Falling Just Right (Honey Leaf Lodge #4)

Chapter One

Sienna

If my family ever decided to form a cult, this is exactly how it would start: everyone standing in a perfect semicircle in the middle of the Honey Leaf Lodge great room, wearing varying degrees of concerned enthusiasm on their faces.

All they needed were matching robes and maybe one of our rescue animals.

Instead, they had cocoa mugs, which were somehow worse.

My mom perched at the end of the harvest table like the queen of the cozy coup.

Dad stood beside the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back like he was about to read a statement to the press.

My sisters, Violet and Fiona, hovered near the pastry counter, wearing identical brace yourself expressions.

And Beck, my older brother, stood arms crossed, looking far too entertained for whatever was about to happen. Liam was MIA.

“Why are you all staring at me like this?” I asked, slowly lowering the stack of trail brochures I had carried in. “Did someone die? Did someone break something? Did someone break someone?”

Violet shot a significant glance at Fiona.

Fiona pointed directly at herself, nodded, then whispered loudly, “My money’s on Violet breaking something.”

“I haven’t broken anything today,” she said, which earned skeptical noises from multiple family members.

My dad cleared his throat in the manner usually said right before sentences like, Your mother and I have been thinking we’re going to retire or Have you thought about sticking around for the entire guide season this year?

“Sienna,” he began in his best serious-business-owner voice, “we wanted to talk to you about the upcoming spring and summer schedule.”

“Is this about my wildflower walk descriptions? Because I can tone down the part about flowers having emotional journeys. But the guests liked it.”

Mom gave me a sympathetic smile. “Sweetheart, it’s not about your… poetic liberties.”

“It kind of is,” Beck muttered.

I glared at him. “Don’t you have a fence to build or a tractor to fix or something non-sibling-related to do?”

He grinned. “Nope. I’m free. This is my entertainment for the day.”

Fiona bounced on her toes.

“Okay!” she said brightly. “Sienna! We have big news! Great news! Fantastic news!”

“That level of enthusiasm always means trouble,” I said.

Violet stepped forward with the gentleness of someone approaching a wild animal. “We hired extra help.”

My stomach dipped. “Extra help for… what?”

Mom gestured vaguely to all of us. “For your department, darling.”

“My department is me,” I said slowly. “I am the department. I run the treks. I lead the hikes. I handle the retreats. I rescue guests from poorly thought-out interactions with wildlife…”

“You did literally wrestle a squirrel off someone’s backpack last fall,” Beck agreed.

“We contracted with a guide service,” Violet blurted out.

I blinked. “You what?”

The great room fell silent, except for the espresso machine hissing in the background, as if it were even uncomfortable.

My dad cleared his throat again. “Pumpkin, as you know, we’ve had a record number of bookings this year and…”

“Which is great!” Mom added. “Fantastic! Wonderful!”

“And we simply can’t expect one person to handle all the outdoor programming from April to September.”

“You absolutely can,” I said. “I’m excellent at it. I thrive under pressure. I grew up fighting for bathroom time with four siblings. My body is built for survival.”

“You were in Alaska all winter,” Violet said gently. “And you tend to flee whenever you have the chance.”

“So what? People take trips!”

“You were gone for four months,” Fiona clarified. “Four. And you lived in a cabin with no indoor plumbing half the time. And you befriended a moose.”

“That was a spiritual connection, not a friendship,” I snapped. “And his name was Mortimer, or as I liked to call him, Morty.”

Beck’s eyebrows rose. “Sienna. You sent us a selfie of you and the moose touching foreheads like you were in a romance movie.”

“We had a moment! They’re usually quite dangerous.”

Mom patted my hand. “Sweetheart, no one doubts your skills. You’re the best guide we’ve ever had. But we need someone consistent to help support the retreat program.”

“And you didn’t… ask me?” My voice cracked. “Or consult me? Or even text me a vague emoji?”

Violet winced. “We were nervous you’d say no.”

“But that doesn’t stop you from asking!” I yelped.

Dad sighed. “We need to do what is best for the lodge.”

“And we wanted to avoid the twenty-seven-minute speech about trail sovereignty you gave last time we brought up hiring someone,” Beck added.

“I’m a passionate individual.”

Fiona stepped closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You’re not being replaced. You’re just getting help.”

“It’s a collaboration,” Violet offered.

“A partnership,” Mom said.

“A coup,” I muttered.

The lodge door opened, and a burst of cold air swept in, swirling snowflakes across the hardwood floor.

And there he was.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair still dusted with spring snow. A jawline you could probably navigate by. Eyes the color of pine forests after rain. A worn green Henley shirt that did nothing, nothing, to hide the unfairness happening beneath it.

A living, breathing outdoor adventure magazine cover model walked into our lodge.

The newcomer gave a polite, quiet nod.

“Hi. I’m Carson Reed with Ridge & Trail Outfitters.”

Fiona gasped on my behalf, while Violet made a tiny squeaking sound.

Beck raised both eyebrows, impressed.

I dropped my cocoa mug.

Literally dropped it. On the floor, where it rolled in a perfect arc and stopped at Carson’s feet.

He bent down, picked it up, and smiled slowly.

I forgot English.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Raisins,” I said.

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“Trail mix,” I blurted. “Raisins. Sometimes they clump. And that’s… relevant.”

Fiona slapped her hand over her mouth to hide a laugh.

Beck actually snorted.

Mom whispered, “Oh dear.”

Carson straightened, offering the mug back to me. “I’ll keep that in mind. About the raisins.”

He was calm. He was polite. He spoke in a deep, steady voice that wrapped around my ribcage and squeezed.

