Rose stopped by a small mounted box beside a cabin door and pulled out her phone.
“Cabins use smart locks,” she said, brisk, like she was reading off a script she’d memorized a thousand times. “You each have your own code for your assigned cabin. It’ll work on the keypad and through the app link you were emailed. If you have issues, tell me or my manager, Denise. Don’t reset anything yourselves.”
She held up a printed card and started handing them out.
“Olivia, you’re in Cabin One. Jamie, Cabin Two.”
Then she looked at me for the first time since the tour began.
“Graham. You’re in Cabin Three.”
She didn’t hold my eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the code card carefully, like it might detonate.
Our fingers didn’t touch.
Dex was in Cabin Four. He accepted his card and followed Rose as she pointed out the emergency numbers, the trailhead boundaries, and the very specific rule about when and where horses could and couldn’t be fed.
By the time she was done, she’d managed to be polite, competent, and completely sealed off. A woman running her property the way a general runs a base. Nothing personal, nothing extra, nothing wasted.
It was impressive as hell.
It also made me want to find the one question that would make her answer with something real instead of rehearsed.
Stop it. You walked into her cabin. She owes you nothing.
Dex cornered me the moment we were out of earshot, dragging me into Cabin Three and shutting the door.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded, pacing the small space. “You look like death warmed over, and she’s looking at you like you kicked her dog. I thought the plan was to fly under the radar, not piss off our host on day one.”
I dropped onto the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over my face. “I fucked up, Dex.”
“No shit.” He stopped pacing, arms crossed. “How, exactly?”
The whole miserable story spilled out of me: arriving early, looking for the main house, spotting what I thought was a guestcabin, the unlocked door, Rose coming out of the bathroom, the towel, the screaming.
Dex’s expression cycled through disbelief to horror to a sort of grim amusement.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Mate. You walked into the owner’s private cabin?”
“Aye.” The mortification was still fresh enough to taste. “Not a guest cabin. Her place.”
“She could’ve sent you packing. Sent all of us packing.”
“I know.” I stared at my hands. “And I’d deserve it.”
Dex was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he exhaled and dropped into the chair.
“We really need this, Graham. The Mongolia special dropped our subscriber count for the first time in five years. Sponsors are twitchy. Olivia worked hard to set up this retreat, remote enough that you could breathe, real enough to make good content. And this place—” He gestured toward the window, toward the mountains beyond. “This is perfect.”
I couldn’t let my mistake ruin it.
“I’ll apologize again,” I said. “Properly. When she’s not ready to throw me off the property.”
“Good.” Dex ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “And you’re still not telling her who you are?”
The question hit a nerve.
