The seasons are in limbo. Most days are still warm but the edges of the leaves are changing. Some have already fallen and litter the walking path. They don’t crunch yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
I used to think these were kind of useless, having a trail so close to the main grounds, especially when I was a kid.
My grandparents opened this lodge over sixty years ago and it’s been passed down through each generation. When I asked how they came up with the name, my grandpa told me it was because of my grandma. When he used to stare into her eyes, it felt like he was in an emerald canopy. He couldn’t imagine a better name for this place. I used to fake a gag when he told that story but I secretly loved it.
When my parents were ready to step away, Hazel took on the lodge responsibility, like we all knew she would. I remember when she was brainstorming ways to get more people to use the trails. She wanted to put picnic tables and other sitting areas along each of the trails, encouraging people to stop and have a snack or take it all in. I wasn’t sure it was worth the effort.
Slate and I stop for a few minutes at a table. It’s strategically placed to still see the lodge but also mountains and the river. No surprise: Hazel was right.
Bea will scold me if I don’t bring Slate into the lodge for a quick hello. The networking event is well underway. Now is the perfect time to sneak into the lobby.
The trail will hopefully let us fade in the background. People can’t helpthemselves around Slate. If I’m not careful, we’ll be in a makeshift circle with people kneeling, petting, squealing, and asking me too many questions.
My nightmare. I’m not a recluse by any means but I hate forced interactions with random people.
I’m almost to the side door when I see Ivy and Royce. She’s standing near one of the netted swings, almost like she’s thinking of getting on.
We’re too far away to hear any of their conversations but close enough to see Royce getting closer and closer. Ivy looks uncomfortable leaning away from Royce.
Can’t this asshole take a hint? I can see her trying to get away from here. She continues to rub her hands together, like earlier. She fidgets and tries to put more room between them.
Finally, Royce leans back, and it looks like they’re shaking hands. Ivy’s body is stiff, and her shoulders almost touch her ears. Then Royce is pulling her into a hug, but with their hands awkwardly stuck between their chests.
For fuck’s sake.
I’ve stopped and Slate pulls at the leash. That isn’t the only thing pulling me. My jaw is clenched. The hand not occupied with the leash is in a fist.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m having such a strong reaction. I’ve met this woman once. There have been lots of women I’ve met and have never thought about again. In my defense, none of them had eyes as green as the trees.
I can’t really explain why, but I hate seeing her uncomfortable.
After a few seconds too long, they separate. Ivy doesn’t get on the swing but turns towards the lobby instead.
She doesn’t go inside right away but drops into a chair. Her tapping foot is the only thing that moves. The rest of her looks like it’s made of stone.
Slate sits, looking up, waiting for our next move.
“Sorry, buddy. No Bea visits today.” I lean down and give him a treat from my pocket like he cares where we go next.
“I have somewhere else to be.”
Chapter Twelve
THE MORE SPACE between Royce and I, the better I feel.
Bea gestures for me to follow her. We end up in the lodge restaurant. Again, I’m pleasantly surprised. The inside features cozy booths and tables next to massive windows, mountains in the distance, without any tacky dead animal decor. I get closer to the windows and can see the networking event still in full swing. My body shivers.
“Here’s a list of local ciders.” Bea hands me a menu. I’m more of a cocktail and wine girl but a complete sucker for local brands.
“I don’t drink much cider. It’s usually too sweet,” I try to explain. But when Bea insists, pointing at the dry cider selection, I pick one. My hand is slow to bring the glass to my mouth. If I hate this cider, I’ll act like I actually love it and then stomach the entire pint. I’m a people pleaser down to my bones.
I take a sip and am surprised when it’s the perfect balance of fruit and tart.
“Told ya! I knew you’d like it,” Bea brags, taking a drink of her craft beer.
“You have no idea what I like.” I laugh as we sit across from each other.
Bea jumps in and tells me story after story about Brad and his family.This definitely has the feeling of small-town lore, where everyone knows everyone, some way or another. She’s laughing as she says parts of sentences, and the story gets lost in translation. It’s mostly broken words, giggles, gasps for air, and maybe something about a cat in the tree with a kite. Her belly laugh is contagious even if I have no clue what’s going on.
