—especially when the window above his bed was a direct view of a certain bedroom window next door.
Even though the Richards opted out of renting their cabin, Archer hadn’t seen anyone in that upstairs bedroom window for eight years.
Not that he had seen much of Wild Pines since that fateful summer, except for a week or two if he could get the time off from Hermes Lounge, usually around the Fourth of July.
Then the world locked down.
Weeks into the pandemic, his father called and told him he bought Cabin F from Quentin’s parents.
The message was clear: It was time for Archer to step up…
five years earlier than planned.
Now, Cabin A was his—as well as the position of running this place.
It didn’t pay nearly as much as Hermes, but cocktail lounges were certainly not open during the pandemic…
and he needed the cash.
Managing Wild Pines was beyond exhausting, but the last thing he wanted was his father to think he couldn’t handle the job he watched him easily manage for twenty-six years of Archer’s life.
“Dad, seriously, I got this.” He placed his hands on the other man’s shoulders.
“You trusted me to take over this place. Let me do it, please.”
“Promise you’ll ask for help if you need it?”
No.
But he smiled and nodded, knowing that arguing with his father any further would be useless.
Astor wanted reassurance.
And Archer wanted to prove that even if he was his father’s second choice, he was still a good one.
Astor dipped his chin, his face twisted with guilt.
“One more thing.”
He dropped his hands.
“Who else went to town? Tell them they have to quarantine.”
“No, no, not that.” His father sighed.
“We have one more person joining us this summer.”
“No, not allowed.” Archer swung his arms in front of him, like a referee at a Vikings football game.
No touchdown. “We’re closed for the summer.”
“I think we need to make an exception, Arch. She has nowhere to go.”
He glared.
“Who?”
Astor shifted on his feet, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Someone you know.”
“And that would be…?”
“Someone you used to be friends with,” he amended.
“Or maybe you still are, I don’t know. You never talk about her anymore. But her internship was canceled and she has nowhere else to go this summer. Her grandparents are really looking forward to seeing her.”
Archer’s chest tightened again, but this time, he didn’t give himself a moment to breathe.
“Who is it, Dad?”
His father’s eyes went soft, the creases of his mouth dipping into a frown.
“Tea.”
Tea.
Archer rolled his jaw and fixed his gaze out the back screen door, to the rough waters and the gray skies.
Rough and wild, the perfect day to be out on the water.
She would agree.
“When’s she getting here?” he asked, the curt, cold nature of his words a poor reflection of the way he was spiraling on the inside.
“Tonight.”
“Did she quarantine?”
“For two weeks, alone in her apartment in Chicago.”
Archer wondered if his use of alone was on purpose.
Making a point that she was with no one else.
He turned away from his father and strode back to his desk, plopping down in his chair.
“We’ll see about that. Tell her to get tested before she arrives.”
“Archer…”
“Or she’s not allowed in.”
Astor sighed.
“Are you going to come over for dinner tonight? Your mother’s making tater tot hotdish.”
Absolutely not.
“I’ll let you know,” he grumbled, tapping the trackpad on his laptop, hoping it was enough of a sign to be left alone.
After a heavy sigh near the door, it was.
Archer leaned his elbows on his desk, then winced at the pressure.
He grumbled, placing his forehead back down on the desk, allowing himself another ten minutes of blissful oblivion before he returned to work.
Archer was too preoccupied with adding a chain to the dumpsters to notice the matriarch of Wild Pines approaching him.
It didn’t give him enough time to hide.
“Archer, dearest!”
He groaned to himself, then plastered on the best smile he could as he turned around, stepping back to meet the required social distance.
“Hi, Sandy, how are you today?”
Sandy Vanderberg had been a resident of Wild Pines for longer than he’d even existed.
She was the first to buy Cabin C before anyone else in the resort, and refused to make any renovations on it except for necessary updates like heating, air conditioning, and plumbing.
Her relic of an oven took twice as long to cook anything, and she let everyone know how miserable it made her.
