Chapter Seven
T he thick morning mist was starting to burn off when Jack pulled back into the lodge’s parking lot a few minutes before the agreed-upon time. The forecast for the day was cool but clear, and he’d gotten some intel from Hank at the tackle shop about a few spots where some trout were holding, so chances were good they’d get some catches.
He got out of his truck just as Celeste exited the front door holding her clipboard in one hand and waving at him with the other. “Hey!” she called. “They’re all just finishing up breakfast. Everyone’s excited. You want a coffee?”
Her warm welcome cut right through the cold air and early-morning fog. “Nah, I’m good—thanks,” Jack said. “Picked one up at Ronnie’s.”
“I’ll pack a pasty for you, then. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a Jeannie McCarthy jalapeno-sundried tomato scone.”
“Sounds great.” He approached the porch and took a moment to appreciate the slim fit of her gray knit dress and the way her glossy hair spilled over her shoulders. It wasn’t much past the crack of dawn, and the way she looked like she was stepping out of a fashion magazine had him perking up more than any coffee ever could. “So, what time do I need to have these guys back here?” he asked. “It’s going to be a beauty of a day.”
Celeste consulted her notes. “Dinner is at seven, so if you can have them back by five thirty, six, that should give everyone enough time to shower and have a few minutes to regroup.” She looked up. “Oh, and Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“The bride has issued strict instructions that under no circumstances should these men be allowed to drink today.”
“You mean alcohol?”
“I mean alcohol.”
Jack blinked. “This is a bachelor party, isn’t it?”
“The bachelor party was in Nashville. This is a ‘groom’s day out.’”
“So, it’s basically a daytime bachelor party.” While it was a bylaw infraction to drink in a national park, Jack turned a blind eye to the occasional tall can or bottle, as long as everyone took care of their garbage.
“Groom’s day out.” Celeste gave him a stern expression. He liked being told what to do by her. He just hoped she didn’t really expect him to listen. There was no chance he was searching bags or giving a predeparture lecture to a group of grown men.
“There’s nothing wrong with a can of beer or something on break, is there? I mean, I don’t supply anything, but—”
“No.” Celeste pursed her lips and looked behind her. “I’m not kidding. Kassie’s a little…particular,” she whispered.
“Is that code for tight-ass ?”
Celeste looked over her shoulder again. “Shh,” she said, laughing a little. “It’s code for don’t let it happen . I was in some of the rooms yesterday for turndown service, and the best man seems to have brought an entire bar cart’s worth of liquor on this trip. And Jeff gave all the guys inscribed stainless-steel flasks as gifts. So, you need to keep an eye on things.”
Jack opened his mouth to shoot back something at Celeste. As much as he didn’t like her setting parameters for how to run his business, the McCarthys were paying him for this last-minute booking, and he was in no position to be difficult. “All right,” he said. “I’ll keep things dry on the river.”
“Promise?”
He grinned, enjoying the expectant expression on her face. Clearly she ran a tight ship at the lodge, and this was her MO. “Promise.”
Celeste appeared satisfied. The door opened behind her, and she moved aside as one by one, the groom and his best man, another friend, the fathers of the bride and groom, and a lanky old man with a goatee and a ballcap on who introduced himself as Uncle Jasper, filtered outside.
“There they are!” Celeste exclaimed with a tone change that was clearly practiced but still genuine. “Everyone had enough to eat?”
Uncle Jasper patted his belly. “Your mother is a sweet angel from heaven,” he said. He looked at Jack. “You the guide? I’m known for my trick casts, but I’m a drowning risk today after those cinnamon buns. I hope you have good insurance. Or maybe I’ll just go to bed so I can wake up in the morning and experience that all over again.”
“We’re happy to deliver them directly to your room tomorrow morning, if you’d like,” Celeste said.
Jasper opened his arms and looked up at the sky. “Thank you, Lord, for bringing me to this place!” he exclaimed.
Jack grinned, then turned to the group. “All right. Who’s ready to bring home tonight’s dinner?”
