Chapter 3 #2
“Nash,” Finn warns, but his brother ignores him, extending a hand to me. “Nash Hollister, wilderness expert and the good-looking brother,” he introduces himself with a wink. “Hear you’re going to Painted Peaks.”
“Not by choice,” I say, shaking his hand.
Nash laughs. “Few people go into those mountains by choice, Hollywood. That’s what makes it an adventure.” His casual use of May’s nickname for me makes me wonder how many people have been discussing my arrival.
“I’ve got all the gear you requested loaded on my ATV’s trailer outside,” Nash says, turning to Finn. “Several tents, portable stove, water filters, bear canisters—the works.”
“Bear canisters?” I ask, my voice rising.
“For food storage,” Nash explains, amusement in his eyes. “Unless you want hungry midnight visitors with claws and teeth.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had a proper breakfast,” May says, cutting in with firm authority. “Sit. All of you.” Without missing a beat, she herds us into Nash’s booth. Before I can even consider a menu, May has vanished into the kitchen.
“So,” Nash says, leaning forward. “How’s the lodge treating you so far?”
“It’s ... rustic.”
Nash snorts. “Translation—my brother builds things to last, not to impress. Not a believer in updates or modern conveniences, our Finn.”
“The lodge is perfectly functional,” Finn defends, though he doesn’t deny the accusation .
“Remember when you tried to install that satellite internet system yourself?” Nash continues, eyes gleaming. “Half the town lost power.”
“That was a grounding issue,” Finn mutters, his ears reddening.
“My point,” Nash says, turning back to me, “is that my brother here is great at many things—building, fishing, scowling at tourists—but technology isn’t one of them.”
“I’m more concerned about the bears May mentioned.”
“Bears are the least of your worries,” Nash replies. “It’s the mosquitoes you’ve got to be wary of. They’re so big up in the Peaks they’ve been known to carry off small children.”
I narrow my eyes, unsure if he’s joking.
“Don’t worry, Hollywood. Finn knows those mountains almost as well as I do. You’re in excellent hands.” He grins and stretches.
The back door opens, and a bearded man enters, nodding in their direction before taking a seat at the counter. Finn and Nash exchange a signal.
“I should talk to Lars about the trail conditions,” Finn says, sliding out of the booth. “He was up in the Peaks last week scouting.”
Nash rises too. “Need to ask him about the game movement he noticed up there.”
As the brothers approach the man at the counter, May emerges with three plates of golden pancakes.
She sets them on our table, notices the empty seats, and clicks her tongue.
“Men,” she mutters, sliding into the booth across from me.
“Always business before pancakes.” She pushes a plate toward me.
“Eat up before they get cold. Best enjoyed with real maple syrup and a side of truth.”
I raise an eyebrow as I drizzle syrup over the stack. “A side of truth?”
May’s shrewd eyes fix on me. “Why are you here, Lena Kensington? And don’t give me that PR rehabilitation nonsense.”
I take my first bite of pancake. The flavor bursts on my tongue—tangy, buttery perfection. “These are incredible,” I admit.
“Mmm,” May hums with satisfaction. “My sourdough starter is over a hundred years old,” she says with pride. “But we’re not talking about my pancakes.” She leans forward, elbows on the table. “What brings a Hollywood actress all the way to Port Promise? And don’t tell me it’s for a TV special.”
My fork pauses midway to my second bite. “My agent arranged this whole thing after I had a public meltdown on set.”
“And of all places, you agreed to Alaska?” May asks, one eyebrow raised.
I set down my fork. “I threw a champagne flute at my director. It made national news. My agent says this nature special will help people view me as more than ‘that crazy actress who lost it.’”
“And you believed him?” May asks, not unkindly.
“What choice do I have?” The words come out more bitterly than I intend. “My career was finally getting back on track after years of being typecast as the sexy vampire girl, and I threw it all away in one moment of anger.”
May regards me, then nods as if confirming something. “This wilderness adventure might patch over your public image for a while, but it won’t solve anything real.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I say, crossing my arms.
“Only you know the answer to that question,” May says, rising from the booth as Finn and Nash return. “But I’ll tell you this—the mountains have a way of clearing your head. Might be what you need.”
Before I can respond, she turns to the men. “Your pancakes are getting cold, boys. Lars can wait five minutes while you eat what I slaved over a hot griddle to make.”
Nash beams, sliding back into his side of the booth and immediately drenching his pancakes in syrup. “May’s sourdough waits for no man.”
Finn sits beside his brother, eyes shifting between May and me. “Everything alright?”
“Yep, fine,” I reply too quickly, focusing on my plate as May walks away. “May was sharing some local wisdom.”
The brothers eat with the efficiency of men accustomed to refueling rather than dining. Nash fills the silence with details about the equipment he’s brought—items with names I don’t recognize, but that sound alarmingly specialized for wilderness survival.
