ten | will
TENWill
Contrary to what Emberly must think, I do know how to talk to people, so grunting like I’m some kind of Neanderthal was borderline rude. Okay. Fine. If there was a border, I stepped over it.
Mom and Dad would be shaking their heads right now. At least Dad would be. Mom would cuff the back of mine with the pudgy pie iron. Gently, but I’d get the point.
They’d be disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in me. Mostly, though, I’m ticked off. Not because I momentarily forgot my manners, but because I forgot an important rule. One that that doesn’t only apply to the guests.
Don’t get attached.
When I was a kid, a doe was hit by a car and killed on the main road the day before Memorial Day weekend.
I was the one who found her fawn curled up in the brush a few yards away.
My sisters and I had been coached from an early age not to mess with wild animals, but this one was so young, I knew it wouldn’t survive on its own.
Mom, who had a soft spot for critters of any kind, called a local wildlife rescue that was willing to take it in, but they were short on volunteers over the holiday weekend. We got a crash course over the phone on the care and keeping of fawns.
My sisters were instantly smitten and named her Freckles, but it turned out the only person the fawn would take a bottle from was me.
I slept on a cot in the garage for night feedings and over the next three days, Freckles became my shadow. She needed me. I started to question how much attention she’d get at the rescue and rehab center. What if she didn’t adjust? Wouldn’t take a bottle from the volunteers?
I even contemplated going on the run with Freckles to prevent it from happening.
Dad must have realized that I was pretty smitten, too, because he sought me out the day the rescue called and told us they were sending someone to pick up Freckles.
He sat down and watched me feed her. Told me what a great job I’d done taking care of her.
And then his hand came down on my shoulder and he’d looked me straight in the eye.
“You can’t keep her, Will. She doesn’t belong here.”
And neither does Emberly Lockwood.
Even if she hadn’t mentioned a cook and a house on the beach, her matter-of-fact ‘a private plane and car were part of the package’ confirmed what I already knew.
Emberly doesn’t just live in another state, she inhabits a whole different world.
“You don’t miss what you don’t know.”
Now Emberly’s casual words are flashing in my mind like one of the neon signs in the Grill’s front window. And then I see an image of her dozing in the chair, wearing my flannel, her hair the color of the flames. Emberly didn’t look like she was from another world.
But. She. Is.
That’s why I don’t want to get to know her. Won’t miss her when she packs her suitcase on Saturday and leaves without a backward glance. If she stays that long.
My phone buzzes as I reach the house and I yank it out of my back pocket.
A text from Knox.
Knox: I’m so bummed. The guys said a hot redhead came into the Grill tonight while I was towing Moose’s truck out of the ditch.
Me: Moose went into the ditch? What happened? Is he okay?
Knox: He’s fine. Tire blew out. Track with me. Redhead? Dawn said she got takeout. Do you think she’s staying at the Jackal’s?
The last word was deliberate, not autocorrect taking liberties.
Knox came up with a special nickname for Quade Hackel when we were seniors in high school. He’s never explained why, but whatever Quade did, it must have been pretty bad for Knox to hold a grudge this long.
The Hackel family owns the five-bedroom, three bath “cabin” a few miles down the road from us. When Quade’s dad joined a law firm in Minneapolis a few years ago, they relocated to the city and turned their residence into a rental property.
I’m not sure why it irritates me that Knox assumes Emberly would be staying at the Hackel’s instead of Pinehart.
Except for the fact that Audree, Quade’s mom, hired an interior designer to go all HGTV on the inside before they left.
Gourmet kitchen with a coffee bar and built-in espresso machine.
A TV that takes up an entire wall in the media room.
A separate space (which I built) for the hot tub and sauna and a walk-out to an enormous deck (also me) overlooking the lake.
I wasn’t concerned when I found out Pinehart was going to have a little competition.
Our repeat guests like to feel like they’re having a true, Northwoods experience.
They’d rather cook their meals over the charcoal grills we provide.
Watch a sunset instead of sports on a TV that stretches across an entire wall.
I’ve tried to think of ways to lure more tourists to the resort in the winter, but the truth is, when temps drop into the single digits, a hot tub and media room would be pretty sweet.
I keep some of the cabins open for snowmobilers, but if there’s not a lot of snow, they’re empty, too, until the summer season starts up again.
I step into the foyer and a hint of some exotic floral lingers in the air. Jasmine, maybe?
Emberly was in the foyer less than five minutes, but I already recognize her scent. This isn’t good.
My cell buzzes again, I see a row of question marks, and realize I totally forgot about Knox.
Do I confess that Emberly is staying here?
I won’t see Knox until six o’clock on Saturday morning, but he has been known to drop by on his rare day off from the Grill to see if I need any help.
Which makes me a jerk for changing the subject.
Me: Are you stopping by this week?
Knox: Miss me?
I roll my eyes but wait with an insult because I can see he’s typing again.
Knox: Shannon quit.
Shannon, the line cook who’s been threatening to pack up her dreams of becoming the next Carrie Underwood and head to Nashville.
As the owner of a small business, I know what those two little words mean. The headache that comes from looking for a replacement. Longer hours for Knox while he fills in the gap.
I hire two high school girls to clean cabins in the summer, but they leave once school starts and then it’s up to me and Cab to pick up the slack. I know about long hours and gaps.
Me: What can I do?
Seven years ago, Knox, Reeve, and I made a pact to be there for each other.
Like me, Knox is also one of the Comeback Kids. That’s what Reeve calls the three of us because we couldn’t wait to get out of Dodge. Or, in our case, Cedar Bridge, population 2,544. But then, for various reasons, we all ended up coming back to our hometown about the same time.
Knox: You can keep an eye out for the redhead. Maybe she needs a job.
Me: Doubt it.
Based on what I’ve seen and heard so far, I’m pretty sure Emberly Lockwood has everything she needs.
So do I.
And I’m going to keep reminding myself of that until she hops into her pink convertible and drives away.