Chapter 6
Chapter Six
IRIS
I ris sipped her pumpkin spice-flavored coffee as Sam took another turn up into a dense forest. She somehow only wanted silly, sweet lattes as it turned chilly. It felt like a kickoff to something special, like an extra twinkly Christmas or an extra crisp fall.
They’d had an uneventful rest of their stay at the Oasis at Canterbury. She’d honestly found the experience kind of boring. How many leaves could one peep, really?
She and Sam had been eager to leave that morning and find a bathroom that did not require the other person to climb down two flights of stairs.
They were on the way to their third of seven inns, Happy Glamping. “I’ve read up on the founder of the next place,” Iris said excitedly.
“Shocker,” Sam retorted as he peered at the GPS. They drove around a huge, mirror-still lake with mist creeping in at the edges.
“He’s a former tech mogul who sold off his company and doubled down on his investment in green tourism. He’s written five books, including a guide on how to turn the world around by making everything more intense .”
Sam raised an eyebrow at her.
She loved that challenge in his eyes. It meant he cared as much as she did. Bart had been easygoing and rarely paid much attention when she got going on a tirade. He’d been interested in a cookie-cutter life, and she’d fooled herself into thinking that he was the only one who’d ever make her happy.
But as it turned out? She could make herself happy.
And she wanted more than a cookie-cutter life. She wanted it all, and she wanted a challenge. Maybe if I nail the article, Ben will see how adventurous I can be and give me the Discover and Dwell role.
“It looks like you have some opinions you’d like to share,” she said.
“Mmm, I know this founder guy’s type.” Sam rubbed his chin. It was his version of rolling his eyes.
“He might be at the inn. I’m hoping I’ll get an exclusive interview with him. He’s considered one of the top one hundred geniuses of our time. It says so on the back of his book,” she said, pulling out a copy from her bag.
Sam snorted as he drove. “If they have cups filled with Kool-Aid, please don’t drink any.”
She thwacked him with the book as the car turned onto a gravel road. “You’re jealous because he’s so young and he’s done so much.”
“I know the Venn diagram between sociopaths and CEOs has a pretty big overlap. And I think his might be a circle.”
They drove past a sign that said “Happy Glamping: an intense-forward, low ecological impact community.”
“I thought we were only going to inns?” Sam said as he slowed onto the gravel road.
“They have a main building that’s an inn, but also tiny homes and ‘ecological super stays,’” she said, checking her notes. She shrugged. “Maybe the editorial staff wanted to mix it up.”
It felt like camp to Iris as they drove onto the property. “Did you ever go to camp?” she said idly. They drove down the meandering gravel path, past unique tiny houses, makeshift tents, and tiny cabins all strung together with Edison lights.
“I did. So my father didn’t have to deal with me for three months of the year.”
Robert Larsson had been—and still was—a celebrated author. Iris was envious at Sam’s leg up in the publishing world. He had an instantly recognizable last name, whereas she had two loving parents who gave terrible job advice (“ Don’t put money in a 401k. That’s the company taking your money.” “Make sure to stay in one job for seven years before moving on. You don’t want to be flaky. ”). They’d never had money for sleepaway camp, so she and Sophia had slept in a tent in the backyard until they got too covered in bug bites.
Maybe Happy Glamping could fill the camp void in her life.
They passed a group of smiling people chatting away. One chopped wood as they laughed with the people sitting across from them. They all wore puffy vests and flannel, and sipped from handmade ceramic mugs.
Her nose pressed to the glass as they drove by. “I hope they have a place to make pottery.” This is going to be the best place yet. Fresh air, more happy people than I’ve seen at the other two inns. She’d start drafting her article and put feeling into it.
But not because Sam said to. Because I want to , she decided.
Couples of all genders and ethnicities walked hand in hand through the campsite, chatting and smiling. Some carrying baskets of hand-picked greenery or bushels of apples. Some leisurely strolled between the cabins as an acoustic guitar played somewhere.
As they walked into the main inn, the smell of pastries and baking bread enveloped her like an old friend.
“Smells good,” Sam said with a noncommittal shrug as they walked in with their bags.