*
An hour later, the group of six were outfitted, given a quick lesson on casting and how to wade safely, and were standing out in the gentle currents of the Bow River awaiting their next instructions. Jack demoed what he’d shown them on land again in the water and watched and gave small corrections as they tried their hands at their first casts.
“Fly-fishing is a two-handed sport,” he said. “Cast with your right hand and use your left hand for line management. I want everyone to check the drag on your reel. If it’s turned off and loose all the way and you pull line, it’s going to overspool and you’ll be dealing with a bird’s nest.”
The group caught on pretty quickly, and Uncle Jasper hadn’t been kidding when he’d bragged about being an expert at trick casts. Jack did an internal hell yeah when a bald eagle swooped down to the river right where the group was practicing casting and snatched a whitefish right out of the water, causing a raucous cheer to erupt at the creature’s majesty and dominance.
As predicted, the weather was stunning, and while Jack did catch a glimpse or two of the sparkle of a flask tipping back in the sun, everyone seemed to be behaving themselves. Celeste didn’t need to know. It was a guys’ day out, for goodness’ sake.
The guys were having fun, joking around, and Jack felt confident that the day was already a success.
Around noon, about an hour before Celeste was scheduled to arrive with lunch, Jeff sloshed through the river to where Jack was standing. “Hey, Jack, how much you wanna bet I’m going home with the biggest catch today?” he said.
Jack squinted. Now that he was paying attention, Jeff’s speech might’ve been slurring just the teensiest bit. He’d have to do a better job at keeping their hands full.
“I’ll tell you what,” Jack said, passing Jeff his rod. “If you hold these two rods and manage to keep the casts from tangling for at least two minutes, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
The groom laughed. “A challenge! All right fellas, come on over and witness greatness!”
Two minutes later, Jack was down twenty bucks but the group was very much into the idea of contests and betting, and a simple introductory workshop had morphed into a series of made-up competitions and feats of physical endurance, including a sprint race through the river with waders on that Jack was mildly concerned would end in someone falling and getting their clothing soaking wet (he had some extras in the truck) and a longest-cast contest. Uncle Jasper introduced them to an old challenge that involved trying to cast to flick a cigarette out of someone’s mouth, and when Jasper put a cigarette between his lips and the guys started egging Jack on, he caved and gave it a shot, succeeding in one go.
It was actually pretty fun, although he had to shut down a couple of unsafe ideas, especially given the fact that there might have been some tippling involved. He could play dumb about that to Celeste, but an accident or injury would be less forgivable.
He’d thought the contests had distracted them, but when the best man, Kurt, tried to convince the group to shed their gear and skinny-dip, touting the benefits of a cold plunge, Jack knew he was in trouble.
“Nah, we’re going to keep our clothes on, gents,” he said. “You guys ever seen Stand By Me ? You think those leeches were big, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
It was a bald-faced lie, but it seemed to do the trick, and the comment was met with boisterous laughter from the group.
Jeff came over and patted him on the back. “You’re the best, man,” he said. The whiff of whiskey on Jeff’s breath left him with no question that the groom would soon be three sheets to the wind.
Jack took a deep breath in. He’d for sure be in the doghouse with Celeste, but some food was exactly what this group needed.
“All right,” he called. “Who’s ready for lunch?”
*
It was shortly after one when Celeste pulled into the forest clearing where they’d arranged to meet. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, but she was early and wanted to get all set up before the group arrived back from their session.
The sun shone bright overhead as Celeste pulled the catering trays from the back of the van, then wheeled the lamps over to the picnic tables.
The meal was simple but hearty: a tray of boeuf bourguignon, with a chickpea stew for the vegetarian, roasted vegetables and garlic potatoes, Jeannie’s famous brussels sprout coleslaw, and homemade root beer from Best Case Brewery in town. She’d packed the remaining loaves of sourdough bread and butter from breakfast, and the cherry cheesecake she lugged out of the back of the van must have weighed twenty pounds.
Once everything was set up, Celeste perched on the picnic table, scrolling through her phone as she waited.