Even though she refused to replace it because it was “still in good condition” and “what’s the point in replacing something that works?” Her husband Joel tuned her out during these rants, but his hearing miraculously improved whenever Wayne Richards called over the lawn asking him to go fishing.
Her nickname started out as a joke during their annual Fourth of July party almost a decade ago, when Austin got a little too drunk and proclaimed Sandy as the resort’s “matriarch.” Sandy didn’t even pretend to hate it.
She liked the attention, especially when it came from Archer’s older brother.
He was the charming, charismatic one, and everyone preferred him.
Her brows knitted together, nose squinted in disgust. “What are you doing over here near the dumpster?”
“I’m trying to bear-proof it,” Archer said.
“ Bear proof?! Are there bears?”
“There have been some reports of bears in the area, yes. Have you not been getting the emails from the Silver Falls Lake Association?”
“I never touch my computer. It scares me.”
“Okay, well, you might need to do so before the owners’ meeting—”
“About that.”
He sighed.
He knew what was coming.
They’d had the same argument at least three times now.
“Is it really necessary to have it outside? My cabin is perfectly clean and spacious…”
Her cabin might be clean, but spacious was certainly not the word to describe Cabin C.
Not when the other five residential cabins were three times the size, with open-plan kitchens and living rooms.
He cleared his throat, preparing to handle this delicately.
Even if he understood all of the risks behind having a meeting inside a building, he couldn’t expect everyone to understand.
Especially someone who refused to even touch a computer.
“I know that your cabin is clean and very cozy. In any other circumstance, it would be the perfect spot for our meeting.”
Sandy perked up at those words, looking satisfied at the way he was subtly complimenting her home.
“But we don’t want the chance of getting others sick. We have residents going to the grocery stores and shops in town, and we decided as a community that it is safer to do everything outside this year to minimize our risk.”
She huffed.
“I don’t get it.”
Archer was used to this conversation.
A lot of people in the Midwest didn’t seem to understand.
To them, COVID-19 was another bad cold, something you could catch then move on from.
The number of casualties didn’t seem to scare them in the same ways it scared him.
And yet, he’d been taught to treat his elders with respect.
Even if it wasn’t always possible to see eye-to-eye.
“I’m sorry, Sandy,” he said, crouching slightly so he could meet her eyes.
“I promise next year if all of this is over, you can host the meeting.”
She cocked a brow.
“But we always draw from a hat.”
“And your name was drawn last. Seems only fair that we carry it over a year, yes?”
Her face relaxed as she nodded.
“Yes, good. Thank you, dearest.”
Archer nodded and waved her off, turning back to the dumpster and the impossible task of trying to snake the heavy-duty chain around it.
He then imagined Sandy trying to remove the chain in the morning to throw out her trash after breakfast, and realized maybe a chain wasn’t the best idea.
He groaned, dropping his face in his hands.
The popping sound of tires against gravel interrupted his sense of apparent doom.
Archer eyed all of the cars parked in lots behind each cabin, making a note of who had left to go to town.
But all of the cars were accounted for, which could only mean one thing.
Hands sticky from his task and once again no time to hide, Archer ducked behind the dumpster.
A beat-up Chevy crawled past the shaded entrance into the resort, then parked behind Cabin B.
Archer felt his face go hot as the car turned off, and a woman stepped out of the car, her white Reeboks kicking up a cloud of dust.
She looked exactly as he remembered.
A grown-up version of the girl he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for years, ever since they were kids.
Long legs, slim curves, creamy white arms covered in freckles, fiery red hair.
A small button nose and striking sky-blue eyes.
He didn’t dare move as he watched her pull several massive suitcases and a snake plant from the back of her car.
Instead, he knelt there, his pulse hammering loudly in his ears, wondering how in the world he was going to survive a summer with an even more gorgeous version of his dream girl staying in the cabin next door to him.
The very same dream girl who shattered his heart.