Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ZOEY
T he minute the door closes, I slump against it and slide to the floor with a heavy sigh.
Did the guy who almost ran me over seriously just check me out?
Yes, he certainly did.
And something is wrong with me, because I enjoyed it.
For a second, I forgot I was in the presence of a perfect stranger, and I let the weight of his attention lull me into a spell.
It was as if the longer his gaze lingered on my body, the more eagerly I invited him to take his fill, to indulge himself.
I can’t recall the last time a man looked at me with such hunger. I can’t recall the last time it had such an effect on me.
It’s been years since anything but my job has given me that rush.
I gave up on men a long time ago. Even before Jake, if I’m honest with myself.
I don’t have the time or the interest needed to sift through the ocean of liars, cheats, and boys who refuse to grow up.
We had a good run, my love life and I, but finding out Jake spent his Saturdays with his tongue down my best friend’s throat was the nail in her coffin.
I push myself up and shed my damp coat. Once I’ve hung it in the entryway, I begin my exploration of the house.
“Not too shabby,” I murmur as I walk into the main space.
The living room is open to the kitchen and dining room, every inch wrapped in warm wood.
Huge windows line one wall, as though the forest is branching inside.
On the opposite side, tall bookshelves stretch from the floor to the exposed beams, crammed with colorful spines, photos and other memorabilia.
“That must be Oliver,” I say as I shuffle over to the shelves. In one photo, Charlee and a man stand at the top of a cliff, his arms lovingly encircling her waist. Next to it, another frame holds a bunch of folded letters addressed to Charlee.
Against the farthest wall, I spot a fireplace, and a shiver rushes through my body. Time to ditch these wet clothes and get warm.
If only I knew how to make a fire. I can picture it perfectly: me, swaddled in flannel, lounging by the crackling logs, wine in hand, casually flipping through a novel I plucked off the shelf like I do this sort of thing all the time.
But let’s be honest. I’d look up a tutorial, fail, and possibly set off the smoke alarm. The furnace will have to do.
I scour every inch of the main space for the thermostat, even behind the books and the frames hanging on the wall. But still, nothing.
“Don’t tell me there’s no other way to heat this house…” I groan.
I glance behind the couch and under the windows for vents that hint at the presence of a furnace, but the more I search, the more defeat sinks in my stomach.
That’s it. This is how I’m gonna die. Not even a day out of Vancouver, and I’m already screwed. Doomed to slowly slip into hypothermia because I don’t know how to start a fire.
I pull out my phone and connect to the house Wi-Fi. In the browser, I tap on the first “fire-making for dummies” video I find.
I watch it, brows creased. “What the fuck is a kindling?”
Surveying the room, I spot logs neatly stacked next to the hearth and a box of matches. No weird white cube that’s supposed to help me light a fire. No convenient bundle of twigs either.
“Yeah, no. I’m not going outside at this hour to frolic in the dark woods for sticks. I have some survival instincts.”
I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, willing the emotions climbing up my throat to stay the fuck down.
“One thing at a time, Zoey. You’re just tired,” I tell myself, hoping the reminder will keep the tears from flowing.
Though since I’m now talking to myself out loud, I’m not so sure there’s a lot of rationality left in my body.
Am I going delirious from the cold? Is that a thing?
It’s fine. I’ll figure out the fire. If worse comes to worst, I’ll search the place for a warm hoodie to borrow until I can pop into a store tomorrow and buy a few essentials.
Because the clothing I packed is not going to cut it.
I obviously underestimated how cool the nights are here, on top of forgetting to check the heating system of the rental. And the weather app.
“It’s okay,” I say. Out loud. Again. “I’m a resourceful woman.”
If there’s no solution to your problem in sight, create one . My dad burned this into my brain even before I was old enough to understand what a problem was.
Forcing the tears to abate, I grasp the handle of one suitcase and haul it up the stairs leading to the mezzanine where the ad said the bedroom is. When I get to the top, the solution is standing right in front of me.
“Oh, I can absolutely work with that.” With more pep in my step, I stride straight past the gigantic bed to the pristine clawfoot bathtub on the other side. I run a finger alongside the edge and take in the breathtaking view of the lake through the large window.
