Chapter Two
ELIZA
As I chop vegetables for dinner, the rich aroma of simmering beef stew fills the kitchen, mingling with the scent of freshly chopped onions and garlic.
I’m adding them in stages to layer the flavors—Grandma’s trick for a stew that tastes like home.
It also ensures that the vegetables don’t turn mushy.
The task is soothing, giving my hands something to do while my mind wanders. I can't stop thinking about Matt.
There's something about him—a haunted look in his eyes, a tension in his shoulders that tugs at my heart.
Finn didn't give me many details, only that his friend needed a place to recover after an accident on an oil rig.
But the way Matt carries himself, like he's bracing for impact at any moment, speaks volumes about what he's been through.
“Zaza, I help?” Hailey's eager voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I look down at my niece, grateful for the distraction. Her blonde hair is a tousled mess, likely from her dad's less-than-perfect attempt at styling it, but her bright blue eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “Of course, sweetie. Do you want to help Aunt Eliza by tearing up the lettuce for the salad?”
I clear a spot on the counter next to me, setting up a workstation for her with a stool and a bowl so we can work together. As I lift her onto the stool, I'm struck by how quickly she's grown. It seems like yesterday she was a tiny baby, and now here she is, eager to help in the kitchen.
“Like this, Zaza?” Hailey asks, ripping a lettuce leaf into pieces with intense concentration.
“Perfect, honey,” I assure her, feeling a surge of affection. “You're doing a great job.”
As Hailey enthusiastically attacks the lettuce, I glance out the window. The first flakes of snow are falling—wetter, heavier flakes that stick to the ground right away, unlike the usual ones that melt for the first hour.
I check my phone, frowning at the weather alert.
The center of the storm is almost here. We're used to them, but the way the snow is already accumulating is unusual.
This storm feels different. Bigger. More ominous.
Maybe that's because I'm in charge and will have to deal with all the shoveling tomorrow.
Responsibility presses down on me. Finn trusted me to watch over the lodge while he's away in Anchorage, and I'm determined not to let him down. But facing a major storm alone is daunting. I push the anxiety aside, focusing on the task at hand.
“Hailey, honey.” I lower myself to her height, making sure we're eye to eye, “I think we should call your daddy to come pick you up early. This storm looks like it might be a doozy.”
Hailey's bottom lip quivers, a clear sign of an impending flood of tears. “I stay, Zaza!” she insists, her little hands gripping the edge of the counter.
I smooth her hair, my heart aching at her disappointment. “I know you want to, sweetie. But we don't have any of your clothes here. Besides, if it snows a lot, you'll be happier at home with your dad, where you can watch Frozen and play with your toys. We'll have a sleepover another day, okay?”
It takes several reassurances and promises of future fun, but Hailey eventually agrees. I call Kane, explaining the situation, and he promises to come right away. As we wait, I busy myself with finishing up dinner preparations.
The rumble of a snowmobile announces Kane's arrival. He bursts in, bringing a gust of cold air and snowflakes with him. His face is etched with worried big brother energy. “Eliza, are you certain you'll be okay here alone? You're right, this storm looks nasty.”
I roll my eyes, even as I appreciate his concern.
It's comforting to know he cares, but sometimes the overprotectiveness of my brothers can be stifling.
“I'll be fine,” I assure him. “Don't forget, big brother, that I grew up here too.
This isn't my first rodeo. Besides, I'm not alone—Matt's in the guest cabin, and it's my responsibility to see that he's looked after.
I can't abandon him because of a little snow.”
Kane narrows his eyes as his gaze lands on me. “I don't know if I like that you're here alone with a stranger.”
I cross my arms. “Stop worrying. Finn trusts this guy, so I'm sure he's fine.”
Kane doesn't look happy, but he doesn't argue. He gathers Hailey, bundling her up in her little parka. After a flurry of goodbyes and a tight hug from my niece, they leave, and I'm alone in the quiet lodge.
The wind howls outside, rattling the windows, and I remind myself that I can handle this. Finn trusted me, and I'm not about to let him down. Still, despite having grown up here, the incoming storm makes the wilderness feel a little more imposing.
