Chapter 23
LARK
The cabin is tucked away down a private road that winds through towering pine trees, their branches heavy with snow even though it’s late August. Jack navigates the rental SUV carefully around the final curve, and then the cabin comes into view. “Holy shit.”
“Worth the spontaneous booking?” Jack asks, glancing over at me.
“Jack, this is bonkers.” I lean forward to see better through the windshield. “You said cabin. This is not a cabin. This is like a luxury mountain estate situation.”
He laughs. “My friend owns a few properties up here. I stayed at one years ago but never this specific one. Photos looked good though.”
“Photos did not do it justice,” I tell him, still staring.
The place is a mix of warm wood and stone, with massive windows that seem to take up entire walls.
Mountains rise up behind it, their peaks still white with snow against the evening sky, and the whole thing looks like something out of a magazine spread about how rich people vacation.
We’d grabbed lunch in the town of Banff after landing in Calgary, burgers at this place called Melissa’s that Jack swore by, and the whole drive up into the alpine I kept checking my phone.
People are still losing their minds about whether we’re real or fake, dissecting every photo, building elaborate conspiracy theories.
Maren had texted a few times, checking in about LA and the tabloid explosion.
Jack’s phone kept buzzing too, his brothers wanting to know what the hell was going on with the rumors.
He’d sent them a quick message saying he’d explain everything later, that it was complicated but we were fine.
But being here, tucked away in the mountains with Jack, all of that already feels distant.
We grab our bags and crunch through the thin layer of snow to the front door. The air is cold and clean, completely different from the LA heat we left behind this morning. Jack punches in a code and pushes the door open, and I stop in the doorway because what the hell.
“Okay, now you’re just showing off,” I tell him.
Soaring ceilings with exposed wooden beams. A massive stone fireplace taking up an entire wall.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing that ridiculous mountain view.
The furniture is a mix of buttery leather and plush fabrics, fur throws draped over chairs, and warm lighting that makes everything feel expensive and inviting at the same time.
“Is this too much?” Jack asks. “Cause you know, if you want to head back to Dark River tonight I can just—”
“Don’t you dare.” I set my bag down and walk straight to the massive windows. The mountains are going purple and gold as the sun sets behind them, stars just starting to appear. “This is perfect. Completely nuts and perfect.”
He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Good. Because we’re not leaving until we’re ready to face the world again.”
“Dangerous promise,” I say, leaning back against him. “Might be a while.”
“I’m counting on it,” he murmurs against my neck, and I smile.
The rest of the place is just as ridiculous.
The kitchen has marble countertops and fancy appliances.
The main living area has leather couches arranged around the stone fireplace, a full bar setup in one corner, and a pool table with pristine green felt.
It’s the kind of space that belongs in a magazine spread about luxury mountain living.
Upstairs there’s a loft area with built-in bookshelves and reading chairs that look perfect for curling up in. And the master suite has this enormous bed with bedding that looks criminally soft, yet another fireplace, and windows that frame the mountain view perfectly.
“I’m never leaving this room,” I announce, flopping dramatically onto the bed. It’s even softer than it looks.
“Works for me,” Jack says, and pulls me up into a kiss that makes my toes curl and my brain forget how to function properly.
After unpacking, we both shower, the hot water washing away all the travel grime. Jack finishes first and heads downstairs while I blow-dry my hair. The last few weeks with Jack have been better than I ever could have imagined. We fit together in a way that still surprises me sometimes.
After Brandon, part of me wondered if I’d ever have something like this again.
If I’d ever be able to trust someone enough to let them all the way in, or if those walls I’d built would be permanent.
But Jack has this way of slipping past every defense I’ve ever constructed.
He’s bright and warm and somehow he makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt with anyone.
I change into leggings and an oversized sweater and head back downstairs. Jack’s already there, a fire crackling in that massive fireplace, two glasses of red wine poured and waiting.
“Look at you being all domestic,” I tease, accepting the glass he offers.
He laughs. “Hidden talents.” He nods toward the windows. “Come check out the view. It’s even better now.”