Maybe my rustic evening fantasy isn’t dead yet.
I turn on the faucet and adjust the temperature, then shed my damp clothes. The goose bumps already covering my body form their own goose bumps when the cool air of the room meets my skin.
When the water level rests just below the overflow drain, I dip a toe and groan with a pleasure bordering on orgasm as the warmth hits me. Without hesitation, I submerge myself, leaving only my head above the steaming surface.
Three weeks.
I spent the first week of the month my dad gave me planning the trip to Pine Falls.
So I only have three weeks to endure this place.
And in that time, I have to secure the plot of land that’s for sale, convince the people of Pine Falls that their town needs this hotel, and coordinate with the construction and operations teams. Then I’ll be gone as quickly as I arrived.
Easy. Sort of.
Three weeks.
Why did I think fresh air and an escape into nature would do me any good?
Selfishly, when I saw Pine Falls on TV, I thought it could give me a break from my exhausting routine.
I figured I’d carve out some time to discover what exists outside of my nine-to-five, which I haven’t done in… I don’t know, almost ten years?
But now what? In a town where I have no reception, where I don’t know anyone, where I have no bearings, what do I do?
I have nothing to do but… wait. Wait for the town hall that’s scheduled a few days from now to discuss the land. Wait to talk to the mayor. Wait for authorization to acquire the plot . Wait, wait, wait .
Ugh.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bleak if I wasn’t alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by total silence. Not a sound in the house. No creaks, no hums. Only my screaming thoughts. And the wind outside, howling like a wounded animal.
It’s unsettling. Almost eerie. It’s too quiet.
I don’t like it.
I sink beneath the surface, and when I come up again, there’s no way to tell the bath water from my hot tears.
Building the hotel here would give me the key to my father’s legacy. But if I’m really honest with myself, the only reason I’m doing this is to convince my dad and his shareholders that I’m more than just a nepo baby. That I’m capable of running the business, of taking over.
But is it truly what I want? I’ve never had the chance to sit down and think about the type of future I’d envisioned for myself.
My dad hardly gave me much agency in that regard, and most of the time, I’m okay with it.
I’m not miserable. I love my job. I make good money, I have a killer apartment, and I always get invited to the best dinners in the city.
I’m thriving.
Am I?
Now that I’ve got five minutes to myself, now that there’s no noise to pull me away from my thoughts, now that I’m bored , I don’t even know what I’d do if I had the freedom to choose.
My brain has gone blank. Crickets. Tumbleweeds rolling with the wind in the desert.
I’m paralyzed. Frightened, really, to earnestly think about that answer and its consequences.
To pull the curtain back on what might be awaiting me on the other side.
The quiet has stripped away the security blanket I’ve clung to since joining my dad’s company, and now, with nothing left to distract me, the mere possibility of a different path grips my throat.
Head resting against the edge of the tub, I close my eyes, trying in vain to stop the tears.
What am I doing with my life?
Despite how hard I work to make it look like I have my shit together, I’m a mess. I’m falling apart. And it didn’t even take twenty-four hours.
I lie in the bath until the water turns cold, until I’m shaking again and the silence screams too loud.
Gathering what’s left of my mental strength, I pull myself up. I’ve just made it to my feet when three sharp knocks sound on the front door.
My heart slams against my chest and my ass hits the bottom of the tub with a splash.
“ What the fuck? ”
I take it back. I like silence.
The knocking starts again, this time harder.
Maybe I should call 911. Yes, that’s exactly what I should do. I stand and wrap a towel around my body. My fingers are inches from my phone when a voice comes through the door, loud and powerful.
“Zoey, it’s Matt.” Bang. Bang. Bang . “You forgot your sunglasses in my truck. Open up!”
“For fuck’s sake,” I seethe.
What do I do? I turn in a circle and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Panic sweeps over me. My hair is a wet, tangled mess, my eyes are red and puffy from crying, I’m still dripping water from the bath, and I’m wearing nothing but a flimsy towel.
“Zoey, are you in there? Are you okay?”
I grunt. “Yes, yes. I’m coming!”