I’ve crafted a detailed plan to balance everything: manage the lodge efficiently, ensure the guest is comfortable, and reserve time for myself.
Keeping an eye on the lodge shouldn’t be an all-consuming task.
After all, how difficult could a single guest be?
With the downtime between meals and cleaning, I’ll finally have the chance to focus on preparing for my second attempt at my teaching certification exam.
The upcoming test sends a flutter of anxiety through my stomach. That first try was a disaster, a result of inadequate preparation, and the failure hit me hard.
This certification is crucial for me. Without it, my chances of staying in Port Promise, surrounded by my exasperating yet endearing overprotective family, would vanish.
I'd be forced to accept that barista position in Anchorage, which Finn's friend had offered as a backup plan.
Leaving my home, being away from my family and the life I've built here, feels almost unbearable.
I shake off the worries, focusing on the present.
The storm is picking up outside, and I should warn Matt about it.
I'm about to head out when there's a knock at the door.
When I open it, he's standing there with snowflakes clinging to his dark hair.
I can see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
The cold has brought a flush to his cheeks, making him look younger, more vulnerable.
“Hey,” he says, fingers nervously rubbing the nape of his neck. “I, uh, thought I'd take you up on that dinner offer. If it still stands.”
My heart flutters at his words—he's here for dinner. With me. The only men I spend time with these days are my brothers, so this feels special. The corners of my mouth twitch upward as I try to suppress the smile threatening to explode across my face.
“Of course,” I respond, unable to contain the excitement in my voice. I remind myself to practice my poker face at a later time.
“Come in.” My eyes drink him in as he steps over the threshold. His broad shoulders fill out his coat perfectly. I notice how well he fits into the warm feel of the lodge.
“The stew is about ready,” I say, trying not to let my gaze linger too long on him. A slow simmering attraction bubbles within me, much like the stew on the stove—warming me from the inside out and making this cold winter night seem a lot less daunting.
Matt stomps his boots vigorously on the porch, shaking off the stubborn snow clinging to them before he steps inside.
He pauses at the door, slipping off his coat and hanging it neatly on a hook by the frame.
His gaze sweeps across the cozy interior of the lodge, and I can see his surprise.
Pride surges through me. It's Finn's place, but as a Hollister, I know that whatever we do reflects on the entire family.
That's why I feel so awful about my shortcomings.
A win for one is a win for all, and the opposite is true when we fail.
“Where's Hailey?” he asks, glancing around as if expecting to see my niece pop out from behind a corner.
“Kane picked her up a little bit ago,” I explain as we make our way to the kitchen. “The storm's coming in fast.”
He glances out the window, his expression unreadable as the snow whips harder against the glass.
“Nothing to worry about,” I add, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “We get storms like this all the time. I've got plenty of supplies and a reliable generator. We'll be fine.”
At least, I hope we will. Even as the words leave my mouth, a flicker of doubt nags at the back of my mind. But I can't let him see that—not when I’m the one who has to hold things together.
Matt doesn't look reassured, but he doesn't press the issue.
Instead, he offers to help with dinner, and soon we're working side by side in silence.
I steal glances at him—the way his brow furrows in concentration as he stirs the stew, the flex of his muscles as he reaches for bowls in the high cabinet.
There's something comforting about having someone else in the kitchen with me, even if it's a virtual stranger.
“Oh, could you grab the salad from the fridge?” I ask, remembering Hailey's contribution from earlier. “My niece helped make it.”
Matt retrieves the bowl of torn lettuce. The corners of his mouth twitch as he looks at the uneven pieces, and affection blooms in my chest at his unspoken appreciation of Hailey's efforts. It's a subtle gesture, yet it reveals so much about his character.
As we settle ourselves for a meal at the little table in the kitchen, the storm outside gains momentum, and an eerie whistling weaves around the lodge's overhangs.
A few flakes turn into a whiteout in no time as the wind whips around the building.
Matt's body stiffens, his fingers turning ghostly pale as they clutch his spoon.
Through the window, the world is a blizzard in full force.
I squint, thinking I see a branch—or perhaps I imagined it—being swept past the glass.
