1. Chapter 1 #2
I take a deep breath of summer-scented air to force my hackles down.
Milo needs me. He’s not great at talking or, hell, being around people, so…
it’s up to me. I can do this for him. For us.
I want Happy Lake Lodge as badly as he does.
I’m about to open my mouth to promise Diana he’ll be here any minute—and hope against hope that he is—when I hear his dirt bike in the distance.
Thank you, Milo.
Diana hears it, too. Her lips press together.
“Here comes that man of yours,” Cheryl says to me, her tone teasing. “I was starting to think there’d be ice on the lake again before we got down to business.”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. The only person with feet colder than mine is Milo. “Weddings are so stressful,” I say, grasping for excuses. “There’s more to think about than I expected.”
“You remember Kerry Fisk’s wedding nine years ago?
” Cheryl says with an understanding smile.
“The whole day was a disaster. The flowers were late. It bucketed rain during the outdoor ceremony. Some clumsy groomsman spilled wine on her dress at the reception. The caterer messed up the chicken—everything that could go wrong did. And she’s still happily married.
But Kristen Donnelly? Her wedding was picture-perfect, one of the prettiest I’ve seen at the VFW in Pine Point.
Divorced two years later. So don’t stress about all the details. ”
Great. Now she’s handed me something new to stress about.
One day, Cheryl might use me and Milo to reassure a jittery bride-to-be, and I don’t know which example we’ll be—the divorced couple or the still happily married one.
We haven’t agreed on how long our marriage should last. It has to be at least a couple of years, so no one suspects it’s a farce, but I’m worried that it’ll end up being forever.
The inertia of friendship and small-town life will be more than we can overcome.
“Be less worried about the wedding and more worried about the groom,” Diana mumbles under her breath as Milo comes flying down the road.
He’s not even wearing his helmet. It’s like he wants to piss off his grandmother.
“I love him,” I say to Diana. I might not be in love with him, but I do love him. He’s my oldest friend, and I’d do anything for him. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here ready to pick out table decorations.
Milo parks next to my four-wheeler and climbs off the bike.
“He is handsome anyway,” Cheryl says, stepping down to nudge my ribs.
He is. Even without the beard he shaves off every summer, he could be on the cover of a sexy lumberjack calendar.
He’s tall and muscular, with dark brown hair and brooding dark brown eyes.
Half of Havenwood fell in love with him when his mother first dumped him here when he was fifteen, and while most people carefully avoid him now, he’s only aged into his good looks.
We have an audience, so I walk toward him and break into a jog to meet him in the middle of the empty parking lot.
Sawdust sticks to Milo’s black T-shirt. His arms will be sticky with sap, but I resign myself to my fate and let him pull me into an embrace. He plants a dry peck near my lips for our audience and murmurs, “Sorry.”
“You are in so much trouble,” I hiss, but I’m smiling because he’s here. I don’t have to carry this lie on my own. His eyes tell me he knows he’s in trouble as his hand closes around mine, warm and calloused.
We should’ve fallen into heart-stopping teenage puppy love—two kids alone in the world, with all the privacy of the woods and neglectful parents. But it never happened for either of us. There were no experimental touches or awkward firsts. No blushing smiles or hidden crushes.
Everyone in Havenwood assumes we’ve been together—more or less—since we were teenagers.
I used to deny it, but Milo always ignored it, and eventually, I gave up.
We wouldn’t have considered this whole charade if Milo hadn’t overheard Diana talking to a friend about how she felt uncomfortable selling Happy Lake to us if we weren’t married.
I could’ve told Milo no, that we’d find another way. Maybe if he worked on his relationship with his grandmother, Happy Lake could be ours without us having to marry. Instead, I said yes because this was easier for him, and I didn’t think it would be hard for me.
Turns out I was wrong. It sucks that agreeing to marry my best friend was how I found I’m more of a romantic than the practical person I thought I was.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Diana says.
Her tone is pleasant, but she’s not at all pleased as Milo and I stop below the stairs.
I know she loves him. It was hard for her to suddenly find herself the guardian of a teenage boy who’d been through so much.