This is just my luck.
Fuck it. I make sure the towel is secured around me, then trudge down the stairs.
On the last step, my wet foot slips on the wood, and I throw my arms out for balance. I catch myself on the kitchen chair. The move sends my towel tumbling to the floor, leaving me stark naked.
“Are you okay?” Matt says from behind the door.
“Yes, I’m coming, two seconds,” I croak, thanking my lucky stars that the front door is solid wood and not glass.
Once I’ve secured the towel again, I cross the room, steadying my breath along the way.
I open the front door to find Matt standing there, smiling. “Hi,” I say, forcing a cheeriness I don’t feel.
Inch by inch, his eyes travel down my body, lingering where my towel clings to my upper thighs.
Every place his gaze caresses bursts into flames.
He curses under his breath and looks away.
Yeah, I really didn’t think that one through, did I? How worked up and turned on his scrutiny could make me.
“You, uh… I… I’m bringing…” He holds out my sunglasses, clearing his throat. “You forgot them in my truck.”
“Thank you.” I take them and put them on the bench behind me. When he doesn’t move, eyes stuck to the porch, I say, “You need anything else?”
“No, nope, that’s all. All good.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder, exhaling sharply. “Better get back, huh? Cool. Bye.”
At last, he looks up at me. His face is flushed, his pupils blown, but a frown crosses his features.
“Were you crying?”
“Huh? Uhhh , no. I mean, why?” I press my palms to my cheeks. “Okay, yes. I was. But it was nothing.”
Perfect. Now he knows that in a matter of hours, Sticksville has broken me.
His frown deepens. “Are you okay?”
I tighten the towel around my body, and his gaze slides to where my breasts are pushed together.
My heart rate picks up. “Yeah, I’m fine. A bit tired.” I force a smile, but his attention hasn’t returned to my face. It’s now stuck on my thighs… “Uh… Matt?”
He snaps his head up, his cheeks turning pink beneath his beard. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I, uh… There was a drop of water going d—” He exhales sharply. “Fuck. I wasn’t expecting to find myself in front of a half-naked woman.”
I laugh, but the sound is hollow. It’s stuck in my throat, caught somewhere between embarrassment and horniness.
“You were rather insistent with the knocking, and I was getting out of the bath.”
Sulking and crying over my loneliness and life.
His gaze softens, as if he sees right through me.
The expression changes his whole face. Like this, he reminds me of a big teddy bear.
His features are gentle and smooth, framed by long strands of dark blond hair, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes make me want to reach out and brush my fingers over them.
Would he be gentle with me too? Would his large hands be soft on my skin? Or would they be rough and callused?
The thought sparks another, and I pause.
Maybe, maybe , I don’t have to spend the rest of this miserable evening alone, drinking the cheapest bottle of wine I found in the cabinet, then crying myself to sleep.
Maybe I can have a wild one-night stand with a perfect—and hot—stranger.
Maybe I can let loose for once in my life.
Let my hair down and live a little, without worrying about the appropriate thing to do.
Oh, there’s not a single appropriate thought running through my mind right now.
And the man standing in front of me, drinking me in, doesn’t look like he’d turn me down if I made a move.
Suddenly, I’m consumed by a need to know if I’m right. If he’s that perfect mix of sweet and spicy his demeanor gives off.
“Well…” He clears his throat again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Good night, then.”
I run my hand not holding the towel, through my hair and sweep it neatly to one side, exposing my shoulder. “Yeah, thanks. You too.”
Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. Chills race across my skin, and Matt’s gaze follows the trail with razor-sharp focus.
I want his mouth to trace the same path.
Lip caught between my teeth, I tilt my head. “You’re not leaving?” I ask, a bit breathless.
“Do you want me to?”
Easy answer. “No.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. When he speaks, his voice dips two octaves. “And what exactly do you want, Zoey?”
Maybe that’s why I’m here in Sticksville. To give myself a peek at what it’d be like to live a life completely different from mine.
To see what happens when I don’t act like myself. When I don’t have to be careful or responsible or perfect. When I focus on my needs, for once.
I inhale slowly. “You.”