A sudden thought strikes me, sending panic through my system. “Eliza, are there any other guests here? The other two cabins we passed were damaged.”
She shakes her head, tension easing from her face. “No, you're the only one here right now.”
Knowing there's no one else in danger brings comfort, along with a strange sort of gratitude that I'm not alone in this. It's only us out here against the storm and whatever damage it brings. The thought is both terrifying and oddly reassuring.
“Okay, that's good.” I pause, then continue, “We'll figure this out.” I'm surprised by how steady my voice sounds. It's the voice I used on the rig, the one that inspired confidence in my crew even in the face of danger. I haven't heard it in months. “Once the storm passes, I'll help you assess the damage, and we can make a plan.”
She turns to me, her eyes blazing. “This is my brothers' world—the wilderness, the lodge, dealing with disasters like this. It's not mine, but I can't let Finn down. This place is his livelihood, his dream.” She pauses. “I may not be an expert, but I'm all the lodge has right now. We have to do whatever it takes to save it.”
Her words hit me hard. I recognize that determination, that need to prove oneself. It's the same drive that pushed me to climb the ranks on the rig, to take on additional responsibility even when it terrified me. And look where that got me. But this is different, I remind myself. This isn't about pride or proving something. This is about survival and protecting something important.
Despite my usual instinct to keep my distance, the gravity of our situation pushes me to reach out. I cross the room to her, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” I say, “We're in this together. I may know nothing about managing a lodge, but I know how to handle emergencies.Whatever you need, I'm here. We'll figure it out.” I squeeze her shoulder, trying to convey my sincerity. “You're not alone. Let's take it one step at a time and keep ourselves safe.”
As I meet her gaze, something stirs inside me—a distant reminder of the man I once was. A man capable of leading a team through any crisis and facing danger without hesitation. Eliza breaks eye contact first, reaching for her pocket. “I should try to call my brothers.”
Her hands tremble as she checks the screen in the flickering light, her expression falling. She turns the device toward me, revealing a spider-web of cracks across the display. No signal bars.
“No service,” she sighs, “and the fall did a number on it. Even if we get a signal, I'm doubtful it'll hold.” Worry crosses her face. “My brothers might try to come here if they can't reach me.”
I check my phone, hoping for a miracle, but the same “No Service” icon stares back at me. “I only know one Hollister well enough to comment, and Finn would never be so reckless. If your other brothers are like him, they'll wait until it's safe. But in case they don’t, let's stay put and wait for the storm to pass.”
Her lips press into a thin line as she weighs my words. “I hope you're right,” she says, though the tension in her shoulders tells me she's not completely convinced.
I notice her shivering, her sweater damp and clinging to her. “Here,” I say, pulling a flannel shirt from the back of a chair. “Borrow this.”
She accepts it with a soft “Thanks,” her cheeks flushing slightly as she heads to the bathroom.
While she's gone, I add another log to the fire, coaxing the flames higher. When she returns, wrapped in my flannel and clutching her damp sweater, something shifts in me at the sightof her wearing my clothes. It feels intimate in a way I wasn't prepared for.
I force myself to look away, focusing on the building flames. “That should help,” I say, keeping my voice steady as she lays her wet sweater near the hearth to dry.
We spend the next several hours assessing our situation. First, we check the supplies in the cabin. The kitchen is fully stocked, and there's plenty of firewood. The first aid kit is complete, and we find a battery-powered radio, though it's currently picking up nothing but static.
With our immediate needs assessed, we settle by the fire, side by side on the couch. The heat from the flames seep into our cold bones, and the tension eases as we talk to pass the time. Her shoulder brushes against mine now and then, a small but comforting reminder we're not alone in this. Despite the howling storm outside, in this moment, it almost feels peaceful.
“I should be studying right now,” Eliza says with a humorless laugh. “But my study guides are all in the main lodge.”
I raise an eyebrow, inviting her to continue. “Studying?” She seems to need the distraction, and I’m happy to provide it if it means I don’t have to talk about myself.
“I’m retaking my certification exam,” she says. “I thought I’d have all this time to study while watching over the lodge. That plan didn’t work out so well.”
“What kind of certification?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Teaching,” she replies. “I failed my first attempt, but I was determined to use this quiet time to prepare for the next one.”
“Why teaching?” I ask.
“I've always loved working with children, watching their eyes light up when they learn something new,” she says. “When Ms. Miller mentioned retiring, it felt like fate. There aren't many professional opportunities in Port Promise, but teaching would let me stay here while doing something meaningful. These kidsare our future, and I want to be part of nurturing their curious minds.”
“That's a lot of pressure,” I say, sensing how heavy the responsibility is.
“It is,” she agrees, her voice soft. “If I don't pass this time...” She pauses, her expression tightening as she stares at the fire. “I'll have to settle for something else in Anchorage.”
Her words trail off, and she glances toward the window, her fingers tracing the fabric of her borrowed shirt. “But this is home. Everything and everyone I love is here.”
The depth of her connection to this place hits me, and I can hear the love in her voice. “That's a lot riding on one test,” I say quietly.