They looked for a reservation desk and instead saw even more smiling people walking past them.“Maybe we’re in the wrong building?”
There were several small, old buildings reclaimed from past lives as maybe a schoolhouse or a farm on the property. The one they’d walked into had wide, dark oak planks that felt sturdy under Iris’s feet. She peeked around the corner to see a kitchen with enormously tall ceilings, tall windows, and honest-to-god pies cooling on the windowsill, covered in latticework and sugar.
“Can someone help us find the reservation desk? Do you work here?”Sam asked.
A serene woman with long hair appeared.“I’m Ember. I don’t work here, but it is my pleasure to furtherance our mission. Come with me.”
“Yeah, that’s a totally normal thing to say,” Sam said, leaning in to whisper into Iris’s ear.
Iris elbowed him in his side. “No worse than two ponchos and a pilgrimage,” she whispered back.
Candles were lit throughout the dim space flanked by antique books and dried flowers in old vases. Workers wore flowing dresses, organic material like flannel, and worn canvas pants, reminding her of a high-end photography shoot.
“You see no one’s on their phones?” she said with excitement over her shoulder, as they followed Ember. “This is a simple way of life,” she said as they curved around the winding building.
“Let me get Tags,” Ember offered.
“We’re meeting Tags Cunningham, the founder? Oh my gosh.”A flutter of nerves and excitement rolled in her stomach.
This was it; this was the chance she’d been waiting for. A chance to interview a notable executive. Maybe this could even be a sub-feature within the article. Oh! Or maybe she could form a connection with him and come back for another outlet. Grow her empire?—
“There’s something creepy about the vibe here,” Sam said, searching for hidden cameras.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m so glad you all are here.” A spindly white man with long hair and a beanie pulled over it, wearing an expensive watch, walked toward them. “I’m so thrilled you were able to make time for us in your schedule.”
Sam stared at Iris with confusion.
“Oh, we’re here celebrating our two-year anniversary,” Iris said to Tags, but mostly for Sam’s benefit.
Tags clasped her hands. “Yes, and you’re spending it with us. We take that seriously.” Tags looked Iris dead in the eyes with an intense sincerity that was overwhelming.
“I’m a big fan. I’ve been reading your books,” Iris said, her hands still clasped in Tags. Was he gonna let go soon?
“Thank you. I appreciate you. That means a lot to me, Iris and Sam. It’s good to meet you, brother,” he said, sticking a hand out and clapping Sam on the shoulder like they were old friends.
Oh god, maybe Sam was right? Was Tags a teensy bit weird?
“Let me show you where you’re going to stay with us. Since you’re celebrating, we’ve put you in one of our extra intense stays,” he said, jogging ahead of them as Sam leaned over Iris’s shoulder and picked up her bag without her asking.
“If there are any handcuffs involved, we’re running.”
“I’m surprised you have time for this,” Iris said, catching up with Tags and ignoring Sam. “I know you’re involved in a lot of businesses.”
They were practically jogging to keep up with him through the rows of tiny houses, cabins, and tents.
“I like to take a hands-on approach to Happy Glamping. It’s an important part of the way the future will work: us all being in an intense community together. Here’s where we have you, our Wanderlust Wagon.”
A delighted squeak leapt out of Iris’s mouth before she could contain it.“Oh my gosh, I’ve always wanted to stay in one of these,” her voice filled with genuine awe.
A sunburst-pink 1960s VW bus had been converted into a tiny home. It was connected with glowing string lights to the buildings around it and had a cute welcome sign, a little welcome mat, and a table and chairs outside.
She wiggled side to side with excitement. Sam looked less than impressed.
Tags leaned against a tree. “We hope you’ll be so comfortable here. We want to be intentional about our ecological footprint, so the facilities are shared and completely organic,” he said, pointing to a row of outhouses.
Sam groaned behind her. He was going to ruin her one chance to connect with a mogul .
She brightened in response to make up for his bad attitude. “I’d love to know more about how you’re offsetting your carbon footprint,” she asked. They still used some electricity with the string lights and fans she’d seen in the houses.
