“There’s a delay,” I said, leaning my head against the cool glass of a bookcase. “There was an incident near one of the access roads. The reserve paused transfers until everything is cleared.”
“What kind of incident?” Summer’s voice went sharp. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Summer. I’m helping Sarah manage the guests while they wait for transfer.”
“They? Where are you in the reschedules?”
“On a list.”
“That is not an answer, Juliette.”
“It is technically composed of words.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Summer shifted on the other end. Office air-conditioning hummed behind her, cool and controlled and impossibly far from the wet heat pressing against the lodge windows. “That is a very polished answer,” she said.
“Thank you. I prepared it specifically to stop you from weaponizing the family group chat.”
“Juliette. So there’s something to respond to.”
I closed my eyes. Summer had always been inconveniently good at hearing what I left out.
“I’m safe,” I said. “That’s the part that matters.”
“Is this about the ranger?”
“This is about me not worrying you with details that won’t help.”
“So yes,” Summer said. “Stay if you want to stay, Jules. I can keep the wheels on for one more Monday. But don’t call it logistics if it isn’t.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because if I admitted it was anything else, I’d have to admit what it actually was. And I had nowhere to put that sentence where it wouldn’t make a mess.
“I have to go,” I said. “Nick is clearing the airstrip.”
“Be careful,” she said. “And I don’t just mean whatever you’re refusing to tell me.”
I hung up and turned. For one dangerous hour, the world stayed outside.
The air was heavy with the smell of old paper, coffee, and the earthy scent of him. Outside, the guests murmured like a distant tide. Inside, there was only the scratch of his pen, the low murmur of radio traffic, and the soft tap of my thumb against Sarah’s lodge tablet as I updated transfer notes.
The hour began collecting small, dangerous evidence. His silence beside mine. My hand finding his pen before he asked. The radio staying quiet one minute longer than it needed to.
I knew better than to confuse proximity with a promise.
Unfortunately, knowing better had never once stopped a woman from being stupid.
I reached for the mug, and his knuckle grazed mine. Barely anything. My body recorded the contact as a permanent record—the rough texture of his skin against mine, gone before either of us could pretend it meant nothing.
On the map, the marked access road ran past the abandoned western tents and the ranger positions pushed wider than they had been yesterday.
“Is it possible,” I said slowly, “that they wanted to see what you’d give up first?”
Nick’s hand stilled over the map.
“Road. Guests. Tents. Rangers,” he continued, his voice dropping. “We gave them all of it.”
“Not all,” I said.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, quick and controlled. My body had the poor taste to notice anyway.
