one
Cole
“This is a mistake,” I mutter as my F150 chugs along on what must surely be the longest damn driveway in the Pacific Northwest. I passed the sign letting me know I’m close to my destination what feels like forever ago, but this pothole-ridden gravel road just doesn’t seem to end. Gritting my teeth when my suspension takes yet another beating, I turn down the radio, cutting off the sound of Axl Rose’s high tenor welcoming me to the jungle, and let me assure you, I don’t miss the irony here. Pulling down the visor to shield my eyes from the setting sun, I pinch the bridge of my nose and revel in the sudden silence. The online write-up wasn’t lying when it promised me a remote wilderness experience.
I passed through the last town over thirty minutes ago and haven’t seen another sign of life since. Unless you count the suicidal buck launching himself in front of my truck and missing my front bumper by a hair’s breadth. When I turn a corner offering me nothing but yet another stretch of unpaved road flanked by thick brush, I curse myself for ever thinking this was a good idea.Do they even deliver pizza out here in the sticks, I wonder. I hadn’t bothered bringing supplies, thinking I could stock up on groceries and such once I got settled into the small cabin I’d rented for three months—sight unseen—which was clearly a momentary lapse of judgment on my part. Note to self: Don’t make rash decisions while under the influence. I’d had a particularly bad day a few weeks prior and was well on my way to demolishing a bottle of cheap vodka on my own, when it occurred to me that I couldn’t keep going down this road.
I needed to get away from it all. Away from the memories. I needed time to heal, and I couldn’t do that in the very city that reminded me of what I’d lost every single second of every day. Once the thought had taken hold in my alcohol-soaked brain, I’d literally unfolded a map of our great country, closed my eyes while I took a generous pull straight from the bottle, and brought my finger down on the weathered paper. Then, I’d taken it a step further bymaking a booking in the first place that caught my eye, without giving myself time to really think things through.
When I woke up the next morning with a pounding head and a trail of saliva caked to my cheek, the evidence of my poor choices was hard to ignore. Right there on a printed piece of paper were the details outlining my upcoming stay at Charlotte’s Cottage Resort in Moose Harbor, Washington.
I’d never heard of the small town located on the Olympic Peninsula, about a four-hour drive from the Canadian border, but I vividly remember feeling great about its remote location at the time. What I hadn’t considered was that a simple task, such as keeping myself fed, would turn out to be as challenging as trying to take a piss through morning wood. To be fair, I could’ve canceled once I was sober enough to think straight. But the more I entertained the idea of taking an extended leave of absence to get my head on straight, the more it appealed to me. The fact that my chosen vacation spot is so isolated makes it easy to shut out the rest of the world, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I’ll admit, the scenery is stunning, even if I’m far too exhausted to truly appreciate it. Driving three thousand miles across the country will do that to you. I’ve been on the road for three days now, only stopping long enough to eat and get a few hours ofshuteye here and there, and I’m more than ready to put an end to this hellish trip.
After what feels like a small eternity, I clear the top of a hill and finally spot a building in the distance. The relief is short-lived, however, for the closer I get, the more my mood sours. I pull into the designated parking area for resort guests and turn off the engine. White knuckling the steering wheel, I close my eyes and inhale deeply before I chance another look.Yep, still bad. I’d hoped the sight that greeted me may have changed in the time it took me to compose myself, but I find myself staring at the same horrifying image.
A flickering welcome sign dangles from the covered portion of the front porch that looks like it can’t possibly hold my weight. I can only assume it was put there as some kind of twisted joke, because nothing about this ramshackle log cabin looks welcoming to me. Blowing out a resigned sigh, I pop the door open and plant my combat boots firmly on the dusty ground. I take my time stretching my arms above my head and give my stiff neck a good cracking to draw out the inevitable. I don’t bother locking my vehicle. Something tells me a potential car thief is the least of my problems. Plus, I’m fairly certain this rusty piece of shit won’t garner anyone’s attention, and I have nothing of value, anyway.
A single duffle sits on the back seat, containing only the bare necessities of life. A change of clothes, oral hygiene products, deodorant and the likes. I give it a cursory glance while I pat the back pocket of my jeans to ensure my wallet is where it should be. Deciding to live dangerously, I leave the bag behind and take the porch steps two at a time. When I get to the top without incident, I gingerly make my way to the front office, skipping brittle floorboards as I go. I haven’t played a good game of hopscotch since I was about six years old. News flash. It’s not as much fun as I remember.
The door gives an obnoxious creaking sound, and a musty smell greets me, causing me to scrunch up my nose. I take a moment to let my gaze wander around the room. It’s pretty minimalistic as far as front offices go. A large wooden counter, a couple of bookshelves, a display case holding various flyers advertising touristy things to do around the area, and a single armchair accompanied by a matching side table. The way the offensive floral wallpaper peels at the seams suggests it hasn’t been replaced since The Beatles broke up. There’s a doorway leading deeper into the building behind the empty reception desk.