“Our volunteers take turns powering our lights and any needed generators with bike power. By the way this location also comes with a tent if you’d rather sleep under the stars,” he said, pointing as Ember came to escort him to the next appointment. “I have to counsel a couple I’m going to marry this weekend, but I hope to see you at the bonfire later.”
Tags and Ember floated away, heads together, emphatically planning something with wide smiles.
She bounced on her toes, trying to contain herself. “I’ve always loved VW buses, especially the old ones,” Iris said with an excited clap as she climbed into it.
Sam set his things down on the ground outside of the van as they climbed in.“I’ll sleep in the tent,” Sam said with resignation.Sam was built like a Viking and took up a comically large amount of space in the antique bus.
It had a small sink, drawers for toiletries, a driver’s seat, a record player, and a nearly queen-sized bed with additional string lights lit up over it. A fluffy linen duvet covered the mattress, and handmade quilts sat at the foot of the bed. She couldn’t wait to make a cup of tea and curl into bed that evening all by herself. Plus, she could finally work out the lust that had been building with a little self-care , since she wouldn’t be next to Sam.
“You sure you’re okay sleeping outside?” she said, second-guessing herself.
“I’d need to see a chiropractor if I was in here for too long,” he said, looking around. “Before you set your things down?—”
“I know, I know. Photos, photos, photos,” she said, flapping her hands as they hopped out.
After a few hours of downtime, they wandered through the campground to find the bonfire. They grabbed vegan sandwiches from a tray and found a log to sit on at the bonfire.
Sam sat next to her, closer than normal, and he looked around warily.
Tags was strumming on a guitar as several others banged tambourines, singing along to an old seventies hippie acoustic classic. The firelight sparkled, highlighting the smiles of people around the campfire.
Ember walked by with a tray of large, homemade, hand-cut marshmallows. “I made cinnamon marshmallows today. Would you like some?”
Iris smirked at Sam but said with genuine excitement, “One thousand percent we would.”
Sam smiled politely as he took one. “I didn’t know cults could make such great desserts.”
“Oh, we’re not a cult. We’re an intense-living community,” Ember said without malice. “I hope you enjoy.”
They both stuck their huge marshmallows onto whittled branches.
“It looks good,” Sam said, inspecting the marshmallow the size of his hand. “But will we end up on a documentary if we eat it and they find our bodies ten days from now?”
“C’mon, embrace the experience, Sam. What I wouldn’t give for an enormous chocolate bar and Graham cracker, but I will be happy with my low ecological impact marshmallow all the same.”
Sam leaned. “So, you’re really not getting a culty vibe?”
It felt intoxicating to be here. Like nothing could go wrong. They were safe and happy, enjoying nature. “It looks like a lot of people who have the same values enjoying their time together, including guests who are here for a short weekend stay.”
They rotated their marshmallows over the fire in silence.
“And the vibes from Tags, the man who goes by not one inanimate object, but a whole bunch of them? Super weird.”
She bumped his shoulder. “He can’t help his name.”
“He can help what he goes by as an adult,” Sam said, inspecting his marshmallow to see if it had been properly roasted. “Watch it.” He pointed at Iris’s marshmallow that was currently ablaze.
The small ball of fire at the end of her stick was perfect. “I’m roasting it, Sam. This is how you do it.”
“Roasting is not a synonym for ruining, Bertone,” Sam said with alarm and grabbed for her stick. She dodged with practiced ease.
“ This is how you roast a marshmallow.”
His eyes were large with dismay. “ That is how you lose a marshmallow to the fire. It’s gonna melt off your stick.”
The amount of alarm in his voice for a block of sugar made her laugh out loud. “You worry about the dumbest things.” She blew on it until the flame fizzled out.
A charred blackened husk remained around the marshmallow block.“See? Perfectly done,” she said happily, pulling it off of the branch and feeling the gooey meltiness of it hit her tongue.The crackle of the burned and smoky marshmallow contrasted with the cinnamon and sugar, swirling into a mixture of smoke and caramelized edges.
She closed her eyes and moaned around it. “Oh my god. I don’t know what we paid to stay here, but it was worth the price of this.”
“You literally put a coal in your mouth,” Sam said as he showed her his perfectly browned marshmallow. “See? All you needed was a little patience for perfection.”
