“Sure,” Meg adds with a slight nod. “Boats.”
Chase clasps his hands together. “Great. And hey, soda’s on the house. Welcome to Lake Steamy.”
He heads back into the shop through the rear door, and Meg links arms with me as we walk toward her car. “So?” she says. “Already getting into trouble?”
I laugh, glancing over my shoulder and wishing Chase would come back out. “You didn’t tell me the bears here can climb trees.”
“I thought you knew,” she deadpans. “If you see one, just yell. They’ll always run a—”
“Wait,” I yelp, cutting her off. “Don’t explain! Let me have the fantasy where the mountain man saved me from the bear with his incredible strength and bravery. Just for a little while longer?”
Meg’s sunglasses hide her eyes, but I know they’re rolling. “Okay, Cubby. I take it you got your summer crush already?”
“Ha!” I place my hand on the car door. “Please don’t let me get obsessed with a straight man the second I get to town. I’m here to work.”
“We’re going to lock ourselves up in the lake house. We’ll probably never see the guy.”
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes lingering on the store sign as I force a smile. “Probably not.”
* * *
CHASE
Out the window of the shop, I watch the little red car roll away. It had been a quiet afternoon, until Cubby and the bear came along.
“Cubby and the bear,” I mumble to myself, then chuckle into the empty shop. How about that?
I’m not the most talkative guy, but I try to be friendly when people pass through, if only to turn up some business. His friend Meg was nice enough when I talked her up, but for whatever reason, it’s Cubby I can’t stop thinking about.
It’s a funny name that somehow suits him just right. He’s a cute guy, friendly. He’s short, and he has nice curves, which isn’t the kind of thing I normally notice on a man, but he’s got a special way of moving, which I find distracting. He starts with his hips and uses his full body. I can’t really explain it.
Maybe I’m just being weird. Not many guys wear nail polish and tight jeans like that around here. I hope I wasn’t being rude, staring or something.
I shake my head, frustrated for a reason I can’t put my finger on. Luckily, there’s plenty to do, so I get my ass in gear instead of sitting around and thinking about I don’t know what.
The rest of the afternoon, a slow but steady traffic comes and goes, mainly locals, with the occasional vacationer mixed in. There used to be a healthy tourist industry on the lake, but after some competing spots took off in the area, Lake Steamy has been quiet for some years now, leaving the small town to its sleepy mountain ways in its remote corner of the Adirondacks. A few days a week, I leave my cabin outside of town to play my part, tending to the family store, doing odd jobs with my best friend, and hustling through chores.
One of the boats my family rents out has sprung a leak, and dragging it up the hill and fixing it fills the rest of my afternoon. It’s work enough to calm my thoughts. By dusk, though, after I haul the boat back to the lake, I’m left with a sore back and that man still on my mind.
Cubby.
He’d seemed helpless one minute, cowering and gasping, and then he’d looked at me in this way I can’t really describe. Maybe as if I were some kind of hero rescuing him from serious danger. It’s not true—I didn’t do anything special—but it still felt pretty damn good.
I’m just not used to men looking at me that way.
Or moving like he moves.
As I drive my truck home, I remember Cubby’s straight, dark hair, long enough that I could run my fingers through it. I wonder how that would feel… Real soft, probably, unlike his neatly trimmed beard, which looked coarser, rougher.
Knowing my best friend Sully has already fed my dog back at my cabin, I turn toward my family’s lake house. It’s right by the water, tucked away in a little bend on the far side of Lake Steamy, and I cruise down the main street to get there. Years have passed since the vacation industry died down, and everything has settled into a new harmony. There’s a scattering of businesses that service the small town and keep the visitors happy and plenty of mountain charm—flowering bushes, babbling creeks, and all that pretty stuff.
The town is filled with people like me, here for the peace and quiet, and despite not having someone special to share my life with yet, I’m content enough just to be home, surrounded by family and friends. I’ve been here my whole life, thirty years, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
Although I’ll admit the mountains attract some strange types too. My family is the first example, and as I pull in to the lake house, I notice Uncle Ray’s rundown blue truck parked out front, a massive hunk of chainsaw-gnarled wood sinking down the rear.
My mom usually lives at the lake house full-time, although she’s been staying with Aunt Terri the last couple of months. The house had been Grandma’s until she passed a few years ago, and now it’s collectively managed by the family. We all use it some, and we’re all trying to get through a long list of renovations and overdue repairs.
I’m extra motivated to finish the repairs because even though the town is doing fine, the Lewis family isn’t quite as lucky, financially speaking. If we get the place fixed up nice, we can at least rent it out a few times a year, put it on those websites at a cheap rate and get some more vacationers through town too.
