Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dex
Should I ease up on joking around with Sayla?
Yeah, Dex. Definitely.
Trying to make her laugh, let alone like me, could drop us into dangerous territory.
The less of an enemy I become to her, the more guilty I’ll feel when I end up landing the grant instead of her.
Still, after the debacle with her name tag and the cabin assignments, I just wanted a moment of levity.
We have to share the same space the next couple nights, not to mention demonstrate cooperation to Bob and Hildy during the day, so the tightrope between us is already stretched thin. Might as well climb on and crawl forward one inch at a time, hoping for the best.
Sayla reaches our cabin first and fishes the keys out from under the mat while I wrangle our bags up the stairs to the porch.
The sun’s a little higher in the sky now, and I’m starting to sweat from the effort.
She opens the door and holds the screen for me while I bypass a set of Adirondack chairs and step inside.
“Now who’s the gentleman?” she says with a smirk.
“You are, Sailor. Clearly.”
The place is surprisingly clean and airy.
The wide-planked floors look recently swept, and daylight streams through a large window across the room.
Two single beds flank the window with—as promised—enormous antlers mounted above the log headboards.
Each bed sports a couple of decent-looking pillows, and the quilts are made from squares of fabric printed with things like bears, pine trees, and deer on them.
At the foot of each mattress is a folded blanket. Gray. Probably wool. A single ceiling fan spins overhead in lazy circles. For now, the door to the bathroom is wide open, offering a view to the world’s tiniest shower, a toilet, and a pedestal sink.
“Welp. This is it.” I shrug. “Home sweet home.”
Sayla lets the screen slam shut with a thwack and grabs her leather bag. “First things first,” she says, ducking into the bathroom.
Right. Fair enough.
Sharing space with a woman who’s not related to me is a new experience.
Forget the fact that this woman isn’t exactly a fan of mine.
Since I’m not sure how to behave, I just stand there, shifting my weight, feeling kind of weird.
Two minutes later, there’s a flush and the sound of running water, then Sayla pops back out.
On the floor to the right of the bathroom, there’s a basket of towels rolled up into tubes.
She dries her hands on one, then hangs it on an iron hook behind her.
“So.” I nod to indicate the beds. “Which one do you want?”
“I don’t care.” She hitches her shoulders, the picture of indifference. As for me, what’s happening inside my guts is a whole lot of … difference. I just want to get this right with her. And I’m not sure how.
“I’ll take the bed by the bathroom then.” I drop my duffel on top. “The other one’s closer to the outlet.”
“You don’t have to do me any favors.”
I hoist an eyebrow. “You mean any more favors.”
She wheels her bag over to the opposite bed and sets her bag on top. “You pretty much begged to carry my luggage.”
“I also stuck up for you with the name tag.” I sink onto the bed next to my duffel. “And with the cabin assignment screw-up, I offered to trade rooms.”
She smirks. “You were just trying to prove to Bob and Hildy that you’re more flexible than I am. Admit it.”
“Maybe.” I scratch my beard. Caught. “But you had the same idea.”
She cocks her chin. “Anyway, my real name’s still written in Sharpie, and we’re sharing a cabin. So those battles didn’t exactly end in victory.”
“Yet.” I unzip my duffel, rummaging for the box of protein bars. I pull it out. Hold it up. “Don’t forget, I offered you food.”
“Which I didn’t take.” She squares her shoulders. “Look, I know this is a rare conundrum for you, Dex, but you’re not going to win me over this week.”
“Noted.” A smile tugs at my mouth. She’s a stubborn one, all right. And I kind of don’t mind the fact that her lips are pursed. “No more favors for Sailor.”
“And don’t call me Sailor.” She frowns. “Ever.”
“Heard.”
With a soft grunt, she drops onto her mattress next to her bag. “On that note, we should probably set up some basic ground rules, for while we’re sharing this space.”
“Good idea.”
“In fact, let’s count this as our first act of collaboration.
” She slides a clipboard from her bag. And another clipboard.
Then a third. Each one has a different colored pen attached at the top, plus matching sticky notes.
She lines them up, and her shoulders settle.
Like these are her emotional support clipboards, and she can finally relax.
“Hey, Kroft,” I quip. “Got a clipboard I can borrow?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” she answers as if my question were serious. “I need all of these.”
“Ah, come on.” A guffaw slips out of me, but I catch a spark of something in her eyes that gives me pause.
“If you must know,” she says, “the blue clipboard is for work. It’s got agendas and lists of things for school I have to check in on while we’re here.