She heard before she saw them: male voices loudly singing “Home for a Rest” rang clear through the air. When she looked up from her phone, she saw the crew of them wading through the riverbanks toward her, gesticulating and marching in a way that was decidedly…festive.
He didn’t.
One by one, the fishers emerged from the river toward her, some walking in a staggered fashion that couldn’t be wholly attributed to the uneven ground.
She was going to kill Jack.
Her blood started to boil. “There she is! Madame Butterfly!” Kurt exclaimed, arms raised, his bucket hat askew. “We come bearing gifts!”
Jeff and the his dad, walking side by side with their arms around each other’s shoulders, were now chanting something that Celeste guessed was a sports team cheer of some kind. Jeff held a cooler, which he extended to her as they approached. “Here! Dinner for tonight!” he said. He stopped and surveyed the immaculately laid out picnic tables. Celeste suddenly regretted the white tablecloths. She’d have been smarter to bring plastic bibs.
Jack was at the back of the group, holding another cooler and a net, and looking at her sheepishly. He appeared to be sober, a fact that was keeping her from spearing him with one of his fishing rods.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly when he was right next to her. “They had flasks in their backpacks. I couldn’t stop them.”
Celeste faked a wide grin for the benefit of the guests, who were circling the picnic table. One of them made no attempt to hide another deep tip of his flask. “Kassie is going to kill me,” she hissed. Not only that, but she was also going to give the lodge a terrible review on her social media, and the Keystone Ridge Resort was going to see that rating, and Celeste was 100 percent going to be out of the running for the management job.
“Let’s get them some food, sober them up, then I’ll take them back out for a bit. They’ll be totally fine by the time we get back to the lodge,” Jack said, his eyes pleading.
Celeste clenched her jaw. “All right, everyone!” she said, doing her best to project a tone of jovial merriment. “Time to eat!”
Amazingly, the party were able to serve themselves, although the tablecloth would likely have to be discarded there was so much spillage.
Celeste poured root beers, which were tasty enough to distract the group from substituting with more alcohol and made sure their cups stayed full in hopes that they’d rehydrate a bit. After twenty minutes, she was able to sit down and rest for a moment while the group enjoyed their lunch.
“I’m really sorry,” Jack said, joining her at the empty picnic table with a plate. “Honestly. I think sometimes these things just take on a life of their own. And…at the end of the day, it’s pretty tame for a bachelor party. Groom’s day out, I mean.”
“I get it,” Celeste said. It was also Jeff’s wedding, and if this was something that made the weekend more special for him, she had to respect that. Even if it came at the cost of her plans to salvage her career.
When she looked over at Jack, he had a funny look on his face. He chewed and swallowed, then looked at her intently. “This,” he said, “is the most unbelievable field meal I’ve ever tasted.”
“You can tell that to Jeannie,” she said.
“And the guys are clearly happy.”
Celeste looked over at the other picnic table. “Jeff Grant likes to appear low maintenance—a ‘down-to-earth guy’s guy.’ But he likes the finer things in life.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Well, firstly, he gets highlights. That baby-soft skin is the product of a monthly facial. He’s wearing a Comme des Garcons T-shirt under that fleece, and when I mentioned the word bespoke attached to this expedition, he nearly fell over swooning. I know his type. This was not a cellophane-wrapped-sandwich kind of day.”
“Huh,” Jack said, a funny look in his eyes. “You’re perceptive, that’s for sure. Now I’m feeling all self-conscious. You’re going to figure out all my secrets.”
Celeste grinned. “I had you all figured out two minutes after walking into your classroom.” Which wasn’t true, not in the slightest. Jack had already surprised her on more than one occasion.
“Well, whatever that superpower is, it’s working. These guys haven’t shut up all day, and yet I haven’t heard a peep out of them since they started eating.”
“Happy to be of service.”
Jack took another bite of his meal. “I should start serving this every day,” he said. “People will sign up just for the lunch.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I mean, the cloth napkins might be a little over the top.”
Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Nothing wrong with a little elegance. Who doesn’t love being pampered?”
