3. Shawn #2
“I’ll stow this and put together a tackle box,” Blaze says.
“Good to meet you, Shawn.” He steps forward and sticks out his hand, which I shake.
His touch is pleasantly cool and damp from the lake, and he has a nice smile behind his beard.
I note his slightly crooked front tooth and wonder what it would feel like to run my tongue over it.
When I notice what I’m thinking, my entire body goes hot with confusion. Why on earth would I wonder that?
I remember it’s my turn to say something, so I push some words out along the lines of good to meet you, too.
When Blaze makes to pick up the float, I ask, “Need a hand?”
He looks surprised for a second, but smoothly says, “Nah, I got it. See you later.”
Marika leads me past what she calls the boathouse, the largest of the standalone structures. “That’s Blaze’s domain, so if you need anything in there, check with him first.”
I glance back. Blaze is carrying the wooden float like it’s made of matchsticks, arms bulging. It’s a sight I have a hard time looking away from.
“And here’s the spa.” Marika’s voice forces me to twist my head around and glance at another outbuilding. “You should definitely check in with Davy and get something on the books while you’re here.”
“I will.”
“That’s The Snug,” she says, pointing to another cabin. “We have a pretty substantial library, gas fireplace, coffee maker. It’s a good place to hide away and relax.”
I mainly read fantasy novels and biographies of my old sports heroes. But The Snug sounds like a decent place to check out if I’m going out of my mind with boredom.
“You’re in number three,” she says, leading me past two other freestanding cabins. She taps a code into the keypad at the front door and repeats the number for me to memorize.
The outside of the cabin looks like a traditional log house, but the inside is a modern take on classic rustic charm.
There’s a gas fireplace in the wall of the open-plan living room/kitchenette, which, to be honest, looks more nicely appointed than my kitchen in the penthouse apartment I call home.
My bags are already resting neatly in the center of the room, whisked there by invisible elves.
Marika walks in and flicks on a few lights, then shows me how to work the steam shower in the large en suite bathroom.
“Wi-Fi password?” I inquire when she asks if there’s anything else.
“No Wi-Fi,” she says cheerfully.
“No Wi-Fi?” I already checked, and my cellphone doesn’t have service up here.
“No, Shawn,” she says kindly, “that’s the whole point of the retreat. There’s a landline you can use to reach us at the main lodge building. Call 911 in an emergency. You can even make a long-distance phone call on it, like the olden days.”
“But no internet,” I repeat, to make sure I’m hearing right.
“No internet,” she confirms. “Trust me—give it a chance and you’ll love it.”
“Okay,” I agree weakly. It seems rude to throw a fit ten minutes into my stay.
“Now, I’ll have Nolan send you something for dinner after your fishing expedition, but you should take a look at the menu and place orders for the next day or two with him. Again, just pick up the phone or drop by the lodge.”
“Got it.” What have I gotten myself into? “Uh, thanks.”
“I’m happy you’re here, Shawn,” Marika says, making eye contact with me. Her clear, direct gaze gives me a prickle of something in my throat. She seems like she really means it. I’m not sure I can say the same.
When she leaves and it’s just me in the incongruously luxurious cabin with the to-die-for view, I sink down on the comfortable overstuffed couch in front of the cold fireplace.
It’s ludicrous to feel as if I’ve been cut off from the world, like I’ve been sent back in time to some medieval hovel—all of my needs are going to be met while I’m here, and in style and comfort, no less.
But I won’t be able to check the scores, stream the playoff games, text Jett and see how the team’s doing.
I suppose that’s the point.
Callie knew this would throw me, and she did it on purpose.
Since my cell isn’t good for much besides standing in for a phone book, I use it to look up Callie’s number and dial it on the cordless phone I find on the kitchen counter.
It rings so long I think she’s not going to pick up for a strange number, but just when I’m about to hang up, she answers.
“Hello?” She sounds suspicious.
“It’s Shawn, calling from Mars,” I say dryly.
“Shawn!” Her voice immediately warms. “You made it, good. How is it?”
“There’s no internet.”
She makes a noise like a muffled snort. “Poor baby.”
“Yeah, you try it and tell me how you like it.”
“Maybe I will someday,” she says. “Is it beautiful there?”
“It’s beautiful,” I concede grudgingly. “I’ll send you a pic—oh right, I can’t.”
“Fine, you can grump all you want about this while you read a book by the lake. You did bring a book, didn’t you?”
“Why would I bring a book?” I say to give her a hard time, not because I didn’t bring one.
“Because you’re supposed to be relaxing! Jesus, you are thirty-five years old. Please tell me I don’t have to tell you how to be on vacation.”
“I know how to be on vacation,” I say gruffly.
“In fact, I’m going fishing in an hour.” The thought of the man I’m fishing with reminds me of the strange reaction I had to him earlier.
Must have been a side effect of the long drive and my new circumstances—temporary attraction to a man when I’ve never been drawn to one that way before.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she says. “Look, I have to get to a meeting, but I’m glad you called. Enjoy fishing. Enjoy everything. And when you’re ready, do some thinking about what you want. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, because her positivity is infectious, and I don’t know how they’re billing me for this call—by the minute? How did it used to work?
“Enjoy!” she says one more time before the line goes dead.
I hang up slowly, plug in my cell phone to recharge out of habit, and go to change into something appropriate for fishing with Blaze. And I don’t think about his crooked front tooth or water streaming off his biceps for a single second.