I spot the bell next to the sign that reads,Ring for Service, and hit the top a few times before I thumb through a couple of leaflets while I wait for my mystery host. Even though my back is turned,I feel the shift in the air and know the second I’m no longer alone. Years and years in the line of duty and always expecting the worst have heightened my senses enough to notice even the smallest sounds or movements.
“Welcome to Charlotte’s Cottage Resort. How can I help you?” A sultry voice greets me, and the rich timbre instantly reminds me of whiskey and smoky barrooms. I drop the flier I wasn’t really reading back in its designated slot and slowly turn on my heel.
My face gives nothing away when I lay eyes on the woman half covered by the wooden barrier between us, but my cold, dead heart gives a single startling thump against my ribcage. She’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, and my visceral reaction to her takes me aback. A mane of coppery curls frames a heart-shaped face, the vibrant color standing out even more against her alabaster skin and the sprinkle of freckles decorating her cheekbones. She has the cutest little button nose and a set of lips that would make a catholic priest question his faith. But it’s her feline eyes that really catch my attention. A striking emerald green, she regards me with an innocent curiosity that makes me want to bare my soul just to appease her.
It’s all I can do not to swallow my own tongue, and I haven’t even seen the bottom half of her yet. I’ve only felt an instant attraction like this once before, and the intensity of the emotion hitsme like a punch to the gut. It’s both disconcerting and confusing. I pull myself together and stride over to her, mentally shaking myself out of my stupor before I speak.
“Name’s Cole Foster. I rented the Tranquility Cabin.” Saying the ridiculous name out loud makes me inwardly cringe, but it’s what’s printed on the booking confirmation, so I manage to spit it out with a straight face. God knows I could use a little tranquility. The mythical creature runs her fingers over the keyboard for a few silent moments, her eyes tracking whatever is displayed on the computer screen, before her full lips pull into a satisfied smile.
“There you are. Cole Foster. I was wondering when you’d arrive. It’s rather unusual for someone to rent a cabin for three entire months. At least I think it is,” she adds with a sheepish expression. “You’re actually only my ninth guest ever, so I don’t really know the ins and outs of the hospitality business yet. But most people seem to book by the night or week. Mr. Mahoney is the only other long-term renter currently booked at the resort. Fair warning. He takes some getting used to, but he’s really quite harmless.”
I frown, struggling to keep up with her rapid-fire rambling. I don't think any of the information shared warrants a response, so I say nothing. That seems to bother her, for she fills the awkward silence with more senseless chatter.
“I hope you’re not averse to nudists, because the man loves to bake in the sun on his front deck, which just so happens to be right across from yours. If the naked human form offends you, I suggest avoiding your porch between the hours of one and four, which seems to be his prime tanning time. Other than that, here are your keys and a map of the resort.” She slaps a piece of paper onto the countertop between us and uncaps a permanent marker with her teeth, before pointing the tip at the main building. “We’re here and your cabin is at the very end of Foxtail trail, riiiiiight…” she sings while she draws a solid red line from the biggest building all the way to one of the miniature versions. “Here.” She circles one of the cartoon cabins with a flourish and looks up at me with a beaming smile. One that transforms her entire face and makes me feel like the sun has risen after a long, harsh winter. I swallow hard and give her a single nod, letting her know I understand her directions. She tilts her head and her smile falters as uncertainty flickers in her alluring eyes. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”
“I guess,” I say like a complete fool. I can literally feel the sweat gathering on my top lip.What the hell is wrong with me?
“Well,” she drawls, glossing over my awkward reply. “If you need me to head over to the cabin with you, I just need a minute to grab my sweater, and I’ll be right out.”
“I got it,” I snap, before she can turn away. My sharp tone makes her flinch, and I force myself to soften my voice before I try again. “I’ll be alright, but thanks for the offer.”
“Oooookay” she draws out the word, as she studies my features, most likely trying to figure out whether I suffer from some type of social disorder, or if I’m generally just an asshole. My dick twitches when she grazes her teeth over her plump bottom lip, causing my heart to gallop in my chest. I shake my head, snapping out of whatever spell the wood nymph has cast on me. Clearing my throat, I push down my unwanted feelings and quickly swipe the map and keys off the counter.
“If you need anything at all, you know where to find me. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
I don’t miss the confusion behind her professional mask as I shoot her a pained smile and hightail it out of the office before I can embarrass myself further.
two
Cole
“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” Standing in the middle of what was supposed to be my sanctuary for the next twelve weeks, I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the oncoming headache and squeeze my eyes shut. “You stupid son of a bitch. Who the fuck rents a place this long without bothering to check the reviews? What the hell is wrong with you?”
I stare into the unseeing eyes of the unlucky stag whose head is mounted on the wall in front of me. Probably one of the many suicidal deer that seem to inhabit these parts. Poor bastard probably couldn’t take the tranquility anymore. I can relate. I’ve been here less than an hour, and I’m tempted to throw myself in front of the business end of a rifle, myself. I never thought I’d say this, butlooking at this dump makes me miss my shabby one-bedroom in DC. With a heavy sigh, I drop onto the floral sofa—I’m beginning to see a theme here—and drop my head into my hands, pressing the fleshy part of my palms into my eye sockets.