“Speaking of elegance…” Jack said, looking over at Kurt, who had his back to them but was clearly peeing into the river.
Celeste’s jaw dropped, then she buried her head in her arm on the table. “Gross. Oh my goodness,” she said, stifling a giggle and turning to look the other way. “Is this how people behave on your tours? You need to institute a code of conduct.”
“And you need to institute a practice of searching bags for Crown Royal,” Jack said. He took another bite of his stew. “Seriously. I need this recipe.”
Celeste smiled. “I’ll pack you whatever’s left over.”
She spent the next thirty minutes encouraging the group to grab seconds, topping off their root beers with what was left, then, with Jack’s help, packing up the catering bins and loading her truck, then bidding the group farewell as they departed for the remainder of the afternoon. Jack had (wisely, in Celeste’s opinion) gauged that the group wasn’t going to do much more in the way of productive fishing and had decided to tour them around in the drift boat in the bay near the Thompson Marina for another hour and show them the sights, then get them back to the lodge slightly earlier than originally planned, in time to nap off the alcohol before that night’s rehearsal dinner.
There was a moment working with Jack that she’d felt like they were a team, a partnership. Like she could confide in him, trust him. Working all these years for her parents, she’d never experienced that before. She’d always felt like, well, their kid. And the idea of being on someone’s level, working toward a shared goal—it had felt good. Really good.
But the last thing she needed at this point in her life was to latch on to something else that she’d only stand to lose.
*
It was late afternoon when Celeste returned to the lodge. The sun was big and hazy in the sky, and when she entered through the back, she found her mother pulling a rack of gougères from the oven. “Hi, honey,” Jeannie said. “How’d it go?”
Celeste was about to answer but was interrupted by peals of laughter coming from the great room. “Good. Sounds like all’s well here?”
Jeannie raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me it’ll be early to bed tonight.”
“Well, whatever state Jeff and company return in, they’ll be absolved.”
As suspected, when Celeste poked her head into the great room, there were empty cocktail coupes and open bottles of Laurent-Perrier amid the table of cupcakes and macarons on the table. It was the bride’s mother, Victoria, whose eyes were the glossiest, and no wonder—she looked to be about ninety pounds soaking wet.
No one noticed Celeste, so she quietly passed through the hallway back to the kitchen, where Mariana was helping Jeannie putting the finishing touches on the tiered seafood tower. She passed her mother the cooler of rainbow trout.
“The snapper arrived while you were gone,” Jeannie said. “We can freeze these. Everything’s almost done. What time will they be back?”
“Jack took them out for another hour or so to sober up,” Celeste said. She put her finger up to her lips. “Shh.”
Jeannie smiled and shook her head. “Well, at least no one drowned,” she said.
“Don’t jinx us,” said Celeste, rapping on the wood countertop. “How’s Dad?”
“Still has a bit of a fever. He’s sleeping. I’m trying not to go too close. The last thing we need is for the rest of us to get sick.”
“Agreed,” said Celeste.
“So, this guide,” said Jeannie. She soaped up her hands and started rubbing them vigorously under the running water. “He’s good? Maybe he can be our new backup.”
Celeste passed her mother a tea towel. “It seems to have worked out,” she said, trying to hide her enthusiasm.
“Well, thanks for arranging that so last minute. He was a real lifesaver.”
Celeste couldn’t disagree with that. “I’ll go check and see if anyone needs anything in the great room,” she said.
As she moved between the kitchen and the great room, where the chatter and laughter was still alive and well, Celeste’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. “ We’re heading back. See you soon. Everyone on best behavior ,” read the message.
Celeste smiled to herself. “ 10-4 ,” she replied. She stopped in the bathroom next to the office to check her hair in case Jack decided to come in. She let out a sigh of both exasperation and something else—excitement? She didn’t want to want Jack to come in. She didn’t want to loiter near the door in case he was simply planning to drop off the group, then continue on with his day, so that she could pop her head out and thank him in person before he took off. But here she was.
She wanted it.
She wanted him.