Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Chloe
D usk shrouds the small island in purple, giving Misty Pines a mystical appearance. It feeds the girl inside me who still wants to believe in white knights who slay monsters to win the hand of their fair maiden.
The trip across the water had been smooth, with only a few bumping waves when we crossed the wake left by another boat. Perfect sailing weather, my father would have said. The memory sends a twinge of anger and disappointment through me, but I shove it down.
This retreat is about rest and relaxation, not dwelling on things I can’t change.
The salty, sea breeze tugs at my blond wig, and I breathe in the fresh scent of the ocean, grounding myself in the here and now. We glide along the coastline, where a rocky cliffside covered in evergreens gives way to a small beach. A dock stretches out into the water to bring us in the rest of the way.
A thrill of anticipation fills me at the sight of my temporary home for the next two weeks.
“Welcome to Misty Pines Resort,” Kyle calls from the helm as the engine quiets, and the boat bumps up against the dock. “Let me tie off, and I’ll help you over the side.”
“Thank you,” I reply, shooting him a grateful smile as he jumps over the side, a rope in hand.
With quick efficiency, he winds it around a metal hook attached to the wooden planks. He strides past me and leans into the back, grabbing another rope and anchoring us in place. Jumping back into the boat, he heaves my luggage onto the wooden planks.
Guilt shoots through me that he’s doing all the work. I wobble to my feet, regretting the chunky sandals I chose to give me the height of a Beta. “Let me help.”
“Oh, no, it’s no problem.” He hurries forward to offer his arm for balance and winks at me. “This is the job I do, so I can fish the rest of the time.”
My fingers dig into his forearm as he helps me over the side of the boat to the more solid wooden planks. “Do you catch a lot around here?”
“There’s a spot on the western end of the island where I always have good luck.” He grabs my largest suitcase and wheels it down the dock as he leads me toward land. “If I’m especially lucky, I’ll reel in enough to share, and you’ll get to enjoy some for dinner.”
“The resort has a chef, right?” I ask, remembering the beautiful pictures on the website.
“Oh, use that title, and you’ll make his day.” He directs me to a waiting golf cart, loading up my luggage on the back. “He didn’t train at culinary school, but you wouldn’t know it by the food he makes. Come up to the Homestead for meals. You won’t be sorry.”
“And I might get to try your fish!” I call as he hurries back down the dock for the rest of my belongings.
His laugh rings in the air. “That you might!”
Once we’re loaded up, he navigates away from the docks onto a gravel pathway lined with logs.
As we ascend, I take in the sprawling resort. The buildings are rustic in design, blending in with the nature surrounding them. Some parts are still under construction, with scaffolding and heavy equipment dotting the landscape, but the overall atmosphere is serene and inviting.
“Most of the amenities are already operational,” Kyle informs me, his voice tinged with pride. “We’re working on finishing the cabins and completing the landscaping.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say, impressed by the progress they’ve made despite the remote location.
After the brief tour, Kyle guides the golf cart down a narrower path to my cabin. Nestled among vibrant greenery, the front boasts a small wooden porch. A rocking chair sits out front, positioned to face a gap in the trees with a stunning view of the ocean beyond.
I can’t wait to sit out here, snuggled up in a blanket, while inspiration flows through me.
When I don’t see any other cabins, I turn to Kyle. “Where are the other residences?”
“That’s the construction that was near the water. We thought most people would prefer the ocean access, but you’ll get more quiet over here.” He gestures to the thick forest that sprawls out toward the west. “The third phase will bring in more cabins on this side for those who prefer hiking.”
“Well, I appreciate the quiet.” I grip the side of the seat as Kyle parks.
“You’ll have plenty of that here, and you’re closer to the Homestead.” He helps me unload my luggage, bringing it inside. “Here you are, Ms. Richardson.”
“Thank you.” I step in behind him and take in the cozy interior.
The warm, wood tones and pops of color remind me of a cozy home, despite this being a full-service resort. The living area features a plush sofa, piled high with throw pillows, and a kitchenette stocked with ready-made meals perfect for someone like me who burns boiled water.
Kyle hands me a key. “You can find a map of the trails next to the phone, and the private areas of the island are all marked by signs. If you follow the path back up to the main road and keep going up, you’ll be at the Homestead.”
