“That would be wonderful,” Lacey says, nodding and turning back to the flyer while Smythe bags the rest of my stuff. I have to force myself to stop grinding my teeth together.
Who cares if he takes her to the stupid festival? It seems like the kind of thing people like the two of them would enjoy. Hell, maybe Smythe can come up the mountain and dig her car out of the mud, too, since he seems to like her so much.
I don’t realize my bad mood is visible until we’re in the Jeep, on our way back, and Lacey says quietly, “I really do appreciate you giving me a ride. I hadn’t realized the roads would be so… rough.”
Snorting out a laugh, I turn to look at her. We’re about halfway up the mountain now, and the sun is starting to droop low in the sky. The road is still soft, and I have to maneuver the truck carefully to avoid getting stuck.
“Don’t worry about it,” I force out, remembering that flash of grief on her face in the store and thinking I might have been a little too hard on her yesterday. She might be clueless and maybe even vapid like the people I went to school with, but that doesn’t mean I should write her off.
Because I understand all too well what it means to lose someone, and she may not have the same passion for the cabin that Jasper did, but it’s clear she lovedhim.
“Is there a tow truck company I can call around here?” she asks, pulling her phone out and sighing — clearly realizing she’s already lost signal again. “Or, maybe you could take me somewhere that can help?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say again, because apparently that phrase is all I can say. “I’ll pull it out for you. Knowing my luck, the tow truck would get stuck, and then I’d have twice as much work.”
When I glance over at her, I expect her to be frowning, put off by that, but instead she’s smiling, looking at me like she knows something I don’t.
“You’ll have to walk down and get it in the morning,” I say, because I don’t want to think about the weight of her gaze on my face. “These roads can be really dangerous at night. Hard to see, and deer can jump out.”
“You areverypassionate about road safety,” she teases, and I frown, bringing the Jeep to a stop out in front of Jasper’s place.
I’ve only driven all the way up here once or twice before, and I’ve never seen the cabin completely finished. Now, the headlights glance off the water and some windows at the front of the cabin, but I can’t make out much more than that. On a whim, I roll down the window and catch the scent of the water, the waves lapping gently along the small sand bar.
Jasper picked a nice spot. And from what I can see, the guy had a talent for building. This cabin is easily three times as big as mine, even from what little I can see in the dark. And it has adeck — something I would do if I had the chance to build mine all over again.
“Have a good night,” I say, clearing my throat when she sits there for a moment, not getting out.
“Oh,” she says, jerking a little and nodding, looking like she doesn’t want to get out of the Jeep at all.
For the briefest second, I think about telling her she doesn’t have to sleep here. That she could come back to my cabin — even though I don’t even have a couch to offer her — if that might help her feel safer.
But she grabs the door handle, flooding the inside of the Jeep with light and saying, “You have a good night, too, Max.”
And with that, she hops out of the Jeep, grabs her bag of things from the hardware store, and follows the path of the headlights to the front door, waving once more before sliding inside.
I turn around and head back down to my own cabin, the sound of my name on her lips playing through my head again and again.
CHAPTER 7
LACEY
When I wake up the next morning, once again to the feeling of the sun coming in through the window, I reach for my phone only to find a blank, black screen staring back at me. Or, more accurately, my own greasy face, reflected in that dead screen.
Last night, I quickly washed my face with the ice-cold water, gasping through the shock, and decided I would deal with the electricity in the morning, rather than brave the cool night air and the pitch black out there to try and mess with the breaker box.
Now, I pull myself out of bed, motivated by the thought of a hot shower, of washing my hair and steaming away some of the stress of the past two days. It’s startling to realize I’ve been in Montana for an entire day already, and I’m only now getting hot water and electricity. It’s like time moves more slowly here.
Even when I get my phone charged up, it’s not like I’m going to have service at the cabin, anyway. As I pull on a jacket and make my way around the side of the cabin — the package of breakersand instructions for replacing the things in my hands — I see Jasper’s 4Runner sitting out by the garage.
I hadn’t even realized he came back to San Francisco without it the last time. Did he leave it out here for me on purpose, or was he unable to make the trek? Maybe the doctors told him he couldn’t drive, given his condition.
More than anything, I wish I could ask him. Could talk to him.
Every time I remember I can’t, it’s like finding out he’s gone all over again.
It takes me about half an hour of messing with the breaker box before I finally manage to get everything working, and I’m rewarded by the sound of a few beeps inside the cabin. This means I can charge my laptop. Maybe Jasper has Wi-Fi. That would be nice, though I’m not going to get my hopes up. He was never easily reachable when in Montana.
Back inside, I hunt around in the cabinets for a coffee maker of some sort, and the only thing I can find is the pour-over set I got Jasper for Christmas last year. Sighing and reluctant to accept sub-par coffee, but also desperately needing the caffeine hit, I study the thing, clumsily putting it together.
