Chapter 15
Clementine
By noon, the lodge smells like sawdust, wet paint, and the faint tang of coffee gone cold.
Walnut stain freckles the dining room floor, cans are lined in neat rows against the wall.
My brush drags in a steady sweep across the trim while the hollow thunk of Alec’s wrench under the kitchen sink keeps time with the music.
Satie faded into Chopin hours ago, now Mozart swells from the tiny speaker. It feels like barre class all over again, with silence that’s just music and the work.
The faucet coughs, then clean water spurts out. Alec leans back on his heels, wipes his hands on his jeans, and glances over at me. I look toward the wall like I wasn’t just staring at him.
“You hungry?”
“Starving.”
He disappears into the pantry. I set my brush down and slide onto a barstool just as he returns and sets down two steaming, vacuum-sealed pouches, a metal spork jutting out of one.
I blink. “What is that?”
“Eggs.”
Inside, the yellow mass jiggles like it’s daring me to eat it. “No offense, but this looks like space food.”
“I usually eat for sustenance, not pleasure.”
“But pleasure can be full of sustenance,” I counter, already digging into my tote. Out come a couple of apples, a bag of trail mix, and some muffins I’d snatched from Gran on my way out the door. I set them on the counter. “Do you have a knife?”
He slips one from his pocket, thumb pressing the hinge until the brown-handled blade flicks open with a metallic snap. He balances it in his palm for a beat, then spins it, offering me the handle without looking away like he’s done it a hundred times.
The motion makes my pulse trip. Heat pools low in my belly, my chest tightens, and…why the hell am I panting?
“Careful,” he says, voice low. “It’s sharp.”
I take it from him, my fingers brushing his as they curl around the handle, the warmth of the blade lingering from his hand. For a second, I forget what I’m supposed to do with it. Okay, brain, focus.
I slice the apples thin, arrange them in a pinwheel on a crumpled copy of Town Magazine, scatter trail mix in the center, and set the muffins at the edge. “There. That’s a real breakfast.”
Alec leans against the counter across from me, muffin in hand. He tears off the top, eyes closing on the first bite, chewing slow, like he’s relearning what real food tastes like.
“I used to sneak over here when I was a kid,” I say, staring at the apple slice in my hand.
“Grandpa was my favorite person in the world. I’d cut through the hedges between our houses and just camp out in the kitchen with him.
Once, I decided I was going to make cookies for all the climbers.
Didn’t bother with a recipe—just pulled things out of the cupboards.
Flour, sugar, a fruit cup, and for some reason a Go-Gurt.
” I laugh. “The guys actually tried to eat them. They were soft and rock-hard at the same time, like a hockey puck made out of a sponge. Grandpa swore they were the best cookies he ever had.”
When I glance up, Alec’s watching me, nodding. “It’s nice seeing the place come together again,” I say. “I’m glad you kept the old kitchen floor. Gran’s going to love that.”
“He always had a picture of you in his wallet.”
I grin, shaking my head. “I know exactly which one you’re talking about.
He came to watch my first performance in Concord.
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I wasn’t even Alice, or the White Rabbit, or anyone memorable.
I was one of the queen’s cards. Had a pair of red tights, a giant felt heart, the whole deal. ”
I can still see Grandpa in the front row, his little disposable camera flashing every time I turned my head. “He acted like I was the star of the whole show. Carried that photo around until the corners curled.”
“He talked about you a lot.”
My heart squeezes. “I’m surprised I didn’t see you two around when I was growing up.”
“We came in May and only stayed a month.”
“That makes sense. I didn’t get here until June, after school let out.”
“Did your mom come with you?”
I smile. “Look at you, asking questions. Like you’re curious about me.”
“I am.” He says it so plainly I have to look away, down at the apples.
“No,” I say after a beat. “She always said she spent her whole life here waiting to leave. She likes the city. Malls are closer there.” I laugh softly. “I wish I’d made more time to come back. I missed so much of Grandpa’s life.” My chest tightens.
“Margaret’s probably happy you’re here now.”
“She is.”
Silence settles, easy, with Mozart humming low through the speaker. My shoulders sway, my body loosening the way it always does around music.
“You mentioned you quit dance,” he says at last. “Do you miss it?”
“Yes.” The word snaps out almost defensively.
“Then why stop?”
I press my thumb into the apple slice until juice seeps out. “It wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to be promoted this season. Everyone thought I would be. I thought I would be. But they gave it to someone who’d barely unpacked her warm-up shoes.
“So I did what I always do.” My palms sweat. “I went shopping. Had a breakdown in Sephora over makeup I couldn’t afford. That’s when I admitted I was miserable, broke, and done sacrificing every part of myself for something that didn’t even want me.”
The words scrape coming out, but once they’re loose, I can breathe. “I don’t know if it’s permanent. I miss it. And it feels impossible to let go of something you’ve built your whole life around, but—”
I stop. His stare is fixed on me. Not pitying, not soft. Just steady. Expecting.
“Finish it,” he says quietly.
My stomach twists. He doesn’t look away, and that alone is enough to drag the rest out of me.
“I didn’t move in with my gran because I missed her,” I hear myself say. “I moved because I couldn’t breathe and didn’t know how to tell anyone. Now I’m here, crawling out of debt—desperate for that twenty thousand dollars, yeah—but mostly I just needed to stop. To just…pause.”
He nods once. The space between us thickens, pressing in, but it’s not letting me off the hook. It wants more. He wants more.
“Part of me thinks I should go back, try again. Part of me thinks I should find something that doesn’t make me hate myself. Mostly I just want to stop being the meanest person in my own life.” My throat tightens. “I want to feel like I’m enough.”
“You are enough,” Alec says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.