He walks over to the kitchen and opens a cabinet above the small refrigerator, lifting down a white, clay vase. He sets it on the counter with a smile. “Best put those roses into some water, so you can enjoy them for your entire visit.”
“Thank you so much.” I walk to my box of fan gifts. “They would have ended up in a cup if it were left up to me.”
“If you want more flowers, let me know. We have an entire garden behind the Homestead.” He heads for the door. “Dinner will be served at five o’clock if you’d like to join us.”
I trail after him. “How many people are staying at Misty Pines?”
“Actually, you’re our only guest right now.” Kyle pauses on the porch, scratching his close-cropped beard. “We’re still working on the other cabins, but the rooms up at the Homestead are available, too.”
“Ah, I see.” The thought of having the island practically to myself sends a shiver of excitement down my spine, like I’m one of those fancy authors with a secret getaway. “Well, thanks for the ride up from the docks. Not sure I’m fit enough to have made it on my own.”
“Anytime, Ms. Richardson.” He steps back out onto the porch. “If you change your mind and want your cabin cleaned while you’re staying here, just call up to the Homestead, and I’ll be by with my mop and broom.”
My brows arch. “You do the cleaning, too?”
“Only until the rest of the cabins are up and running,” he explains. “No reason to bring in a cleaning crew just for one small living space.”
When I filled out the forms for my reservation, I had checked the box declining cleaning service. I don’t want to be disturbed while I’m working, and I have no plans to continue wearing the blond wig after today.
“Okay, I probably won’t need the service, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Have a pleasant stay.” With a tip of his hat, Kyle leaves me alone to settle in, the door clicking shut behind him.
I lift the fragrant bouquet of roses from the box, glad that the little water pod at the bottom saved them from dying during the trip. The soft petals brush against my fingers as I arrange the flowers in the vase, careful of the thorns.
As I set them by the window, I admire the way the sunlight filters through the blossoms, casting delicate patterns on the walls.
I wheel my luggage to the queen-sized bed, where an open bookcase gives the space a semblance of privacy. An armoire faces the footboard, creating a cozy nook.
Despite my fatigue, I take the time to unpack, hanging my shirts and storing my other items in the drawers at the bottom of the armoire. I shove the suitcases under the bed to keep them from getting in the way.
Back in the front room, I grab my work bag and unload my notebooks, pens, candle, chunk of rose quartz, lucky troll doll, and finally, my laptop.
Once they’re arranged, I settle into the chair at the desk and gaze out the window.
The evening stretches before me, a fresh document waiting for inspiration to strike. But as I consider how best to plot out my next adventure, my mind blanks.
Curse of the empty page.
I grab one of my notebooks and flip it open, rereading the notes I made to jog loose the creativity fairy, but nothing clicks. What had felt like deep world-building now resembles a series of bullet points, with random arrows pointing to scribbles I struggle to decipher.
I hadn’t let myself put my new idea into my computer yet, using it as a treat for when I completed my last manuscript. Then things kept getting in the way, and the book tour stole all my energy and time.
Months later, my frantic brain dump just gives me anxiety. How will I separate the threads and then translate them into an outline that makes sense? It’s been so long since I started from scratch, and imposter syndrome now looms over me.
What if The Fairy and the Dragonlord was a one-hit wonder, and nothing else I write will ever live up to it in the eyes of my fans?
A sigh escapes my lips as I glance at the clock, the minutes ticking away toward dinnertime. Should I take Kyle up on the offer of homemade food? The thought of cooking one of the ready-made meals sounds exhausting, but I don’t know that I can muster the energy that an uphill walk requires.
With neither option sounding enticing and unsure of what I want to do, I wiggle my finger over the trackpad to wake my laptop back up.
As the screen glows to life, my cell phone vibrates on the desk, its shrill ring making me flinch in the silence. Grady’s name flashes, along with his picture.
Relieved by the distraction, I answer. “Are you checking up on me already?”
“Can’t help it,” he chuckles, his voice warm. “I wanted to make sure you arrived safely, and the cabin is stocked to your specifications.”
“Everything’s perfect,” I assure him, touched by his concern. “You caught me just in time. I’m about to head over to the Homestead and check out what they have to offer.”