We walk over together and I stop when I see it. The mountains are just dark shapes against the evening sky, stars scattered everywhere like someone spilled glitter across black velvet.
Jack wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close. The fire crackles behind us, and standing here with him, wine in my hand, mountains outside the window, I feel this overwhelming sense of rightness. Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” I say, taking a sip of wine. It’s good, smooth and rich. “That we just said fuck it and flew to Canada on a whim.”
“Best spontaneous decision we’ve made since the supply closet in Miami,” Jack agrees, two fingers tracing an idle circle on my hip.
I flush, remembering that night, then say, “The tabloid thing already feels far away, which is probably bad. I should be worried about damage control or managing the narrative or whatever.”
“That’s the point of being here.” He sets his glass on the window ledge and turns me to face him. “Thomas is handling the statement. It’ll blow over eventually. And we get to just be here without anyone watching or analyzing every photo we post or deciding what’s real and what’s fake.”
“Just us,” I say quietly.
“Just us,” he confirms.
The silence stretches out, comfortable and easy, the kind you can only have with someone when you don’t need to fill every second with words.
The mountains fade completely into darkness, more stars appearing, and I can’t believe how right this feels.
How much I want days like this to stretch on forever.
Adventures with him, quiet moments with him, all of it.
“You know,” Jack says eventually, and I turn to look at him. There’s this mischievous glint in his eyes that I’m starting to recognize as trouble. “I think you still owe me a game of pool.”
The memory hits me immediately—that first night at the Black Lantern, when he’d tried to get me to play and I’d turned him down to be responsible and work. When this whole crazy fake dating thing started because I was trying to one-up Brandon and Jack swooped in like some rom-com hero.
“Oh, do I now?” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face.
“You do.” He nods toward the game room. “I mean I’ve heard so much about your legendary pool skills, but I never actually got to see them in action.”
“I was working!” I protest. “Someone had to serve drinks to your victims after you destroyed them at pool.”
“Excuses, excuses.” He offers up that full, dimpled grin that does dangerous things to my pulse. “But now we’re here. No work, no responsibilities, no excuses. Just you, me, and a pool table.”
“You’re really going to regret this challenge,” I warn him, and I’m already setting down my wine glass. That competitive spark is fully ignited now.
“We’ll see about that,” he says.
I head over to the pool table and select a cue, testing the weight and balance in my hands. Jack racks the balls and steps back. “You want to break?”
“Absolutely.” I chalk my cue, line up my shot, and break with a crack that sends balls scattering across the table. The ten ball drops cleanly into a corner pocket. “Stripes it is,” I announce, maybe a little smugly.
“Show off,” Jack says.
I sink two more balls before finally missing, and then it’s his turn. He moves around the table, studying angles, lining up each shot carefully. Ball after ball drops into pockets with satisfying thuds, and I’m remembering why he was so good at beating Mike and his friends that first night.
“Still as good as ever, I see,” I say, watching him line up yet another shot.
“Can’t let you win too easily,” he says with zero shame.
“Please. You’re just stalling the inevitable,” I counter, laughing.
He finally misses and steps back. “Your turn.”
The game gets seriously competitive after that.
Trading shots, trading trash talk, both of us completely focused on winning.
The fire crackles and pops beside us, casting warm flickering light across the table, and every time we pass each other there’s this electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the game.
I’m down to my last two balls when I line up what should be a relatively easy shot. But before I can take it, Jack moves to stand directly in my line of sight. Arms crossed. Smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Excuse me,” I say sweetly, not moving from my position bent over the table. “You’re in my way.”
“Am I?” He doesn’t budge. “Didn’t notice.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Not cheating,” he says, that smirk getting wider. “I always fight dirty when there’s something I want.”
His eyes have gone dark and they’re focused entirely on me in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with pool and everything to do with the way I’m bent over this table. The intensity of his gaze makes heat flood through me.
“Well you’re going to lose anyway,” I tell him, my eyes not leaving his. “Might as well move and accept your fate with some dignity.”