CHAPTER TWO SAWYER #2
I glance down at my tuxedo pants and blue, dirt-stained sock. “Uh, about that... think you want to do your brother a favor?”
“No.”
“Roarick... please.”
He sighs. “What do you need...?”
I really should have thought through my retreat from the church, at least for a second, before I started driving away, because making the walk of shame to the front office in this powder-blue tuxedo and one matching shoe takes a huge shot at my barely present pride.
This right here... this is rock bottom.
I know I keep saying that, but the situation continues to burrow deeper and deeper into rubble.
Before I left my cabin, I adjusted my dowdy button-up to look somewhat presentable by rolling the sleeves to just below my elbow and tucking in the hem.
There was nothing I could do about the color of the pants or the singular shoe other than own up to them, so I pushed some water through my hair to flatten out the mussed-up strands and then exited the cabin.
Being in the mountains in the middle of July, the heat beats down on you as if you’re walking on the surface of the sun, and the added one mile of altitude doesn’t do much for the blistering temperature.
Reprieve is only found under the shade of the towering ponderosa pines and California black oaks.
But despite the overhang of their limbs and the lightest of breezes, I still feel the scorching pain of my hangover beat through me with every hobbled, uneven step I take toward the main office.
I make my way down the cracked cement walkway, past a broken bench that rests in front of the pristine blue lake, and open the door to the main lobby, which is covered in peeling varnish. This place has seen better days.
The bell rings above my head, and when my eyes adjust to being inside again, I take in the half-renovated space.
Olive-green carpet matches the carpet in my cabin; the leather and wood furniture sports tears and nicks, making the couch practically unusable; and the wall to the right of the fireplace is half papered and half stripped down to its drywall.
Not a great first impression.
Then again, have I looked in a mirror? It’s not like I have a lot of room to talk.
“Be right there,” a feminine voice calls from above. My eyes follow the sound of her voice to a staircase behind the counter.
I make my way to the check-in counter and take note of the computer that must be from the nineties.
And behind it rests a printer caked in a thick layer of dust, making me believe it doesn’t even work at all.
But what has really snagged my attention is the sign resting on the countertop in front of me.
Welcome to the Canoodle Cove Cabins. Sully, my grandfather, is the owner of the cabins but has been diagnosed with middle-stage Alzheimer’s. Please be patient and kind while we navigate through renovations and his care. Thank you.
Well, that would explain the wallpaper.
“Hello, can I help?” A woman steps out past the wall that shields the staircase from view, and when her eyes land on me, her shoulders straighten, and she slows down her steps. “Oh, how did you sleep?”
“Uh, fine,” I say uneasily. She recognizes me, but I have no idea who she is.
But I kind of wish I remembered because, wow... she’s, uh... she’s incredibly pretty.
Her long chestnut-brown hair is pulled back into a thick ponytail.
Her eyes are devoid of any makeup, but her thick black eyelashes make her ocean-blue eyes stand out against the beautiful heart shape of her face.
On her right cheek, a small yet pronounced freckle sits simply in the crevice of her dimple.
And as she walks up to the counter, I catch the chipped red nail polish on her nails, something Annalisa would never let happen, and yet I find it endearing.
She moves a stool behind her and takes a seat. “Glad to hear it. Frankly, when you passed out, we weren’t sure if you were dead or not.”
Great, she saw me drunk? Of course she did, because that’s how life works.
Already down on your luck, and life comes barreling in with a sense of humor, thinking, Why not embarrass him in front of the attractive cabin owner?
It’s bad enough I’m attempting to show an ounce of pride while wearing one shoe, but knowing she saw me in my intoxicated state just makes things that much worse.
“I, uh, I passed out?” I ask, scratching the back of my neck, trying to play dumb, because that makes the situation better.
Jesus, Sawyer.
She leans her arms on the counter and nods.
“Oh yes. Right there on that sofa.” She points to the threadbare sofa.
“That was after my friend Jaz and I helped drag you here from the bar. It’s a hefty walk.
” Drag me? Oh fuck, that explains the dirty sock.
“Thankfully, we shoved you in the back of Jaz’s truck and only had to walk you from the parking lot, and then, of course, to your cabin. ”
Mm-hmm, yup, cue the bout of sweat that lacerates like razor blades of embarrassment down my back.
