Chapter 2 #2
My mind keeps wandering back to Alex and my conversation in the car.
It’s true I’ve always been slightly boy-obsessed, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t let my mind fantasize about a breathtaking summer romance the last few weeks.
My body aches for the way Austin’s touch would blind me with heat, every part of me trembling, a mixture of attraction and first-time insecurity.
Since then, I have engaged in a few heated make-out sessions, but the idea of anything more with anyone but Austin just sounds wrong.
The kicker being that Austin had dumped me a week after taking my virginity.
And though, on the surface, I knew it was him being a complete player, I still couldn’t help thinking I just hadn’t been very good, that my inexperience and lack of confidence had been the reason he had looked for something better.
“Earth to Everly.” Alex waves her hand in front of me as I stare out at the dock.
“Let’s bring our stuff inside and see if we can find my dad.
He said he would be milling around all day.
” She apprehensively searches the yard. I know that as excited as she is, she is also a bundle of nerves.
There have only ever been a few times where I have seen Alex nervous, and this is definitely one of them.
The inside of the house is lighter and more open than I expected.
The walls are a soft off-white color, and the light from the huge glassed-in front porch gives an airy feel.
The furniture is worn, and the house is sparsely decorated, as would be expected for a bachelor who spends most of his time out in the woods, but the house still feels warm and welcoming.
I smile at the photos of Alex that line the mantle of the large stone fireplace.
We take our bags upstairs, finding a sign on one of the bedroom doors that says, “Welcome Ladies!” Bursting through the door, we find a king-size bed, a set of French doors that open to a small balcony that overlooks the lake, and even an en suite bathroom.
This is far from the camping experience I had envisioned, and I’m feeling more and more optimistic about this summer as we explore the house.
Downstairs, we walk through the living room to the kitchen, which, if the other rooms are a little dated and lacking, the kitchen is a chef’s dream.
Clearly, Alex’s father had it re-modeled in recent years; it’s sleek and simple with large windows that look out over the side yard and a sliver of the lake.
A deck directly off the kitchen leads to a dining table under a beautiful pergola dripping with string lights.
“Well, I guess Dad has found something to do with his free time. Trust me, when I was a kid, it wasn’t nearly this nice.”
“There seems to be no evidence of a female presence… well, except that the pergola is a little suspicious. Sheer boredom, the culprit, I’m guessing.” I laugh .
After walking through the whole house and checking the barn out back, it’s clear he isn’t home. I can’t tell if Alex is a little bummed out that he’s not here to greet us or relieved that we’ve had a moment to settle in on our own.
“Should we see what he has for beer in the fridge?” Alex is already heading back toward the house, not bothering to wait for my response. On the fridge, we find a note we must have missed on our first walk-through, which reads:
Good Afternoon, Ladies! After busting my butt all day for your arrival, I have headed down to Anderson’s for a drink. Meet me at the bar when you’re settled. Can’t wait to see you. – Dad
Changing out of my shorts and into tight jeans just seems wrong for the middle of June, but there is no denying the goose bumps covering my legs.
Why is it so damn cold? I change into a light blue flowy top and add a long silver necklace that hangs perfectly between my cleavage.
I silently thank my mom as I adjust my boobs in my shirt to show what I deem to be the perfect amount of skin.
I brush out my light brown hair, my blond summer highlights already starting to show.
I’m thankful that my natural wave actually looks stylish today and not like I just slept on it wrong.
I line my brown eyes and add a bit of bronzer to my sun-kissed cheeks.
Alex is still in cutoff shorts but has thrown on an old flannel over her tank top.
No makeup, hair still in the bun she had hastily tied it in when we got in the car this morning.
She can easily dress like a bum and look drop-dead gorgeous. It’s never been fair.
“Ha, come on, Ev. If you were at all worried you won’t attract any of the boys up here, there is no need.” She laughs as I slide on my platform sandals.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” She smirks.
Jumping back in the car, we arrive at Anderson’s Lodge and Cabins about two and a half minutes after leaving the house.
The main lodge is an old three-story farmhouse painted a pale yellow with white trim.
A large porch with the most rocking chairs I have ever seen wraps around the entire lodge.
A handful of people (mostly old men) are sitting out, reading, tying fishing flies, and sipping cocktails.
The wives present are reading or knitting baby blankets next to them.
Yes, Alex, this place is overflowing with those bachelors you speak of, I think to myself as we follow the porch around the back to a large fire pit and a massive dock with multiple boats tied to it.
My previous thought is immediately proven wrong as I look around.
On the other side of the lodge, a younger crowd has congregated.
