Chapter Three
Sienna
By the time I trudged back to the lodge from Carson’s cabin, I felt like I had aged ten emotional years in thirty minutes.
My family had blindsided me with a new guide.
A ridiculously attractive one. A competent one.
A woodsy, broad-shouldered wilderness man who brushed hair out of women’s faces with all the gentle confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing while holding two duffel bags at the same time.
I was still trying to decide whether I should be annoyed, embarrassed, territorial, or… something else entirely.
Something inconvenient.
Inside the lodge, the warmth hit instantly.
So did the smell of cinnamon, melted butter, and whatever Violet had decided to experiment with in the kitchen that afternoon.
Mom stood at the stove stirring something in a heavy pot, humming the same song she always hummed when she felt triumphant.
Violet leaned against the island, slicing strawberries with the calm precision of a serial killer.
Both women looked far too pleased with themselves.
“There she is,” Violet sang out as soon as she spotted me. “Our fearless guide returning from her escort mission.”
I stopped dead. “It was not an escort mission.”
Mom shot me a look over her shoulder, her eyes full of mischief. “Oh, honey, it absolutely was.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “I cannot deal with either of you right now.”
Mom’s lips curved as she scraped a spatula across the bottom of the pot. “Then you came to the wrong room.”
I groaned and slumped onto a stool at the island. Violet set the knife down and pushed a steaming mug of coffee toward me like she had been waiting to ambush me with it. I wrapped my hands around the mug, grateful for the warmth even if I wanted to fling it at the nearest family member.
“So,” Violet said, sliding onto the stool opposite me, “did our new guide enjoy the tour?”
“Did he like his cabin?” Mom added.
“Did he carry his bags like he was starring in a calendar photo shoot?” Violet asked.
I glared. “I don’t know. I didn’t stare at him while he carried them.”
“Yes, you did,” Violet said.
Mom nodded. “You absolutely did.”
My jaw dropped. “I did not. I was being polite.”
“You were ogling.” Violet popped a blueberry into her mouth. “Respectfully. But definitely ogling.”
I hunched over the coffee. “Why should I be expected to process anything rationally right now? My family snuck a new guide into the lodge like he was a surprise birthday cake.”
Mom stirred her pot with suspicious enthusiasm. “We were going to tell you.”
“When? After he moved into my room?” I asked.
Violet winced. “Okay, fair point. But we didn’t want to tell you before you got home because then you’d spiral alone in Alaska and sulk in the snow.”
“I do not sulk in the snow.”
Violet raised both eyebrows.
I corrected myself. “I do not sulk often in the snow.”
Mom gave a thoughtful nod, as if making a mental note. “Once a week, tops.”
I pressed my palms to my cheeks. “Why didn’t anyone ask me first?”
Violet’s teasing faded into something gentle. “Because you only got home last night. You haven’t stopped moving since the second you stepped off the plane. We didn’t want to swamp you with decisions.”
Mom tapped the spatula on the pot’s edge. “And because you would’ve said no even if it was the right choice.”
I scowled. “I like being busy.”
“You like being in control,” Violet said. “Which is great, except when you are one missed snack break away from becoming feral, and we’ve had to turn bookings away because we just didn’t have the slots. You’re only one person, Sienna.”
“Plus, you’re a little…” Violet stopped herself.
“I am not feral.”
“Sienna,” Violet said, “I watched you chase a raccoon across the yard last fall because it tried to steal one of your trekking poles.”
“It did steal it,” I said defensively.
Mom finally turned from the stove with a bowl of whatever she’d been making and grabbed a mixing bowl. “You take on too much. We needed someone to help you. We hired a professional. Not a replacement.”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was painful and small inside my chest. I was proud of the work I did at the lodge.
I loved being in charge of the trails and guiding guests.
I loved leading sunrise hikes, identifying wildflowers, and teaching people how to avoid getting eaten by wolves.
I didn’t want anyone stepping into my space.
I didn’t want to be seen as someone who needed help.
Violet nudged my elbow. “Hey. You okay?”
“No.” I blew out a breath. “Yes. I don’t know. I just thought I was doing fine. I didn’t think anyone was worried.”
“We’re not worried,” Mom said, setting the bowl down and brushing hair from her eyes. “We’re trying to help you breathe. That’s all.”
“Also,” Violet added, “we can’t keep pretending you don’t disappear emotionally whenever you have a crush.”
I choked on my coffee. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said, waving her knife for emphasis. “You get a crush, and then you freeze like you’re standing on a cliff alone in a snowstorm.”
Mom nodded brightly. “You do get very struck.”
“I do not get struck.”