His hand shifts on the counter, close to but not touching mine. Even that distance feels deliberate, dangerous. I hate how much I want to close the gap. I’ve chased those words for years, and he just lays them down like they cost nothing.
“Anyway.” I clear my throat, pushing for lightness.
“Sorry about week one. Total disaster. Maybe I could’ve tried harder to stop the kayak before we went over a literal dam, or admitted to the blisters, or yelled louder at the bear.
” I stretch my heels inside my socks; they finally don’t ache.
“But I’m trying. I’ll do better this week. ”
“None of that was on you.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve known better.”
“What were you gonna do, put a camera in my shoe?”
“I should’ve told you to tell me right away.”
“You can’t control everything.”
His jaw works. “I don’t like feeling responsible for your safety.”
“I can take care of myself. Even with the blisters, I would’ve figured it out. And…I actually—” I give him a small smile. “I had fun with the kayak.”
“It’s not about the kayak.”
Of course it isn’t. Not about the blister, not about my learning curve. It’s about Finn. About the lines inked onto his forearm. About the weight Alec hauls every day, straight-backed, eyes shadowed.
He pulls his notebook from his cargo pocket. “I’m going to be a better partner to you. Because yes, you’re not exactly perfect—”
“Ouch.”
“Let me finish.” His voice deepens, more serious now. “Neither am I. That schedule I gave you? Forget it. Rip it up. Recycle it. Whatever.”
“Wait, why?”
“Because I need to be flexible with you. The same way you’ve been with me. I doubt I’m easy to be around, so the least I can do is figure out how we mesh. Make the most out of this.”
My jaw drops. “Oh my god, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I thought it was when I called you an old beast.”
“Oh my god—Alec, you made a joke!”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, but I might.”
He shakes his head, flips open the notebook, and pulls a pen from yet another pocket. “We’ll go week by week. That way we can account for changes.”
“Deal.”
“Tomorrow and Monday, kayak runs. Wednesday and Thursday, long hikes, assuming your feet hold up. After each day, you’ll paint the main room so we can finally order furniture.”
“Sounds good to me.” I nod, biting into an apple slice. “Oh, and Saturday? I signed us up for a CPR class.”
“Of course you did.” His voice is flat. “I hate group events.”
“I can do all the talking.”
“I already told you I’m certified.”
“But this way we can size up the competition,” I argue, waving the apple slice.
He exhales through his nose. “Fine. So, kayaking, hiking, basic training…” He flips a page, scribbling in his neat, militant handwriting. “With the rain and the lack of a climbing gym in Misthaven, I’m not sure how I’ll train you for rappelling. Unless we drive to Anchorage.”
“I’ve been rock climbing a couple times. I wasn’t horrible.” I shrug. “Also, there’s a Rappelling 101 course the weekend before the qualifier. Think that’s enough time to learn?”
“Depends. How are you with being tied up?”
My brain screeches to a halt. “I—what?”
“If you get tangled in your ropes, I need to know how you’ll react.”
“Right,” I stammer, heat rushing up my neck. “Of course. Safety. Knots. Great.”
His brow lifts, a single sharp line. “What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing—ugh—” I cough on apple skin, still flustered, and hop off the barstool for water. The faucet handle squeaks. Something clanks under the sink, then hisses, and a jet of freezing water explodes from the base, hammering the wall, the floor, and me in seconds.
“Oh my god!” I yelp, throwing up my hands. The spray ricochets straight into my face.
Alec is already there. He steps into the torrent, takes it square in the chest, and doesn’t even flinch. One arm hooks tight around my waist, lifting me off the slippery floor like I weigh nothing, depositing me on the far side of the kitchen.
“Stay back.” His voice is inches from my ear. Then he’s gone, crouching under the sink, water blasting over him as he reaches for the shutoff valve.
Adrenaline hammers through me. “Towels! I’ll get towels.”
“Laundry room,” he shouts over the hiss.
I sprint, grab everything I can carry, and skid back.
He’s braced under the counter now, sleeves shoved up, water streaming down his hair and jaw, hands working fast and sure in the chaos.
I drop to my knees beside him, spreading towels, sopping up what I can.
A muffin bobs pathetically across the tiles.
He finally twists the valve. The spray sputters, chokes, and dies. Silence, broken only by the drip of water pooling on the floor.
“Where on earth did you learn to fix that?” I gasp, wiping water from my eyes.
“Watched a YouTube video.”
“Ah, the universal solution to pretty much anything.”
Alec leans back on his heels, shirt clinging to his chest, water still streaming down his jaw. “I’ll fix it properly tonight,” he says.
I’m on my knees in puddles, clothes plastered to me, hair frizzing.
He looks up, and for a second he doesn’t look at the mess.
He looks at me. My bandeau clings to my skin, wet fabric turning sheer.
His gaze catches on the trail of water slipping down between my breasts.
For a beat too long, he doesn’t look away.
Heat sparks in my stomach. I catch a glint in his gaze. Want, fast and raw, before he reins it in.
He drags in a breath, stands slowly, and grabs a towel from the pile. Turning half away, as if to shield me from his own stare, he steps in close. He drapes the towel across my shoulders, fingers brushing damp skin as he tucks it firm against me.
“I can get you a change of clothes,” he offers.
“I’m fine,” I manage, though my pulse pounds hard enough to betray me.
He looks like he wants to say something more, then stops. He glances once at the counter, at the mess, then back at me—and this time, he makes himself keep his eyes above my shoulders.
“Okay. You still up for a second coat?”
I nod, forcing a laugh into the towel. “Yes!”
He turns toward the dining room, and I’m left dripping in the kitchen, towel clutched tight, heart racing from more than the burst pipe.