“Some of us don’t have time for patience. Some of us like to grab life by the marshmallows and burn them.”
“Let’s see if this is worth the price of the Kool-Aid,” he said, taking a bite of his perfectly roasted marshmallow. His eyes closed in much the same way that Iris’s had.
“Oh fuck,” he muttered as he moaned, savoring each bite. “I mean, how bad can one cult really be?”
Iris clutched her heart.“Did you agree with me on something?”
“Baked goods have never been a problem between us. Whether a hot dog is a sandwich or a taco, however…”
“Or whether a taco is a sandwich,” Iris countered.
“See? We can’t even agree on that.”
Their infamous debate had finally broken the high school advisor. She’d made them debate team co-captains because they’d filibustered for four hours about it and she couldn’t take it any longer.
“It’s not so bad here. People are happy, there’s not a selfie in sight, no one’s zoned out with a partner next to them. Everyone’s connecting over a shared love of burnt sugar.” She licked the goo off of her fingers and Sam’s eyes traced the movement.
It kind of made her want to lick her fingers again.
“You should be put in front of a war crime tribunal for what you did to that marshmallow.” The warmth in his smile belied his words though.
As she sucked in a breath to respond to his outrageous accusation, a giant drop of water hit her eye. The pitter-patter of a sudden rainstorm started as people around the fire looked up. Thunder cracked and suddenly, sheets of rain poured down as everyone ran for cover.
The ground was a mushy mess of leaves and mud as they ran, trying to find their van.
As Iris ran, each step got harder and harder, pulling on her shoes until she stepped forward and found one socked foot in mud. Her shoe had been completely stuck in ankle-deep mud.
Sam was steps ahead of her but looked back when she dropped his hand. She hadn’t even realized they’d been running hand in hand through the rain. They were completely drenched.
“My shoe!” she cried. She struggled on one foot, trying not to fall over. She grabbed for her shoe covered in mud.
“Come on,” he yelled, bending down and pointing to his back. “Hop on.”
“I can’t do that,” she yelled back. Iris was a sturdy girl. She rarely thought about her size, but it came crashing back in times like this. She wasn’t a simple person to pick up like the featherweight girls she’d seen Sam with in the past.
“C’mon.”
“Absolutely not!” she shouted to be heard over the thunder and rain as she struggled to put on her shoe, falling off to the side and her socked foot squishing in mud.
“Woman,” he yelled. “Get. On.” He blinked at her through furrowed brows, rain rolling off of them.
God, he does look like a Viking . “Alright. But if we both go down, you have to concede.”
“Never,” he yelled with a growing smile as thunder cracked.He knew exactly what she’d meant.
She slapped her hands emphatically. “By the laws of logic, a hot dog is a sandwich, Larsson!”
“Well then I won’t fall, will I?”
Ugh, fine . She wrapped her arms around his neck and put one leg around his hip and jumped up with the other leg. To his credit, he didn’t miss a step and instead ran the last 300 feet in the pouring rain to their VW bus.
They unlocked the door, and he turned around so she could hop onto the first step, rather than step in mud.
She turned around as he walked away.
“Come in,” she yelled. They had stored his bag in the VW bus. “You can’t sleep out there tonight.”
The tent was pummeled as rain shot down in thick sheets.
He stepped into the van.“But you were rid of me for one night.”
He wiped the water out of his eyes and puffed out a breath, waiting for her response as it thundered outside the open door.
His hair was curled from the water dripping down the side of his cheek. It glistened against the stubble of his beard, and she wanted to brush it away with her lips. Feel the plastered shirt against his chest that was two inches from hers. She ached at the thought of putting her head against his chest and having his arms crushed around her. A low throb started. Raw, unfiltered desire overwhelmed her.
Oh no. A crashing realization hit her: she wanted him.
His attractiveness had moved out of the theoretical and into her pants .
They were out of breath from the run, and in the low light between them, a moment caught. He stared at the lips she bit as she tried to sort out the tilting world in front of her. Neither moved in the open door of the van.
“Stay,” she said, her eyes never leaving his.
Water dripped off of his cheek, and she reached out a hand to wipe it away but then yanked it back.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay.”