Chapter Nine
“Maybe we should go to the festival this evening,” Kendall suggested, eyeing the groceries Sloane was depositing in the backseat of the Jeep.
Kendall had already suggested it once, right after they’d interviewed another family, the Mickelson family, and had gotten a very abrupt, Not tonight, Kendall.
But asking again, now that the work day was over and Sloane seemed slightly more relaxed after snacking on a protein bar on the way out of the grocery store, felt like a safer bet. There was a good chance she’d say yes.
Kendall was hopeful.
But when Sloane climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door without a single word, that hope dwindled just a little. Even more when Sloane stayed silent, buckling her seatbelt. And then it had completely vanished when the woman wordlessly turned on the ignition, the engine growling to life.
Kendall was just about to bring it up again. Her lips were already parted when Sloane cut in. “I’m really not in the mood to be festive. Can we do a raincheck? Maybe tomorrow. All I want is to take a hot bath.”
“Fine,” Kendall said, feeling less disappointed and more unsettled, because, for a split second back there, she’d imagined joining Sloane in that bath.
Bubbles and steam and entangled limbs. Quickly shaking that thought out of her head before it could take root, she added, “Did you at least buy wine?”
“Of course I did,” Sloane smirked, reaching an arm back to one of the bags. She fumbled for a few seconds and then finally pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “You look like you might need it.”
“Is that an insult?”
“An observation,” Sloane remarked. “Don’t think I didn’t notice those tears in your eyes when we were interviewing Ms. Jacobs.”
“There were onions in the kitchen,” Kendall stated, refusing to think of the woman’s pained expression when she spoke about losing her home. “I’m allergic to onions.”
“I call bullshit.”
The way Sloane was smiling—so unguarded, so bright, as if that usual icy grip holding her lips together had suddenly melted—gave Kendall’s heart a little flutter.
“Fine,” she said, chewing at her cheek, not wanting to get ahead of herself.
Flutters like that were dangerous. But it was obvious, wasn’t it?
Sloane was warming up to her. Albeit still lukewarm with every chance of freezing up again.
But it was progress. Slow. A tiptoe in the right direction.
“You caught me red-handed. Just because I’m a firefighter, and everyone thinks we’re strong and such bad asses, doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. ”
“I never said you were bad ass,” Sloane teased, driving that flutter in Kendall’s chest to a whole new, dizzying height.
Kendall had to get control of herself. She had to push down that memory of their failed blind date and when Sloane had kissed her so deep her heart had raced like a rollercoaster.
She even gave her head a little shake, trying to focus on something else.
Like how Sloane had spoken to her with pure contempt only a few days ago in the boardroom, or how she’d told her off only yesterday.
But in between all of that, were those tiny, fleeting, flickering moments: Sloane teasing her about the calendar shoot, the two of them sitting out on that deck last night, watching the stars, the way Sloane had knocked, softly, politely on her door this morning, offering coffee.
“What does the listing say again?” Sloane asked, thankfully oblivious to the feelings stirring in Kendall’s belly. Those very feelings she was desperately trying to stomp down in her mind. “I wasn’t really listening to you this morning.”
“I noticed,” Kendall shot Sloane a side-eye before grabbing her phone and opening the Airbnb app.
Booking accommodations had been tricky given the town’s wine festival and how everything had been filled up. But somehow, luck had been on their side and Kendall had managed to find a small cabin.
She found the listing and read it out loud. “Escape to this quaint, charming lakeside retreat. Our home is equipped with two beds, a fully loaded kitchen, and a single bathroom. Perfect for anyone looking for a relaxing getaway.”
“It’s even got a lake view,” Kendall added, shoving the phone toward Sloane. She had just turned off the main road. On the screen was a picturesque blue lake fringed with pine trees. “I can’t think of anything better than relaxing out on that deck after today.”
She could already picture collapsing into a lounger, the evening sun baking her face while the lake shimmered beyond.
She imagined sipping wine, allowing the alcohol to ease away the tension from the day, and she imagined Sloane sitting in the chair beside her, telling stories of her past documentaries. in
An evening of serenity.
The drive to the cabin was quick. They drove out of the town and onto a narrow road flanked by Jeffry Pines. But the closer they got to their destination; the worse Kendall felt.
The cabin in front of them looked nothing like the pictures.
Yes, it had that same squat, boxy structure and yes, the paint was a sage green with white-rimmed windows, but everything was either peeling or faded.
The paint on the exterior of the house, on the deck, on the little porch swing that hung lopsidedly from a rusted chain looked decades older than the photos.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sloane grunted, cutting the ignition.
“Are we even at the right place? Maybe we missed the house.” She whipped her head around as if expecting to find another house down the road, but there was nothing but this one.
And the mailbox clearly read number nine. They were at the right place.