Men and women in their early thirties and forties on the dock, most in golf attire, laughing and telling animated stories with their friends while sipping cans of beer.
A handful of guys and girls, apparently close to our age, based on the various university garb present, are playing cornhole on the nearby lawn.
It’s easy to identify the locals and the out-of-staters, but they mingle together, clearly having been friends for years.
I finally see what Alex has been talking about; I catch the eye of a guy who looks like he just walked out of a J.
Crew ad. He slightly lowers his sunglasses and flashes a beautiful white smile my way before suggestively throwing the cornhole sack into the opposite board’s hole.
The butterflies attack my stomach so violently it almost knocks the wind out of me.
I notice that most of the guys around our age have directed their attention to Alex and me.
The phrase “fresh meat” comes to my mind.
Oh, wow, I really am in trouble .
I finally snap out of my deer-in-the-headlights trance and lean over to Alex to nonchalantly point out the brown-haired J.Crew hottie, but I’m mortified to find that Alex is nowhere to be seen.
Seriously? She just left me standing here?
My cheeks immediately turn crimson while the crowd of people my age probably notice me awkwardly searching for my best friend and the bar entrance.
Cool, what a stellar first impression. I walk up the deck stairs, fully aware that all of them have still not resumed playing cornhole and are watching me.
“Glad I could bring the entertainment,” I mutter to myself as I try to collect my nerves and banish them from my body.
As I approach the bar entrance, I smell the faint traces of wood polish and can feel the rush of commotion.
Inside, it’s aged like everything in this town but has a warm feeling with natural wood walls, big leather couches and chairs, low lighting, and a dozen or so tables.
The walls are covered with resort photos and the history of the lake.
I walk up to a picture of a handsome man with two young boys standing beside him, each holding a big bass.
The caption under the photo reads: “Mike Anderson and sons Storm, age 10, and Hux, age 8.” Other photos show the history of Anderson’s Lodge and Cabins, I recognize Alex’s dad in one of them.
He’s older with more gray in his hair, but his smile looks warm and relaxed, a stark difference from the reserved, pensive man who would come home in a suit and tie the nights I slept over.
The photos label Mike as the fourth generation to own and run the family business.
I start to back away from the wall of photos, but my eyes return to the photo of Mike Anderson and his young sons.
There is so much happiness and pride on their faces, for whatever reason, it brings a warm smile to my face.
After another few moments of taking in the photos on the wall, I turn to resume my search for Alex and run straight into what feels like a brick wall.
Yet the wall is falling, and I hear the smash of glass before I realize it’s half a dozen wine bottles hitting the ground and shattering.
“Dammit! Ever heard of looking before backing up?” a gruff voice yells. The man leans down, gathering shards of glass with his bare hands. “Claire, can you grab me some towels?” he hollers to the girl behind the reception desk in the nearby lobby.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t even see you. Please, let me help.” I kneel down and attempt to pick up the glass. Wine soaks my sandals, making my feet stick to the floor.
The man looks up, revealing the most intense dark blue eyes I have ever seen.
I notice a small scar above his left eyebrow.
His hair is a sandy blond color, a bit overgrown but gently swept to the side.
Though his eyes might be beautiful, they are definitely not kind. He holds his hands up in front of him.
“Please, just tell me your daddy’s room number. I’ll put these bottles on his tab, and we’ll call it even,” he says with disdain in his voice. He stands up and looks over his shoulder at the young guy coming his way. “Mop this up for me, would you, Tommy? I need to get back to the bar.”
“I…. I… I’m not staying… I’m just, with my…
” I have no idea why my mouth won’t work.
He stands in front of me, revealing he’s taller than I expected.
A black shirt hugs his lean and noticeably strong torso.
For a second, I picture the bare chest that is hiding behind that shirt.
What is wrong with me today? This guy has zero interest in my story or attempts at an apology.
He is looking straight over my head at the bar that is steadily filling with customers.
“Yeah, that’s great. Good talk, now can you please move along so we can get your mess cleaned up?” he says, still not actually looking at me.
Tommy comes up beside him to survey the damage. “Mr. Callaway is going to be pissed. Wasn’t that part of his order?” Tommy asks, snickering to himself. The hot jerk gives him a stare that washes the smile right off his face. “Sorry, Hux. I’ll get to cleaning this up right now.”
Clearly still angry, he abruptly pushes past me to make his way behind the bar, never looking in my direction again. The name registers. Hux.
Hux Anderson, the owner’s son.
The son of my boss.
Well, I’d say I’m really off to a great start.