She stepped inside first, flipping on the light. The cabin was warm. Pine walls, a neat bed, a small table, a lamp with a woven shade. A place someone might actually want to stay in, not just use to sleep between shifts.
As she moved around the space, pointing to the heater, the storage, the extra blankets, I noticed the shift again. The slighttension in her shoulders. The way she kept her gaze on the floor or the walls, not me.
Her family wasn’t here to fill the silence anymore. It was just us, and she suddenly seemed more unsettled than before.
I set my bags down slowly. “Sienna.”
She paused at the foot of the bed. “What?”
“Are you all right?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose. Not angry. Not upset. Just… deflated. “I didn’t know they thought I needed help.”
The words hung there between us, heavy in the warm cabin air.
I winced. “Ouch.”
A laugh escaped her, small and surprised, like she hadn’t meant to let it out.
“Yeah. That about sums it up.”
She looked around the cabin again, trying for a lighter tone. “Anyway. This is it. Your… place. For the season. I hope it’s fine.”
“It’s more than fine.” I held her gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”
She shrugged, unable to hold eye contact for long. “Sure. Welcome to Honey Leaf Lodge, Carson. I’ll be by in a bit to show you the gear shed.”
And with that, she stepped back out of the doorway, carrying the weight of something she hadn’t said yet.
Something I was starting to realize mattered more than she let on.
Chapter Three
Sienna
By the time I trudged back to the lodge from Carson’s cabin, I felt like I had aged ten emotional years in thirty minutes.
My family had blindsided me with a new guide. A ridiculously attractive one. A competent one. A woodsy, broad-shouldered wilderness man who brushed hair out of women’s faces with all the gentle confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing while holding two duffel bags at the same time. I was still trying to decide whether I should be annoyed, embarrassed, territorial, or… something else entirely.
Something inconvenient.
Inside the lodge, the warmth hit instantly. So did the smell of cinnamon, melted butter, and whatever Violet had decided to experiment with in the kitchen that afternoon. Mom stood at the stove stirring something in a heavy pot, humming the same song she always hummed when she felt triumphant. Violet leaned against the island, slicing strawberries with the calm precision of a serial killer.
Both women looked far too pleased with themselves.
“There she is,” Violet sang out as soon as she spotted me. “Our fearless guide returning from her escort mission.”
I stopped dead. “It was not an escort mission.”
Mom shot me a look over her shoulder, her eyes full of mischief. “Oh, honey, it absolutely was.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “I cannot deal with either of you right now.”
Mom’s lips curved as she scraped a spatula across the bottom of the pot. “Then you came to the wrong room.”
I groaned and slumped onto a stool at the island. Violet set the knife down and pushed a steaming mug of coffee toward me like she had been waiting to ambush me with it. I wrapped my hands around the mug, grateful for the warmth even if I wanted to fling it at the nearest family member.
“So,” Violet said, sliding onto the stool opposite me, “did our new guide enjoy the tour?”
