Page 26

“No way you were an extra in a Taylor Swift music video.” She’s mid-laugh when she turns.

Some people take a change of plans well. Some do not.

“Sorry, folks, the van is refusing to cooperate this evening. I have another tour operator coming out to pick you up in about forty minutes and return you to your hotels. Sorry for a disappointing night. In the meantime, please enjoy some snacks and stay warm inside the van.”

A collective groan floats through the group, but there’s no argument.

“We’ll have your refunds sorted first thing in the morning, and you’re always welcome to rebook any time,” Ellery adds. “Would anyone like an extra blanket?”

The door shuts, and I lean against the front wheel well to listen to the sounds of the forest, out of habit more than worry. Wind direction, shifting trees, small noises that go silent when something bigger is nearby. Nothing out of place.

The Renards might be content to sit around, but I’m not. Dead tourists are bad for business.

A short while later, headlights flicker through the trees as Kendall winds her way toward us. She parks alongside me and comes over rubbing her eyes. Her beanie won’t sit flat over the bun of braids she’s slept on, and she hasn’t bothered to fix either.

Ellery emerges, hearing the other car idling.

“Thanks, I owe you big time,” I say to Kendall as I text her my guest list and their drop-off points.

“You sure do.” She holds out her hand to Ellery with a crooked grin. “Hey, I’m Kendall. Whatever he’s paying you, it’s not enough.”

Ellery laughs. “He’s aware.”

“He’s not, but that’s a conversation for another time.”

Ellery returns her grin and mobilizes the guests. “Time to head home, folks. Kendall will deliver you safely back to your destinations. Make sure you’ve got all your personal items.”

Kendall’s taillights disappear around the bend, and then it’s the two of us.

Above, clouds stretch all the way across the sky, no moon, the shapes of the forest black against black. Ellery’s boots crunch as she changes position next to me. An owl passes overhead, close enough that I catch the air moving over its feathers.

“You don’t have to stand out here with me. It’ll be a while till help arrives.”

“I’m fine.” Her teeth are chattering.

My jacket’s off and held out at arm’s length before I can talk myself out of it. Which is as close as I’m willing to get.

“You’ll freeze.” She refuses to take it.

This woman is stubborn.

“I’ve been rolling around in the snow since I was a baby. Marthe’s idea of building character and good health or some other Nordic parenting wisdom. This is a balmy seventy-five for me.”

“In that case.” She slides her arms into the sleeves. It swims on her, the shoulders too big, the arms too long, and some irrational part of my brain wants to see her in more of my clothes. She pulls it closed and makes a small sound she doesn’t know she’s made. I’ve heard her make that sound when she wraps her cold hands around a warm mug of cocoa and when she gets the fire to catch. Her heart drops to a slower rhythm, and she has no idea I can hear it.

I find a stick on the ground and start snapping it into pieces.

Don’t go soft for her.

“So…” She bounces on her feet a little. “Why did you want to become a tour guide?”

“I didn’t.”

She waits me out, shifts closer, close enough that her shoulder finds my arm and settles there, giving where I don’t. The heat she’s expecting doesn’t come but she stays anyway. If I move, she’ll know I noticed. If I don’t, I have to keep standing here with her pressed against my side, working out what to do with my hands, which is a problem I haven’t had in years.

“How did you end up with all this if it’s not what you wanted?”

The truth seems lame, but I give it to her anyway. “Family business. Someone had to.”