16 | Lodge Girl #2
It felt dangerously close to introducing people I cared about to one another.
After lunch, we moved downstairs to the studio.
The first track played through the monitors. My father listened without interrupting, one hand resting against his chin. He had heard enough unfinished recordings to avoid reacting to every promising section.
When the song ended, he praised the energy and the way the instruments moved around one another. Leo accepted the compliment with practiced confidence.
The second track changed his posture.
Kadir’s bass began alone.
Wesley entered beneath the repetition.
Leo waited before the verse.
My father’s attention moved between the three men as the arrangement opened. He listened to the entire rough recording before asking how they had built it.
Kadir answered first.
“Dasha heard the bass line and made me bring it in.”
“You were going to keep it?”
Kadir shrugged. “Probably.”
Wesley explained that I had stopped him from choosing a rhythm around vocals Leo had not written yet. Leo described my refusal to let him alter the bass until he identified why it bothered him.
His version made me sound like an aggressive therapist with access to recording equipment.
“It was so irritating,” he added.
My father smiled. “I assume that means it worked.”
Leo looked at me. “Unfortunately.”
The praise that followed was more specific than I expected.
My father said the song sounded like three musicians again. Kadir’s bass didn’t disappear beneath the vocal. Wesley’s rhythm drove the structure instead of smoothing it. Leo sounded stronger because he had stopped competing with every other sound.
Then he looked at me.
“You gave them a process.”
I folded my arms, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention.
“They did the work.”
“They always did the work. The problem was getting them to do it in the same room.”
Leo leaned against the console. Kadir stood near the bass rack. Wesley turned one drumstick between his fingers.
My father told me I had recognized their habits and found a way to interrupt them without removing what made each man valuable.
It was everything I wanted him to see.
The pride arrived first.
The guilt followed closely enough to contaminate it.
I could not separate the progress from the intimacy as cleanly as I wanted.
My father could.
He saw a manager doing excellent work.
I wanted to believe him.
We returned upstairs for dessert and coffee. The visit had begun winding down when my father mentioned the online speculation.
He said it casually while cutting into a piece of cake.
“The social team says you’re Lodge Girl now.”
My fork stopped against the plate.
Leo’s eyes moved toward me.
Wesley became very interested in his coffee. Kadir stayed still.
My father continued before the silence became suspicious.
“Your reflection was visible in the windows during the performance clip. Someone matched it to videos from the bar.”
I forced myself to take another bite.
“And the label is okay with that?”
“For now. It’s just fan speculation. All healthy parts of a successful band.”
He didn’t sound concerned. The fans knew I had been present at both places. That was accurate and expected. I was the band’s manager. Nothing in the available footage showed what happened after the camera stopped recording.
The problem was that they had begun with the correct woman.
My father moved on to the label’s rollout schedule. Leo contributed something about the next demo. Wesley asked about equipment. Kadir remained quiet.
I lasted several minutes before excusing myself to the bathroom.
I locked the door and opened my phone.
The search results appeared before I finished typing the band’s name.
MIDNIGHT THEORY LODGE GIRL
There were clips, screenshots, short posts, and several fan accounts compiling everything into threads.
The clearest image came from the stripped-down performance. The dark windows behind the men had reflected the room more sharply than I realized. My figure stood near the camera, blurred but recognizable to anyone who had seen me before.
Someone had brightened the frame.
Another account had placed it beside a vertical video from the local bar. I stood near the edge of the stage while the men prepared to play. My face was clearer in that one.
A third clip showed Leo looking toward me between lines.
The comments were mostly playful.
Lodge Girl was at the bar too.
Is she staff or did all three of them decide to adopt the same woman?
The bassist keeps watching whoever is filming.
Why does the drummer smile at her after every transition?
She has to be their manager.
That one should have reassured me.
Then I found another.
Manager maybe, but Leo is singing directly at her.
Someone replied:
They all are.
A fan had slowed the performance enough to show each man’s gaze moving toward the same point behind the camera. Leo during the verse. Wesley after the chorus. Kadir repeatedly.
Toward me.
There were several theories about which man I was dating. Leo received the most votes because Leo always received the most attention. A smaller group insisted it was Kadir because of the way he watched the reflection. Wesley had defenders who claimed his smile looked too personal to be accidental.
One comment suggested all three.
It had laughing replies beneath it.
Nobody appeared to believe it seriously.
Yet.
I closed the app and looked at myself in the mirror.
My father was right. It was speculation. Nobody had my full name attached to the posts. Nobody had proof of anything beyond my presence at the lodge and the bar.
The label didn’t mind right now.
Those final two words carried more weight than the rest.
I returned to the living room.
The men had disappeared downstairs, likely to give my father and me a few minutes alone before he left. His coat was already on. He stood near the entryway while the driver carried the empty lunch containers outside.
For once, the lodge felt quiet around us.
My father looked toward the hallway where the men had gone.
“They seem better.”
“They are.”
“And you?”
The question caught me.
“I’m fine.”
He gave me the look he reserved for answers he didn’t fully believe but had decided not to challenge.
Then he adjusted the collar of my sweater. The gesture belonged to childhood, interviews, school performances, and every formal event where he had decided my clothes required intervention.
“I know you think I gave you this because you’re my daughter.”
I looked down at his hands.
“You did give it to me because I’m your daughter.”
“That’s why I knew you could handle them. It isn’t why the work is good.”
The distinction pressed against every uncertainty I had carried since arriving.
He glanced toward the studio again.
“I could assign anyone to supervise a schedule. I needed somebody who understood why they were failing without deciding one of them was the entire problem.”
“I’m still figuring it out.”
“That’s the job.”
He kissed my forehead.
“I gave you the room, Dasha. I didn’t make Kadir bring in that bass line. I didn’t make Wesley defend his rhythm. I definitely didn’t make Leo listen.”
A laugh escaped me.
“That last one might be impossible.”
“You did it.”
I wanted to accept the praise without qualification. I wanted his confidence to settle the question permanently. Instead, the reflection in the window remained in my mind beside the image of Kadir watching me through the glass.
“Thank you,” I said.
He hugged me once more.
“I’m proud of you.”
The words stayed with me as I walked him to the door.
He promised to give me more warning before his next visit. I told him rerouting a flight did not count as stopping by. He said it did when he owned the plane.
Then he stepped outside and crossed toward the waiting SUV.
I watched until the vehicle disappeared beyond the trees.
The visit had gone well.
He trusted me.
The label loved the music.
Fans had found my reflection, matched me to the bar, and begun examining the way three men looked at me.
I shut the door and turned around.
Leo, Wesley, and Kadir stood at the edge of the living room, watching me.
I took my phone from my pocket.
“We might have a problem.”