Except the quaint, charming lakeside retreat was anything but quaint… or charming.
Sloane didn’t get out. Kendall would’ve stayed in the vehicle too, reconsidering their options, but she was the one who had booked the place and had to take responsibility for the mess.
“Let me just check it out,” she said, uncertain. There was a tiny part of her—one she didn’t want to say out loud—that was terrified Sloane might just drive away without her. The woman didn’t seem beyond such a thing. “I’m sure it’s amazing inside.”
But Kendall was wrong. The inside was somehow worse.
As soon as she stepped in, the smell hit her.
It was musty and stale, as if someone had locked up the cabin back in the nineties and never bothered to crack a window.
The kitchen, albeit fully equipped, was a relic from another era.
It consisted of yellowed linoleum floors, avocado green appliances, and a fridge that made a constant, audible hum.
The one good thing about the kitchen was the broad double-hung windows…
but they looked out on a wall of trees. No lake view as promised.
There was a single bathroom. The sink dripped endlessly and when Kendall tried the tap, it became clear that the water pressure was basically nonexistent. The tub itself was a nightmare with a thick layer of grime around it. There would be no hot, relaxing bath for either of them.
Kendall had every urge to leave. Whoever had put up this listing on Airbnb was clearly a scammer.
Then again, maybe she hadn’t vetted the place as well as she should have.
Now that Kendall thought about it, the photos had been a little blurry.
The angles were suspiciously odd. And nowhere in the description had it said anything about modern, upmarket, or even clean.
And it was surprisingly cheap now that she thought about it.
That was probably why Kendall stayed, convincing herself to wander to the bedroom. All they needed was a place to rest their heads for the night. Tomorrow, they could find another cabin, maybe in another town nearby, considering how few options were available thanks to the wine festival.
Besides, the bedroom couldn’t be as bad as the rest of the place, could it? The listing did promise two beds.
But it was just as bad.
The double bed took up nearly the entire space, leaving barely enough room to move around.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sloane exclaimed, suddenly appearing in the bedroom beside Kendall as if she’d materialized out of thin air. She stood so close to Kendall that she could feel the woman’s hot wrath waft off her like steam. “There’s only one bed!”
“It must be a mistake,” Kendall said quickly, wondering how the hell she could fix this mess.
“There’s probably another bed somewhere else.
Maybe the couch in the living room is a pull-out.
If it is, I’ll sleep there tonight. You can take this bed.
” She risked a glimpse in Sloane’s direction but regretted it immediately.
The woman looked like she was staring down the end of a barrel.
It was traumatizing. Nightmare inducing.
Kendall wasn’t sure she’d ever forget that face for the rest of her days.
Which, by the look on Sloane’s face, may not be more than one.
“Call the owner and demand our money back,” Sloane said, backing up like the bed was going to grow arms and legs and attack them. “I’m not staying in this dump and I’m definitely not sharing a bed with you.”
“Oh, come on,” Kendall teased, desperate to lighten the mood, to save herself. “It’s not like I bite. I’ve actually been told I’m very pleasant to sleep next to. I don’t even snore.”
But clearly, that was the wrong thing to say.
Sloane huffed, stomped her foot, eliciting a very suspicious creak from the floor, and marched off to the deck. Kendall trailed closely behind, half-expecting she’d have to save Sloane from herself.
Stepping through the sliding doors and onto the deck, Kendall experienced what could only be crushing disappointment.
There was no lake in sight. Just an expanse of trees and overgrown brush that blocked every possible view. The listing had promised lake views, which would’ve made sense twenty years ago before nature had gotten out of hand.
“Did you even look at the reviews?” Sloane said, spinning around to face Kendall. She was keeping just enough distance to remain out of harm’s way.
“I mean… I,” Kendall stammered, not sure how to tell Sloane that she hadn’t bothered with the reviews because there hadn’t exactly been any other options.
It was either stay there or make the hour drive back home, which, frankly, seemed like a good option.
“I guess I didn’t. I’m sorry. I should have. ”
Kendall was just about to suggest the drive back to Los Angeles when she caught herself. Leaving would mean not spending the night with Sloane, and the thought of that left a deep, unsettling emptiness in her chest.
Did Kendall really want to spend time with Sloane? Had she become so accustomed to being around her in two short days that she couldn’t imagine having to say goodbye for the night?
The answer wasn’t simple.
In fact, it might be quite complicated.
“What do you want to do?” Kendall settled on instead, putting the ball in Sloane’s court.
Sloane, who looked to be calming down a fraction, seemed to consider the question.
She darted her head around the house, the yard, the trees blocking the lake view, grimaced a few times, and then exhaled loudly as if she was giving up.
“I’m going to need a lot more than one bottle of Chardonnay to get me through this night. ”
“What are you saying?”
Sloane shrugged. “I guess we’re going to the wine festival.”