“You? Voluntarily peopling?” Grady gasps. “Well, don’t let me stop you from socializing. Have fun exploring, and remember?—”
His words cut out, leaving me in silence. “Grady?”
I frown, waiting for the connection to resume, and when it doesn’t, I hang up. Grady was probably still driving when it dropped. He’ll call back later if he has anything to talk about.
With a mixture of relief and disappointment, I toss the phone down next to my laptop. It’s nice to have someone who cares, but Grady’s protectiveness can be stifling.
The phone rings again and buzzes, rattling toward the edge of the desk. As I catch it, my thumb slips over the answer button. “Hello? Grady?”
“Chloe?” The feminine voice on the other end sends a shiver of fear down my spine.
“How did you get my new number, Mom?” I demand, fighting down the sense of dread creeping over me.
“Aw, my little dreamer,” she coos with false sweetness, “I can always find you.”
The nickname lands like a punch in the gut, and memories flood back, reminding me of all the ways she’s let me down.
With a deep breath, I ask, “What do you want?”
“Baby girl, I’m struggling a bit this month.” She slurs slightly, and in the background, I catch the clanging bell of a slot machine. “I need a loan to tide me over until payday.”
“Payday?” Suspicion colors the word. “When’s that?”
“Uh, well… I’m between jobs right now,” she admits, her tone sheepish. “So, it might be a bit more than last time.”
My heart aches as I remember all the times I’ve played this game with her, funding her gambling and drinking habits. “No, Mom, I don’t have any spare money.”
That’s a lie, but I won’t enable her anymore.
“Don’t play games with me. You have more than enough to share. It’s the least I deserve after playing interference for you. If you’re not willing to help me out, though, then maybe I’ll call?—”
I stab the end button, anxiety gnawing at my insides. It’s the same threat she uses every time, and usually, it works. But I can’t take this anymore. My finger hovers over the screen before tapping ‘block number.’
It won’t stop her forever, but it will stop her for tonight.
Restless after the call, I decide to go check out the Homestead after all. I need the distraction from my own thoughts. A glance at the clock shows that dinner will be served soon.
I steel my courage and push away from the desk to stand, determined to eat at the Homestead once during this trip. Now is the perfect time, too, since I still wear my disguise.
Not in these shoes, though. If I try to go for a hike in them, I’ll break my damn ankle.
I kick off my sandals and exchange them for a pair of sneakers before heading out the door.
The crisp air outside, filled with the scent of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers mixing with the salt from the sea, helps settle the anxiety inside me. My hand lifts to my shamrock necklace, hoping it will bring me some much-needed luck.
As I follow Kyle’s directions and walk up the trail, my thighs burn with the reminder that I’m a couch potato, not an athlete.
A large, two-story log cabin comes into view, with a covered porch stretching across the front. It wraps around the left side of the building, with Adirondack chairs set up for nature viewing.
Right of the double-door entrance, two-person tables sit in front of tall glass doors. They’d be perfect for sipping a morning coffee or enjoying a nightcap as the sun sets. The path curves off to the side, where I assume a garage hides.
I walk up the steps and hesitate before opening the door and stepping inside. The dining room sits off to my right, where a wrought iron chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, and exposed timber beams stretch the length of the house. Rich wood paneling lines the lower half of the walls, with cream wallpaper above.
A long, polished wooden table takes up most of the room, with bench seating on one side and chairs on the other to seat ten people. Glass doors open onto the wrap-around porch, and through them, I spy the tables I saw from the outside.
To the left, two smaller, four-person dining tables sit in front of a stone fireplace. At the back, across from the double-door entrance, a sweeping staircase leads to the second floor. Next to the stairs, a sign over an arched hallway announces a media room.
The heavenly scent of a pot roast and homemade yeast bread fills the air, and my stomach growls. I can’t remember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal.
I drift toward the table, where a butter dish sits beside a cloth-draped basket. Dare I hope that’s where the freshly baked bread hides?
A crash sounds from a doorway to the right, followed by a loud bang.
Startled, I move on instinct to help, rushing through the door. “Is everything okay?”
“Watch out!” someone shouts as a three-tier cake flies toward me.