“Shit. That’s, uh, that’s humiliating. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Jaz took twenty dollars from your wallet as a tip.”
Well, that adds up.
“I noticed it was gone. Hell, I feel like I owe you guys more.”
Her head tilts to the side, and I fidget under her stare.
Does she know?
Does she know who I am?
Does she know that just over twelve hours ago I flipped a bride and groom off at the altar?
Roarick said my public “oopsie” was trending, so if she has any sort of social media, there’s little doubt that she knows why I’m here and who I am. If the inebriated state I was in last night doesn’t say it, then the powder-blue suit gives me away.
“It was a lapse of judgment,” I hear myself say under her clear blue gaze.
She folds her hands. “What was a lapse of judgment?”
“Leaving the church like that. I should have just—”
She holds her hand up, halting the onslaught of what was going to be a very emotional and awkward confession.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and there’s no need to divulge anything.” She moves to her ancient computer and wiggles the mouse, probably to wake up the screen. “We all have our bad days. I’ll just get you checked out of here. I’m assuming there were no damages?”
“Checked out? Oh, I was actually looking to stay longer.”
Her eyes flash from the computer up to me. “Staying... uh, staying longer?”
“Yeah.” I rap my knuckles on the counter. “Looking for a bit of an escape right now.” Since she has no idea why, I don’t dare go into details. “How much for a long-term stay?”
“Long, uh... long term,” she says, her eyes blinking rapidly as she stumbles over her words. “How long term are we talking?”
“Not sure,” I answer. “At least a few weeks.” That should give some time for the news to die down.
“Oh wow, okay.” She glances at the computer. “Well, we’re in the middle of renovations, so we might not be the best place to stay. We’re actually closing down for a bit so guests don’t risk getting hurt. There are some rental houses around town that might be a better option.”
“I don’t need a house. The cabin is just fine. And I’ve been around my fair share of renovations. If you’re worried about me getting hurt”—I hold my hands out, showing off my wounded pride—“pretty sure it’s not going to get any worse than this. I’ll sign a waiver if you need me to.”
Silence falls between us as she stares at me, unmoving. Not a word, just... staring. A few blinks.
“Uh, is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yes, oh right, sure.” Her eyes go back to the computer.
“I, uh, am just thinking. Let me check here.” She clicks around, and I lean against the counter, my eye catching the still-dark screen.
With forced nonchalance, she reaches under the computer monitor and turns the screen on.
It lights up. “Just checking a few more things.” A.k.a.
waiting for the computer to come to life.
“It seems like we have the space, but we won’t be quiet, you know. ”
“Like I said, I’m used to construction,” I say. I press my palm to the counter. “So, are we all set here? Do you need my card, or is it still on file?”
“Yeah, it’s on file.” She looks up at me. “Are you sure you want to stay here? We have a lot going on.”
“I can see that.” I glance around at the chaotic room. “But I’m sure. Keep me booked. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.”
I push away from the counter and am headed toward the door when I remember—breakfast, clothes, some necessities, maybe finding my car.
I turn back toward her. “Uh, is there a place where I could find some clothes? Maybe a toothbrush? A matching pair of shoes?”
Her eyes land on my pants and then travel back up to my face. I really wonder what this random stranger must think of me.
“May the Forest Be with You?”
Huh?
“Uh... and also with you?” I ask, because not sure what she’s really saying.
She chuckles, but it sounds forced, nervous.
“No, that’s the name of the souvenir shop here in town.
They have clothing in the back. Then the Pine Pantry is our grocery store—it’ll have everything you need as well.
Your car is still at the bar, so you’re going to have to walk, but Strawberry Lake is the center of town, and everything else is laid out in one big circle around it.
If you go out the front, just turn right and follow the loop.
The shop will be on the right, the bar right up on the left after Nine Juan Juan Tacos, and right past the gazebo, you’ll see the Pine Pantry.
Follow the circle around, and you’ll be back here at the cabins. ”
“Cool.” I nod. “Thanks.” Sounds simple enough.
Without another word, I head out of the lobby and onto the not-so-busy sidewalk of Canoodle, California. Time to shed this suit and forget about yesterday’s dimwitted choices.