“So,” I say, desperate to distract him from the storm and the tension I can see building in his frame, “tell me about yourself, Matt. What do you do when you're not visiting remote Alaskan lodges?”
He gives a short, humorless laugh. “Lately? Not a lot. I was...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I was working on an oil rig. Before.”
The unacknowledged trauma lingers heavy in the air between us. I feel the urge to reach out, to offer comfort, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the thought that he’s Finn’s best friend, or perhaps it’s the fear of being too forward since we only recently met. Instead, I say, “And now?”
Matt shrugs, his eyes locked on his bowl. “I landed here. Guess I'm trying to figure things out.” His words remind me of my own struggles, my uncertainty about my future.
“Ah, aren't we all?” I reply, attempting to sound upbeat despite the serious talk. “You've found the right place then. There's something special about it. It has a way of helping people find their path.”
Matt looks up then, meeting my eyes. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver through me, a feeling that has nothing to do with the wind outside. “Is that why you're here?” he whispers, his voice as smooth as worn leather.
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get the words out, a loud crack splits the air, followed by an ominous creaking sound. Matt is on his feet in an instant, his body tense, eyes wild.
“It's okay,” I say, trying to project a calm I don't feel. “Probably a tree branch—”
My words are cut off by a deafening crash as something huge slams into the roof of the lodge.
The building shudders. The lights flicker once, twice, and then we're plunged into complete darkness.
Fear grips me as I let out a scream. My heart races, and I instinctively reach out, my hand finding Matt's arm in the darkness.
All I can hear is the storm and our ragged breathing. Then Matt's voice, low and urgent: “Eliza? Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” I respond, my mind already shifting into crisis mode. “First things first. We need light.”
I move swiftly in the darkness, muscle memory guiding me to the drawer with the emergency flashlight.
I find it at the back and click it on. A beam of light cuts through the darkness.
I aim it, trying not to blind Matt, but the harsh glow still reveals the concern etched on his face.
Poor guy, he had come here hoping for some peace, and he gets this.
“What now?” he asks, his voice uncertain.
For a moment, fear grips me, threatening to paralyze my thoughts. This situation is way beyond anything I expected. If Kane or Rhys were here, they'd jump into action without a second thought, knowing what to do.
But that's the point, isn't it? I've always relied on them to handle things. This is my opportunity to prove I can stand on my own.
I steady myself. I can do this. I have to. Gathering my resolve, I force myself to stay calm. “First, let’s check the damage,” I say. “We'll stick together. Follow me to the utility room. We’ll start with the circuit breaker and go from there.”
Matt meets my gaze, his eyes steady and reassuring. “Got it. Lead the way.”
“Matt,” I say, turning the flashlight so it illuminates both our faces, “I know this isn't what you were looking for, and I'm sorry for that. But if it's not too much for you, I could use your help. Can you handle that?”
In the dim light, I see his expression shift. His jaw sets, and he tilts his head. “I'm with you,” he says.
“Alright,” I say, my grip tightening on the flashlight. “Let's see what we're dealing with.”
We round the corner, and I gasp. The roof has partially caved in, snow piling steadily on the floor of what used to be the great room.
Where the fire once crackled, only hissing coals remain as snow has doused the flames.
The wind whips through the gaping hole, scattering magazines and billowing the curtains.
“Oh no,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the storm. “No, no, no.”
I sweep the flashlight beam over the destruction, revealing more damage with every passing second. Water drips from exposed beams, and I can hear the ominous creaking of stressed wood.
Matt lets out a low whistle. “This is terrible,” he says, noticeably shocked by the extent of the damage.
I force myself to take another look, scanning the destruction with a sinking feeling. This is the kind of damage that could get the lodge shut down for the season, maybe longer. I stare at the collapsed roof and spreading water, feeling completely overwhelmed by the amount of work ahead.
I turn to Matt, the ache of defeat settling in my chest. “Matt, I—” The words falter as another loud crack pierces the lodge.
We both look up in time to see a large section of the ceiling give way, tumbling toward us in a chaos of snow, wood, and metal roofing.