“We’ll need to do a gear check tonight,” Finn says between bites.
“I’ve packed everything you’ll need,” Nash replies. “Including a satellite phone, first aid kit, and a set of tents. One of them’s my best—barely used it last season.”
“Satellite phone?” I perk up. “So, we will have communication?”
“For emergencies,” Finn clarifies. “Not for checking your Instagram followers.”
I glare at him. “I wasn’t asking for social media purposes. I’d like some connection to the outside world in case something goes wrong.”
“Like what?” Nash asks.
“I don’t know. Bear attacks? Falling off a cliff? Hypothermia? Whatever disasters May’s been warning me about since I arrived.”
Finn and Nash share a brief, knowing look.
“The Painted Peaks aren’t Disneyland,” Finn says. “But they’re not a death trap either. Follow instructions, stay on the trails, and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I say.
“It’s not meant to be,” Finn says. “It’s realistic. The wilderness deserves respect, not fear.”
Something in his tone quiets my comeback. Instead, I nod. “Fair enough.”
Surprise flickers across Finn’s face, quickly replaced by what might be approval.
May returns with a paper bag that smells of cinnamon and hands it to Finn. “Muffins for the road. And don’t you dare try to pay me, Finnegan Hollister.”
“Thanks, May.”
“You boys go load up that gear,” she instructs. “I need another minute with Lena.”
Nash slides from the booth, sending me a sympathetic expression. “May’s ‘minutes’ are legendary. Good luck, Hollywood.”
As the brothers head outside, May reclaims the seat across from me. Her expression softens as she takes in my face. “City folk come here for the scenery,” she says, wiping a spot on the table with her thumb. “But Alaska has a way of changing people. Makes them perceive things differently.”
“I’m only here for a few weeks,” I remind her.
May’s lips curve. “A lot can happen in a short time, especially with Finn as your guide.” She pats my hand. “He seems all rough edges, but there’s no one better to have on your side in those mountains.”
“We’re not exactly getting along,” I admit.
“The best partnerships rarely start that way.” She rises from the booth. “The boys are waiting. I’ll have fresh pie when you get back—you can tell me how it all went.”
I watch her walk away, realizing what she’s implying.
As if I would ever fall for someone like Finn Hollister.
The man is infuriating, judgmental, and lives in the absolute middle of nowhere by choice.
The last thing I need is another stubborn man who thinks he knows what’s best for me.
I’ve had enough of those in Hollywood to last a lifetime.
Outside, Finn and Nash are loading equipment from Nash’s ATV trailer onto the one behind the Polaris. Both men move with the ease of those accustomed to physical labor.
“Ready to head back?” Finn calls. “We need to finish packing and check your new gear.”
I nod, climbing onto the Polaris.
Before starting the engine, Finn turns to me. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” I say, my frustration bubbling over. “I thought I agreed to stay at a lodge with running water and electricity, not camp in a bear-infested wilderness for three weeks.”
Finn’s jaw tightens, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “You think I’m thrilled about playing tour guide to a film crew? This wasn’t in my plans either.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Because I need the money. A bad storm nearly bankrupted the lodge.” There’s a reluctance in his admission that tells me it costs him something to share.
I sink deeper into my seat. “My agent says this is my last chance to salvage my career.”
“We’re both trapped,” Finn says. “Neither of us want this, but we both need something from it.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly.” He slows the vehicle as we approach a rough patch of road. “Listen, I don’t know what happened in Hollywood, and I don’t care. But out here? The mountains don’t care about your IMDB page, and the bears don’t care about designer labels.”
“Is this supposed to be a pep talk? Because it’s terrible.”
He smiles. “What I’m saying is we’re stuck with each other for three weeks. We can either make each other miserable, or we can choke down our complaints and get through it. ”
“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll try not to remind you how absurd this whole situation is if you try not to raise your eyebrows every time I don’t know something about wilderness survival.”
“Deal,” he says, looking down at my new hiking boots. “At least you’ve got proper footwear now.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “Don’t remind me. I buried my beautiful designer boots in Agnes’s shopping bag. They’re completely impractical, but I refuse to leave them behind.”
His expression softens slightly. “Speaking of practical items, you got thermal underwear, right? The one with the?—”
“The butt flap,” I finish, as heat rises to my cheeks. “Yes, against my better judgment.”
“Trust me, when you’re in a tiny tent in freezing temperatures, you’ll thank me for that recommendation.”
I sigh. “Add it to the growing list of indignities I’ll apparently be thanking you for later.”
“I’m keeping track,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s joking.
As we continue toward the lodge, dread settles in my stomach. This isn’t an adventure. It’s a nightmare dressed as a career opportunity. And unlike the roles I’ve played before, there’s no script to tell me how this one will end.