Ryder's back porch—our back porch, I'm still getting used to saying that—overlooks the woods where the evening sun filters through the trees in stripes of gold and shadow. The air smells like pine and the salmon he's grilling, and somewhere in the distance, Morris the moose is probably plotting his next dramatic entrance into our lives.
"Stop checking your phone," Ryder says without looking up from the grill. "The numbers aren't going to change in the next thirty seconds."
"They might." But I set my phone face-down on the armrest of the Adirondack chair anyway. "Three hundred thousand followers is statistically improbable. What if it's a glitch?"
"It's not a glitch." He flips the salmon with the kind of casual competence that still does unfair things to my pulse. "Your content is good. People like watching you actually live in Alaska instead of pretending to live in Alaska."
"Grizzly Girl goes legit," I say, grinning. "Who would've thought?"
The rebrand happened gradually, then all at once. Less sponsored content about products I didn't believe in, more genuine posts about small-town life, firefighter boyfriends who let me film their terrible dance moves, and the occasional moose photobomb. Turns out people respond to authenticity. Revolutionary concept.
My phone buzzes. I grab it before I can stop myself.
"I thought you weren't checking," Ryder says, amused.
"This could be important."
"It's Sage, isn't it?"
"She's sending me memes about your Footloose performance from last week's game." I turn the screen to show him a gif of his sprinkler move with the captionWhen bae says he can't dance but then does THIS. "She's made seventeen different versions."
"Of course she has." He plates the salmon, bringing it over to where I'm sitting. "She's been suspiciously quiet today. That's never good."
Right on cue, Sage's voice carries across the twenty feet separating our cabins. "I can hear you talking about me! My ears are burning!"
"That's called eavesdropping!" Ryder calls back.
"It's called being invested in your happiness!" She appears on her own porch—the crooked cabin's porch, which she's decorated with string lights and approximately forty-seven throw pillows. "Also, I made brownies. They're still warm. You're welcome."
"We didn't ask for brownies," Ryder says.
"And yet, you'll eat them." She's already crossing the distance between cabins, barefoot despite the cooling evening air, carrying a plate stacked with chocolate squares that smell incredible. "Besides, I have news."
"Good news or Sage news?" I ask.
"Both." She settles onto the porch railing like she's done this a thousand times—which she has, because Sage doesn't believe in boundaries or personal space or anything resembling normal social conventions. "Jax finally asked me out."
Ryder nearly drops his fork. "What?"
"Technically, I asked him if he was ever going to ask me out, and he said yes, so I'm counting it." She bites into a brownie with zero shame. "We're going to the Moosehead Lodge tomorrow night. You two should double date with us."
"Absolutely not," Ryder says immediately.
"Why not? Afraid I'll tell embarrassing stories about you?" Sage grins. "Too late. I already told Jax about the time you got stuck in a snow bank trying to impress Melissa Carter in eighth grade."
"I wasn't trying to impress her?—"
"You wore cologne, Ry. To play hockey. The team still talks about it."
I'm laughing so hard I nearly spill my water. Ryder shoots me a look that's half exasperation, half fondness, and my heart does that stupid flutter thing it's been doing for six months straight.
"You're supposed to be on my side," he says.
"I am on your side." I lean over to kiss his cheek. "I'm also on team 'this story is hilarious.'"
"Traitor."
Sage helps herself to more brownies, completely at home on our porch. "So, double date? Come on. It'll be fun. We can do that couples thing where we pretend we're not competitive and then get way too intense about trivia."
