Chapter 6
Alec
Sweat runs into my eyes. I swipe it away with my shirt, which immediately snags on a screw and tears. Figures. I sling it around my neck and keep working. The left side of the bed frame is heavier than it looks, and my back protests as I wedge it into place.
Didn’t sleep last night. So I spent the dark hours sanding these boards smooth enough that Finn won’t even snag a sock on them. I was supposed to be sealing the roof today, but the rain won’t let up. Weather doesn’t care what’s on my list. She never does.
Out the window, three deer nose along the bank of Misthaven Lake.
I picture Finn in this room when it’s finished.
Bed frame cut low so the wheelchair lines up.
Dresser edges rounded so he won’t split a shin.
Table by the window for his coffee. Maybe a photo or two, so it doesn’t feel like just another room in just another lodge. It’ll be his.
Finn’s lodge. His home.
I drive in the last screw, lean back, and the frame holds. It’s a small victory, but it’s still a victory.
Behind me, the floor creaks, and my grip on the drill tightens.
“Not a threat!”
I spin toward the voice, the drill buzzing like a rattlesnake.
Clementine Lennox bursts into view, arms shot overhead. “It’s me! Clem!”
“I know who you are,” I growl.
“Then lower the weapon!”
I don’t. “You’ve gone from trespassing to breaking and entering?”
She waves a set of keys like they’re proof of innocence. “I know where the back door key is hidden.”
“That doesn’t make it legal.”
She shrugs, bright as a sunrise. “It’s six fifteen, Alec. Figured you’re an early bird.”
I grimace. She grins. Always the opposite.
“You here to take back the cabbage?”
“What?”
“The ornamental cabbage,” I remind her.
She laughs. “Seeds don’t sprout overnight, genius. I just came to check in. A nice neighborly visit. See how you’re settling.”
Right. Neighborly. At dawn.
I lower the drill. She stands there and stares, wearing leggings and a pink top knotted at her waist, hair scraped into a bun that means business.
She looks fragile. Framed in my doorway, she doesn’t fill the space the way she did outside, when her laughter spilled and her words tumbled over each other. Here she seems almost breakable.
“What do you want?”
“No good morning, Clementine? No thank you for saving me yesterday?”
I narrow my eyes at her, tilting my head. It’s far too early to deal with people, especially people who look like they skip for fun.
She ignores my annoyance and just shoots me a smile that could rival the sun. Then she drifts into the room like she owns it, one foot neatly in front of the other. Ballerina steps. Even committing small-town crime, she has choreography.
She glances around the room. “Are you building that bed frame from scratch?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, you must be really good with your hands.” She smiles…I do not. “You’re going to do something about the bare bulb, though, right?” she asks, pointing up.
I follow her finger to the single light bulb I screwed in this morning. “Huh?”
“You can’t leave it like that. It needs a shade. A pendant, maybe bronze. Let it patina over time.”
“You broke into my house to talk about light fixtures?”
“Broke in? Aren’t we past that?” She shrugs as if she doesn’t understand the definition of the word. “The bed frame’s really beautiful. From the wood you bought yesterday?”
“Yes.”
She drifts along the edge of the room, fingertips trailing over the walls like she owns the grain. Her gaze flicks to my arms, shoulders, and bare chest before jolting back to her shoes. “I mean, I can barely put together IKEA furniture, and you’re just here, hammering away.”
“Are you flirting with me?” I ask.
Her nervous laugh rolls through the air in jagged waves. She takes a step closer. Morning light slides over her jaw, painting her cheeks a peach flush.
“Flirting? Me? Never!”
That word lands harder than it should. Never. Before I can stop it, I bite out, “Never?”
“Well, maybe not never. I mean, I didn’t come here to flirt.” She’s flustered now, hands fidgeting, sentences tripping over themselves. “I definitely wouldn’t have shown up like this.” She gestures at her leggings and the pink top tied in a bow.
Some reckless part of me wants to ask what she would have shown up in. I kill the thought fast.
“Noted.”
“Anyway.” She rallies, her smile snapping back into place. “I came with a proposition.”
My gut already knows. “No.”
“You haven’t even—”
“You want a partner for Wild Trails. Answer’s no.”
Her brows shoot up. “How did you guess?”
“Because it’s all anyone in this town wants.”
My inbox proves it. Locals, strangers, and even climbers my agent dug up who’d drop their expeditions just to latch on. Money pouring into Wild Trails being the next big thing. Offers I delete without opening.
Because I’ve never competed without Finn.
Don’t break this promise. His voice rings in my head. Even if I wanted to partake in this novice shit, I wouldn’t be able to.
She bites her lip and straightens. I’ve always heard that ballerinas are tough, that they refuse to fold. Guess those rumors are true.
“Look,” she says, “I’m not like the other people in this town.
I didn’t even know who you were until yesterday.
” Her chin tilts higher, like she’s daring me to blink first. “I’d make a good partner.
I’m like my grandfather. I’m strong, I don’t quit, and I learn fast. I’m not asking for charity.
” She draws in a breath that shakes but holds.
“We can split the prize money. That’s ten grand each. ”
“I don’t need the money.”
“Maybe not. But you do need help with this place. We could trade. I mean, I could really help you here. Design, organization, whatever you’re avoiding. Because this room?” She gestures, graceful even in her irritation. “It doesn’t feel like you. It doesn’t feel like anything.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Shame runs sharply through me, hot in my ears. She doesn’t know it, but every nail, every cut of wood, I measured for Finn.
The more she points out what it’s not, the less certain I am it’ll ever be right.
“This room isn’t for me. I’m not staying in Misthaven for long. Just fixing it up for my best friend.” The words escape before I can stop them, and the regret is instant.
Don’t ask about Finn.
“Is that your climbing partner?”
Of course she knows.
The moment she heard my name at Got Wood?, she probably went home and read every article about us. Every new headline popping up like weeds about the worst day of my life.
The air shifts sharp, cutting through my ribs. My lungs scrape like gravel when I drag in a breath. The walls are closing in, getting closer and closer. I need to get out of here.
I set down the drill, slide past her, and move for the hall. “I’m not doing Wild Trails.”
She follows me.
“Why not?” Her voice is soft, fragile as a fault line. “Is it me?”
I make the mistake of looking at her. Those blue eyes fasten me in place harder than any carabiner ever did.
“It’s not personal.”
The main room opens wide, making the air easier to breathe. It’s a relief, until I spot my mat and sleeping bag in the corner. My bed is temporary, small, and for some reason, the idea of her seeing it makes my chest burn with embarrassment.
“But what if—”
“I’ve got a lead on a designer, so no need to keep offering your help,” I lie. “Kitchen’s this way.” Behind me, silence stretches. She hasn’t left yet. I turn, jaw tight. “Leave the keys you found on the table.”
Her lips part. A hundred words are stacked behind them, but none come out. She drops the keys, gives me one more desperate look, and finally walks out. The door clicks shut behind her, echoing louder than it should.
I stand there, fists flexing, chest tight.
I’ve got enough problems.
I don’t need another.