But it wasn’t her discipline or rules that got Milo onto a different path.
It was the forest and the lake, the peace and space to figure himself out.
He needs Happy Lake as much as I do.
“Sorry,” Milo says. I squeeze his hand, and he swallows before he adds, “I was clearing the pine that fell across Wood Duck Trail. I lost track of the time.”
“We’re happy you’re here now,” Cheryl says, walking down the steps to join us. “Diana and I were talking about the marquee. Would you prefer the usual spot by the lake or over in Christine’s Meadow?”
“The lake,” Milo says immediately. The meadow was his mother’s favorite place as a child, but only people who’ve been coming here for over thirty years call it Christine’s Meadow. Diana took her name off the map decades ago but never flinches at the reminder that she once had a daughter.
“The lake is perfect,” I say. It’s the preferred spot for most people, close to the lodge, and it's easier for the caterers to set up.
Cheryl claps her hands. “We have our first decision!”
Milo drops my hand to wrap his arm around me, planting a kiss on the top of my head. It’s hot out, and he’s damp with sweat. Some of my curls are sticking to the sap on his arm. I force a smile, but I want to push him away.
“Good,” Diana says, finally giving up the high ground of the deck to stand with us in the gravel. “We don’t have much time left to organize this.” Her voice warns that she won’t tolerate any more delays, and it’s directed at Milo.
“We don’t need a fancy wedding,” I say. The plan was a civil service at the county courthouse, but Diana insisted we get married here and let her pay for everything, which makes me feel worse about deceiving her.
“It doesn’t need to be fancy,” Diana agrees, “But if you love each other and you’re lucky enough to live a long life together, it will be your only wedding. It should be special. You need to put some thought into it.”
My stomach twists, and it takes everything in me to smile up at Milo. “It will be special because I’m marrying this guy right here.”
Milo’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit. Oh crap, am I overselling it? I turn back to Cheryl. “What’s next?” I ask brightly.
She pats the tablet she’s holding. “Why don’t we go inside,” she suggests, “and look at some of the weddings I’ve done and talk about themes and colors? And the cake, of course.”
The urge to flee is almost too much to ignore. Milo must feel the same. He stiffens and glances back toward his bike. I squeeze him, wanting him to know I’m here and we can do this together. He relaxes a smidge, then turns to look down the road at the sound of an approaching car.
“I thought the Guillot’s weren’t arriving until late,” I say with a frown.
“Nine,” Diana confirms. They’re the only guests we’re expecting today.
None of us move. Diana and Cheryl are nosy, and maybe Milo and I are too. It’s probably out-of-towners lost because there’s something wrong with their navigation system.
A cherry red sports car rounds a corner and comes into view, going faster than the five-mile-per-hour camp speed limit. Thanks to the sun's glare, I can’t see into the vehicle, but the car has Nevada plates.
My stomach does a loop-de-loop. It’s a coincidence. Lots of people live in Nevada. I’m sure we’ve had guests from there before.
The car stops a short distance away, and I’m already out from under Milo’s arm, walking towards the vehicle. I’ll save them a lecture from Diana on the speed limit and just…make sure.
The driver’s door opens, and I relax when I don’t recognize the man who gets out.
Someone shouts, and something furry leaps out the open door, racing past me towards the woods.
“Should’ve thought of that two days ago,” the driver says with a laugh, stretching.
A woman jumps out of the car. She looks familiar, and I turn to watch her as she runs after the cat, who has gone up the nearest tree.
“Hi, Gina.”
The voice behind me is warm and deep, and the butterflies lying dormant in my stomach take flight as I turn away from the cat.
The last time I saw him, he was snuggling my pillow.
Now he’s standing here, at Happy Lake, smiling at me with dimples .
In the late afternoon light, his eyes are the blue-green of Lake Superior glass.
His smile widens as he wraps me into a hug. The butterflies spin faster than the rainbow petals I made dance in the treehouse, but even that can’t distract me from the press of his fingers low on my back and the way he buries his face in my neck and inhales me.
“I missed you,” he says, exhaling softly into my hair.
Oh, fuck .