This was a threat.

To my job.

To my sanity.

To my ability to form sentences.

My dad stepped forward. “Carson, welcome to Honey Leaf Lodge. We’re glad to have you.”

Speak for yourself, Dad.

Violet went next. “I’m Violet, this is Fiona, and that’s our brother Beck.”

Carson shook their hands one by one, then turned to me.

“And you must be Sienna.”

I tried to smile like a normal person. “Yes. I am. She. Me. Sienna. Guide. Trails. Outdoors. Raisins.”

Beck coughed in that way that was definitely laughing.

Carson just smiled, and that smile was… devastating. “I’m looking forward to working with you. I hear we’ll be co-leading the backcountry retreats.”

Co-leading with him.

I made a noise that sounded like a malfunctioning snowblower.

“Sienna is our lead guide,” Dad said proudly. “She’ll show you the ropes.”

“Great,” Carson said. “The more teamwork, the better.”

Teamwork.

With Henley Mountain Man over here.

Mom clapped her hands. “Why don’t you give Carson a tour, Sienna? Show him the gear shed.”

No.

No, I could not show this gorgeous professional man the gear shed.

The shed was chaos and full of tangled ropes, labeled-but-not-actually-labeled bins, and a wall I accidentally painted orange when I sneezed mid-roller swipe.

But everyone was looking at me expectantly.

Carson nodded toward the door. “Whenever you’re ready, Sienna.”

I swallowed. Tried again. Swallowed harder.

“Okay,” I croaked. “I can do that. I love sheds. I’m…uh…a shed expert.”

Fiona stage-whispered to Violet, “She’s going to perish.”

Beck crossed his arms smugly. “This is the best day of my life.”

Carson’s smile widened with gentle, amused warmth. “Lead the way?”

I forced my legs to move, praying they remembered how walking worked.

As I pushed open the door, cold spring air hit my face.

Carson fell into step beside me, and I immediately forgot how oxygen operated.

“Just so you know,” I said, grasping for anything resembling conversation, “rule one of guiding at Honey Leaf Lodge: beware of trail mix.”

He glanced down at me. “Because of the raisins?”

“Because sometimes,” I said gravely, “they clump and it turns hard.”

This time he laughed softly, low, and warm, and I knew, knowingly, that I was doomed.

Doomed professionally.

Doomed emotionally.

Doomed in every conceivable guide-to-guide category.

And as the gear shed loomed ahead, I had one very clear, very horrifying realization.

I might have just met the man who was going to ruin my life.

Or my job.

Or, possibly… my entire emotional stability.

Carson paused beside me on the snowy path, his breath misting in the cold air. He looked relaxed. Capable. Entirely unaware that I was seconds away from spontaneously combusting like a faulty camp stove.

“So,” I said, trying for confident and landing somewhere between strangled and squeaky, “uh, before we head to the gear shed, you can… grab your stuff from your car.”

“My stuff?” he echoed, brows lifting.

“Yeah,” I said, waving vaguely at the parking lot like that explained anything. “Your… bags. Gear. Pants. Boxers. Briefs. Whatever you brought.”

What did I just say, and why did I say it?

Carson’s mouth twitched. “Right. My bags.”

“Good!” I said it too quickly. “Then I’ll show you to our bed.”

Dead.

I was dead.

They would find my frozen corpse beneath a pine tree, cause of death: verbal self-destruction.

Behind us, three simultaneous sounds erupted:

Violet’s gasp.

Fiona’s strangled giggle-snort.

Beck’s extremely unhelpful wolf whistle.

My face lit up like a distress beacon.

“I meant your room…cabin,” I blurted. “Your…your guest bed. Bedroom. The room. That you sleep in. Alone. By yourself. In a very normal, standard way.”

Fiona dropped to a crouch, laughing so hard she wheezed.

Violet covered her mouth, eyes watering.

Beck actually leaned on a railing for support.

“Sienna,” he wheezed, “I swear you were born to entertain me.”

Carson looked at me with the kind of gentle amusement that should be illegal on someone that handsome, but there was something I recognized behind his gaze.

A rescuer. He felt my humiliation and wanted to save me.

I never needed saving.

“I figured that’s what you meant,” he said softly.

“Did you?” I snapped, mortified.

“Yes,” he said, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though I appreciate the clarification about sleeping… alone.”

Violet choked.

I considered throwing myself into the nearest thawing snowbank and staying there until spring. The problem was that it was only about four inches tall now.

“Okay!” I said, clapping my hands together like I was announcing a raffle drawing. “Great. Fantastic. You get your stuff. I’ll… go check on the linens. And make sure nothing is… damp. Or on fire. Or damp because of fire. I don’t know.”

Carson nodded slowly, like he was trying not to laugh. “Sounds good. I’ll be right behind you.”

Oh, perfect.

Right behind me.

Exactly where I needed the world’s hottest guide to be while my dignity fled into the woods.

As he walked toward his truck, I spun around to my siblings, ready to hiss threats.

Violet held up her hands. “We said nothing.”

“You said everything with your faces,” I whisper-yelled.

Fiona giggled. “Do you want us to help you bury the part of your soul that just died?”

“No,” I groaned. “Because I need to bury ALL of me.”

Beck slung an arm over my shoulder. “Cheer up, sis. At least one thing’s clear.”

“What,” I muttered.

He grinned. “This summer’s going to be fun.”

I glared at him, cheeks still flaming, as Carson closed his trunk and started walking back toward me, snow crunching under his boots.

Fun.

Right.

This was going to be a disaster.

A very attractive, very well-muscled disaster.

And I was absolutely not ready.