” She points to the yellow clipboard. “This one’s for my personal life, so I can put it away for now.
” She tucks that one back in her bag, then picks up the pink clipboard.
On top is at least one blank sheet of paper.
“This one’s for the retreat. I’m planning to take notes on everything we do in case there’s some kind of test at the end. ”
“A test?”
“Uh-huh. Remember, Mr. Wilford said Bob and Hildy will be reporting back to him on our performance, and I want to be prepared for anything.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Remind me to find you in a zombie apocalypse.”
“I would put that on a to-do list for my personal life, but sadly, that clipboard is packed.” She shrugs. “Anyway, we should probably start with setting some cabin rules first.”
“Lead on, McDuff.”
This draws a little snort out of her. “You know, the correct quotation is actually ‘lay on, Macduff.’”
My mouth twitches. “I did not know that.”
“Either way, you’ll need to do a whole lot more than quote Macbeth to get on my good side.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I kick back on the bed. “Is that a cabin rule?”
“No.” Across the top sheet of her pink clipboard, Sayla writes CABIN RULES in all caps. Then she says, “Rule number one …”
“Don’t call you Sailor,” I say.
She bobs her head. “Yes. Thanks for the reminder.” She begins a list, dictating what she’s writing out loud.
“Rule number one: No nicknames. We’ll only refer to each other as Sayla or Dexter.
” She looks up. “Kroft is acceptable to me since it’s my actual last name.
Are you okay with Dex?” A furrow forms between her brows like she’s legitimately concerned about my feelings.
Huh.
Either Sayla doesn’t hate me as much as I thought she did, or she’s just naturally considerate of everyone, no matter how much she can’t stand them.
“Dex works,” I tell her. “Thanks for asking.”
“No problem,” she nods, returning to her list. “Rule number two: Always knock before entering the cabin. Just to be sure no one’s changing.”
I shrug. “Honestly, I’ll probably just change in the bathroom.”
She glances at the door, then back at me. “But it’s pretty small in there, and our bags are out here.”
“Good point,” I say.
So she writes down the knocking rule, then adds, “On the cabin door and the bathroom.”
“Got it.”
“Rule number three.” She taps the pen to her chin, thinking. “No snoring. Or talking in our sleep. We’ll need our rest while we’re here, and that’s just annoying.”
I huff out a laugh. “But we won’t be awake. There’s no way to control that.”
“Do you usually snore? Or sleep-talk?”
“I don’t know. I mean … I never had any complaints.”
She takes a beat, processes what I said, then frowns. “Gross.”
I cringe a little. Guess I actually care about what Sayla thinks.
“That sounded different in my head. I’m not saying there’s a revolving door of women in my bedroom at night.
I just always had my own room growing up.
And I live alone now, so I don’t have a roommate to report back to me. That’s all.”
“I couldn’t care less who’s in your bedroom,” she says. But the crease on her brow softens a touch. “How about we just agree to keep our ears to ourselves?”
“Done.”
“Rule number four,” she says. “We both wear full pajamas overnight. It wouldn’t be fair for you to walk around bare-chested in just bottoms.”
Well, crap. I clear my throat. The more rules she wants to add, the worse I keep looking. “What if I didn’t pack pajamas?”
Her lips fall open. “Ewww. Don’t tell me you’re planning to sleep naked.”
“First of all, my naked body is not an ewww. And second, I sleep in a T-shirt and shorts. Not pajamas.”
She takes a beat, tips her chin. “How about we just promise to stay fully clothed at all times?”
“Except in the shower?”
“Except in the shower,” she agrees.
“Should we make one more rule, and call it an even five?”
“Five isn’t an even number, but sure.” She returns her focus to the list, scanning for what we missed. “We could agree to give each other privacy when we talk on the phone. Good with you?”
“Hmmm.” When she looks up, I let my mouth quirk. “You got a boyfriend I should know about, Kroft? I don’t want some jealous guy pounding on our cabin door in the middle of the night. And me in just a T-shirt and shorts.”
She blinks at me, clearly not interested in playing along. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was talking about work-related calls. Or in case Loren needs to reach me. Or maybe my mom. She just got engaged.” She takes a beat. “Yesterday, in fact.”
“Your mom got engaged yesterday?” My eyes widen, a genuine reaction to the news. “Wow. That’s big.”
“Yep.” She runs a finger along the edge of the clipboard. “She asked me to be her maid of honor.” There’s something in her voice. A hesitation.
“Do you like the guy? Her fiancé, I mean.”