“That one is all city.” Bea laughs.
“Figures,” I mutter under my breath.
After picking up and dropping off the last of the coffee and extra produce requests from the kitchen, I head back to my place.
Technically, it’s still part of the lodge, but it’s far enough away that guests don’t stumble upon it. Often I’ll use the twenty-five-minute walk to get some quiet. Not today. I drive the short five minutes instead.
It’s supposed to be a cabin but it’s much more modern than the word cabin insinuates. With dark green paint, it’s part of the pine trees. Tucked in. There are barely any windows on the front to see inside, which helps with the allusion. The back of the cabin is almost completely made of windows. The view is nothing but lush green trees and mountaintops in the distance.
Hazel, my little sister, was the mastermind behind the almost hidden space. She wanted to be somewhere new and comfortable but still feel like she was in the woods. I know the contractor gave her hell on the window locations. He kept telling her, “No one does this,” but she didn’t care. She liked being a tad difficult with her request and overall vision. Hazel didn’t budge, except to turn the front door into glass, allowing more light in, when needed.
She thrived when she was outside, the sun hitting her face.
I shut my truck door and hear Slate running from his bed, his feet not getting any traction. You’d think the dog would learn.
It’s been just Slate and me for a while. Amazing he thinks someone else could be at the door.
“Hey, buddy. How’d the nap treat ya?” I bend down to greet the French bulldog. “Did you get your uninterrupted beauty sleep?”
On cue, Slate slumps onto his back, legs in the air, waiting for a belly scratch.
Before he can capitalize on the attention, he smells the peanut butter scone in my vest pocket. Slate immediately sits and puts his paw up—as if to shake—before I can get the scone, a gift from the coffee shop, out of its bag.
“You’re not spoiled at all. Not one bit…”
He knows the drill, half for him and half for me. After practically inhaling his piece, he looks up before carefully checking the floor for crumbs. By the time I take my boots off, Slate is retreating to his bed, his paws tapping on the hardwood floors. Tough life.
I walk into the kitchen and stand in front of the coffee pot. Having another cup is overkill but here we are. The coffee brews and I spend the five minutes it takes to clean the kitchen. My preference is to put everything away as soon as I’m done with it. It makes cleaning a breeze.
The sound of the dripping coffee, mixed with Slate’s snores, is comfortable as I wipe down the countertop. Fucking sparkly quartz countertops. I shake my head, laughing to myself. Can’t deny they look good in here but I never would’ve bought these. Another Hazel touch.
It’s exactly how she envisioned it and I haven’t changed a thing.
My watch tells me it’s much earlier than I thought. I have a completely free afternoon. No work to complete, errands to run, or things to do.
“Slate… want to go for a walk?” Even though he was asleep five seconds ago, he almost slips running to the door.
Chapter Four
MY SELF-CONFIDENCE IS through the roof as I check my reflection. The combination of a black midi skirt and crimson top works perfectly with my red lipstick. Not just any top, but one of my favorites, with a chiffon tie at the neck, meant for a bow. My hair is down in loose curls and I’m having one of those superb hair days. The ones that show up out of nowhere and are like a mini miracle.
The Babbling Brook conference room—I wish I was joking about the title—is still being set up. But the vendor tables look ready, and I find mine. A single piece of paper with SPARKS WELLNESS and JACK WRIGHT in size 200 font sits on top of a bare table. I can’t roll my eyes any harder at how Jack couldn’t take six more seconds to include both of our names on the attendee list.
Glaringly missing from my vendor table are the boxes we had shipped. The ones I nervously checked as my flight prepared to take off, confirmed with Bea during check-in, and before I went to sleep last night.
“Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t. Freak. Out,” I say aloud, even though it’s only meant for me.
“Do you need something?” A lodge employee must’ve heard me talking to myself. Lovely.
“Good morning and yes. I’m looking for some boxes I sent. Are you still bringing those out… Brad?” I squint and read his nametag.
“Nope. Everything sent early is on the vendor tables. Sounds like you’re missing some?”
“Yes. I confirmed they were signed for and delivered here a few days ago. It should be five boxes. My name is Ivy Lawson and the company is Sparks Wellness.
“Let me double-check. I’ll be back in a sec,” Brad says as he’s already exiting the conference room. He can’t be more than eighteen, but age doesn’t determine capability or maturity. I cross my fingers that Brad is the best man for the job.
I do what I can with what I have. Focus on the task, and mini list, at hand:
