5. Rue
rue
. . .
rain in the forecast
Dry dirt crunches behind me as the bane of my existence shifts his weight.
“Hey. Will you look at me?”
“Pass.”
His sigh makes the back of my neck tingle. “I’m sorry, Rue. It was fucked up of me to say that. I didn’t mean it. You deserve to be here more than anyone I know and definitely more than me.” There’s a weighted pause. “Is this the same book series you were working on a couple years ago?”
My breath, my body, my heart—they all stall, then restart with a roar. There are only a handful of people in my life who’ve read excerpts from my first book, and he happens to be one of them. I’ve done my best to forget that fact. That whole night, really.
Against my better judgment, I answer him.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I have no idea how to interpret his tone; if it were anyone else, I’d say he sounds proud. But he’s not anyone else.
The shadows around us deepen as clouds block the sun. A gust of wind whistles its approach, stirring dirt and leaves. It swirls around me, refreshingly cool as it teases my hair and shirt. My pulse settles as I take deep breaths, and when I’m calm enough, I turn back around.
River stands a few feet away, his hands on his hips. His eyes are closed, his face upturned. Several strands of dark hair have escaped his bun and dance with the moving shadows on his face.
He absolutely does not look like some powerful, ethereal Fae warrior.
The forest brightens again, shadows lifting. With a sigh that rises from the depths of his being, he opens his eyes and looks at me.
“It’s going to rain.”
The words are so confident I glance up, half expecting to see a storm brewing. But nope. Outside of a few fluffy white clouds, the sky is still blue.
Annoyed with myself, I give River a narrow look. His eyes, creased with amusement, are clearer now. Closer to the lionesque gold I know and loathe.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “I know Ivy’s convinced you’re some weather psychic, but there’s no rain in the forecast.”
“Hmm. I guess we’ll see.”
“I guess we will.”
His grin is a flash of lightning, there and gone, leaving me blinking fast. He turns away, beckoning me with a lazy wave.
“Come on. We’re close.”
I follow, eager to put a locked door between us. Unlike before, however, he shortens his stride so we’re side by side. Although I preferred walking behind him where I could more easily imagine him tripping and smashing his face on a rock, I decide to pick my battles.
“Did Claudia tell you Kirk would bring your bags?”
I eye him warily. “She did, but why does that sound like a loaded question?”
“Did you actually meet Kirk? That guy eats LSD for breakfast. Yesterday, he almost drove the golf cart into the pool.”
My stomach nosedives, and I grab his wrist to halt him. “Are you fucking with me? My laptop is in my luggage.”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at my pale fingers resting on his darker skin. I snatch my hand away, prickling warmth rolling up my spine—definitely annoyance and not embarrassment.
“Apologies for the offense, your highness,” I quip with maximum sarcasm. “Now answer the question.”
River shakes his head, brows drawing together. His eyes flicker up, twin pools of honey beneath dark lashes.
Air thickens in my lungs.
“Howdy-ho, campers!”
The boisterous call coincides with a mechanical hum and grinding dirt on the path ahead. A golf cart barrels toward us, tires spitting plumes of dust. The grinning, waving man in the driver’s seat is Willie Nelson’s doppelg?nger, down to his red bandanna and gray braids.
“Speaking of Kirk,” River says blandly.
“He’s not stopping,” I hiss, my muscles tensing in readiness to jump off the path.
“He will.”
Right as I’m considering abandoning River to his fate, Kirk hits the brakes so hard the cart slides before lurching to a stop five feet away. Dust clouds the air. I cough and wave a hand in front of my watering eyes.
“Sorry about that, folks. Still getting the hang of this contraption.” Kirk hops to the ground and hocks a loogie into the bushes.
River whispers, “Don’t look at his feet.”
I look and instantly regret it.
“Should’ve listened.”
I swing my elbow sharply, but River evades the blow with a smooth step backward.
A grinning Kirk lopes toward me on his large, knobbly, and excessively hairy bare feet.
A powerful, cloying combination of patchouli and marijuana burns my nose as he grabs my hand and pumps it so aggressively my teeth clack.
But I can’t help grinning back at him. His dark-blue eyes are warm and kind, surrounded by the kind of wrinkles that speak to a lifetime of laughter.
“You must be Rue. Welcome, welcome. I’m Kirk, property manager and jack-of-all-trades here at PAC. Can’t do anything about the Wi-Fi, so don’t ask, but I’m a wizard of a handyman.”
He releases my hand, then coughs and hocks another loogie to the side. I surreptitiously wipe my fingers on my shorts.
“Nice to meet you, Kirk.”
He winks at me. “You’re a good one. I can tell.
Maybe you’ll rub off on this crabby-cake right here, eh?
” He claps River’s shoulder, laughing at the resulting scowl.
“Alrighty then. Your bags are on the porch. Keys are in the door. I’d stay to chat, but someone saw their Maker over the toilet in the Lodge and woo-wee am I about to earn my paycheck. Catch ya later!”
My
soul
shrivels.
Kirk swings himself back into the golf cart, turns it on, and hits the gas. The cart rockets backward ten feet, beeping loudly, then jerks to a stop.
He laughs. “Whoopsie, let’s try that again. Better move your butts, kids!”
I’m yanked out of the way seconds before the golf cart tears through the space I’d been standing.
River shakes my arm, glaring down at me. “Of all the times for you to space out! He almost hit you.”
Tugging free of his grip, I look anywhere but at him as I step back onto the path. “Thanks. Can you show me where my cabin is now?”
“Why are you…” He trails off. I glance at him right as a wicked grin overtakes his face. “Aww. Did you have some tummy troubles?”
I hate him so much.
My face feels like it’s going to melt off, but I force a bemused smile. “Nope. Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, plus all the driving and traffic and such.”
Suppressed mirth makes his eyes sparkle. “Uh-huh.”
In lieu of running headfirst into the nearest tree and hoping I knock myself out, I start walking as fast as I can without actually running.
The path curves, then forks, and to my utter relief, I glimpse the side of a cabin off to the right.
I veer down a smaller path and burst into a clearing dotted with native grasses and wildflowers.
The scene is incredibly picturesque, but I can’t appreciate it because my mind is trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
One cabin.
One long, single-story cabin with wide steps leading up to a covered porch. But there’s no door at the top. Instead, two identical green doors sit at either end of the porch. My duffel and backpack lean against the railing by the leftmost door.
No. Please, no.
I spin around just as River appears. For a second, I have the illogical hope he’ll tell me I’m in the wrong place. But he merely rolls his eyes and walks past me.
“Relax, Killer. All we’re sharing is the porch and a bedroom wall.”
He scales the steps, wood creaking under his feet, and heads to the right. I watch, unmoving, as he opens his door and disappears inside.