I act like my cheeks aren’t getting red and this is something I’d offermost of our guests. Standard hospitality. Bea and I both know I’m full of shit. My shopping habits are typically waiting until the last minute, and I spend a chunk of time getting everything I need at once. Or order it online.
The less time spent in town, the better. People talk too much.
I’m pretending to not watch Ivy walk away when Bea interrupts.
“Holland is going shopping?” Bea laughs and throws her head back. It fills the entire space and it’s usually something I like. My preference is that Ivy be further away before Bea throws her barbs at me.
“I felt bad.” I keep my eyes anywhere besides Bea. She’ll see right through me.
“You felt bad.” She uses finger quotes around the word “felt.” Bea’s known me for almost my entire life and she’s not going to let this go.
“Yes. She had this vacation thing planned with one of her friends and her ex just—” I can hear myself rambling so I cut myself off. My heart is racing a bit and each word tips Bea’s chin closer to her chest. She stares at me with these knowing eyes, like when you’re telling your parents a lie as a child.
“You seem to know quite a bit about a guest that’s been here just a few days,” she shares with a self-satisfied smile. It’s a rhetorical response, as she heads back to the front desk.
Bea is right. I don’t usually act like this. I have acquaintances that work at the lodge or the businesses we support but it’s rare that I make plans. It hasn’t always been like this but that’s how it is now.
I don’t have anyone to make plans with. I’ve been so focused on the lodge.
“Also, your mother called while you were out. Call her back when you get a chance,” Bea says, moving on to her next task. I nod in understanding.
I unbox what’s needed for the gift shop and go back to my office. There’s little to no work to be done. I mostly shuffle papers around, organize my desk, and clean up my inbox.
My mind wanders to Ivy. She was a different kind of bright when talking about her vacation. For a minute, it made me question the last time I was that excited about something. I can’t recall.
This entire interaction makes me think. She’s interesting.
That’s it. That’s why I’m about to go shopping—a hated activity—with someone I hardly know.
Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?
Ivy shows up promptly at 11 a.m. She’s wearing a rendition of the business attire I saw her in yesterday. She wasn’t joking about not having anything else.
It’s like she’s reading my mind.
“It was this”—she gestures to her outfit—“or my pajamas.” She laughs.
The shirt she’s wearing is dark green which matches her eyes. Her hair is dark but catches the light through the lobby windows. My mouth is dry.
Did I just realize she has shiny hair? Am I staring? Get it together, Holland.
“All good,” I somehow manage to grumble. We head out to my truck.
“How long is the drive?” Ivy asks.
“About thirty-five minutes.” I start my truck and gesture toward the radio. “If you want to connect your phone to play music, it’s all yours,” I offer.
Her head tilts in surprise. “You’re offering up the radio?” she says, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“It’s music, not a marriage proposal.”
Ivy stares out the windshield for a few seconds. I can’t read her face. Not sure what’s happening here.
“Do you care what I play?” she carefullyasks.
Unsure if I’ll regret it or not. “Nope. Don’t care. Whatever you want.”
She connects her phone, confusion replaced with a grin. When normal music plays in my truck, I’m pleasantly surprised. Based on her reaction, I was expecting her to turn on something weird. Like a chorus of cats meowing in the background or something off the wall.