“And then if it doesn’t go well, you run. You’ve been running for decades.”
“Decades? I’m in my thirties, not ninety.”
“Fine,” she said. “One decade. A prime decade. And you’ve spent it being allergic to long-term feelings.”
“That is not true,” I protested.
Mom gave me a level look. “Sweetheart, the last time you flirted successfully, we got a selfie of you and a moose.”
I covered my face with both hands. “Why are you like this?”
“Because we love you,” Violet said cheerfully. “And because this new guide is exactly your type.”
“I do not have a type.”
“Tall,” Violet counted on her fingers. “Quiet. Stoic. Outdoorsy. Looks like he could fight a bear. Possibly has fought a bear.”
I stared at her. “I have never said those words.”
“You do not have to,” she replied. “Your face said everything the moment he walked in.”
Mom leaned onto her elbows, studying me closely. “And there’s nothing wrong with being interested, honey. You’re allowed to want things.”
“Want things?” I echoed.
“Yes,” she said. “Like romance. Or companionship. Or someone to share a tent with.”
Violet gasped in delight. “A tent. Yes. You and Carson alone in the woods with a single sleeping bag.”
“Stop,” I groaned. “Please stop.”
“Or maybe a cozy night around a fire,” Violet went on. “Or getting stuck in a cave together. You know, classic romance tropes.”
I snorted despite myself. “I would not get stuck in a cave with him.”
Violet smirked. “But if fate forced you, would you complain?”
I hesitated.
Which was exactly the wrong move.
Mom’s eyes lit up. Violet slapped the counter with glee.
“Oh my gosh,” she said. “You wouldn’t mind it. You totally wouldn’t mind being trapped in a cave with him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Fine. Whatever. Hypothetically speaking, if I had to choose someone to be trapped with underground in a terrifying enclosed space, he would not be the worst option.”
Violet made a triumphant noise. “Translation. You absolutely would get stuck in a cave with him. Happily.”
I pointed a warning finger. “Stop twisting my words.”
“You twisted them yourself,” Mom said with a grin.
“It’s not about romantic caves,” I muttered. “I just happen to appreciate that he seems… capable. And calm. And strong. And he has really nice—”
I stopped too late.
Both of them stared at me with raised eyebrows.
Mom’s smile widened to dangerous levels. “Nice what?”
“Hands,” I squeaked.
Violet cackled. “Hands. She likes his hands.”
“I didn’t say that,” I lied.
“You did,” Violet said. “Loudly. It echoed across the flour canisters.”
I covered my face again. “I hate this kitchen.”
Mom patted my arm. “No, you don’t.”
“You’re right,” I muttered. “I don’t hate it. I hate being blindsided. I hate that you all think I can’t handle things.”
Violet softened. “We don’t think that. You can handle everything. That’s the problem. You never stop handling things long enough to enjoy anything.”
Mom nodded. “Life is not supposed to be a series of solo expeditions.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “Spare me the mountain metaphors.”
But she wasn’t wrong. That made it worse.
“And the guide being handsome is just a bonus,” Violet added.
I groaned loudly. “He is not handsome.”
They both stared at me.
“Okay,” I admitted. “He is… visually acceptable. In a rugged outdoorsy catalog way.”
“Uh-huh,” Violet said, unconvinced.
“And maybe I noticed that he has a very nice voice.”
“Uh huh.”
“And eyes. And jaw. And shoulders. Maybe.”
Violet pressed a hand to her heart. “Our girl is down bad.”
“I’m not down anything,” I snapped.
Mom gave me a sage smile. “You will be.”
I grabbed a blueberry and threw it at them.
It missed.
Violet flicked it back at me and laughed when it bounced off my sweater.
“Also,” she added, “the cave thing is not remotely normal. You know that, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “It was an example.”
“A very telling one,” Violet said.
Mom hummed. “Very.”
I glared at both of them. “You know what? I am done with this conversation. Completely done. Ended. Finished. And for the record, if I were to fantasize about anyone in a cave, it would not be Carson Reed and his annoyingly perfect—”
A deep, gravelly throat clear sounded behind me.
My soul left my body.
It rose right up to the rafters, saluted the taxidermy owl, and ascended into the afterlife.
Slowly, with every molecule of dread in my being, I turned around.
Carson stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
Silent.
Tall.
Watching.
His expression was unreadable.
His jaw set.
His eyes were undeniably amused.
My heart thundered so loudly I was certain the pans on the wall heard it echo.
He lifted one dark eyebrow. Just one.
“Annoyingly perfect what?” he asked.
And that was the moment I became sure I would never recover.