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“And yet, that didn’t stop you from stealing my last pale ale out of the fridge last night.”

He hesitated, then sighed, removing the mask from his face. His father was right. If his dad got COVID-19, there was no way he wouldn’t have also contracted it at this point. He hadn’t bothered trying to set any social distancing rules with his family, even though he’d been doing his best to maintain those rules for the rest of Wild Pines. Not like anyone listened to him, though.

Archer removed the mask, tossing it back on his desk.

Astor Vincent took a few tentative steps into the cabin, a place that he used to call his. Archer hadn’t changed it much since his father passed down his role as resort manager. Mostly because he hadn’t had time to yet; a global pandemic got in the way. The Silver Falls Lake Association was adamant about their sanitation guidelines for all of the resorts surrounding the lake, and he was doing his best to keep their seven cabins in line. An impossible task for Midwesterners, who believed social distancing and “Midwest nice” couldn’t possibly coexist. At least they heeded his rule of keeping resort activities outdoors.

Astor walked over to Archer’s wall of haphazard sticky notes. It was a chaotic system, but it worked for him. Every time a task came up that needed actioning, he wrote it on a sticky note and smacked it on the wall. When the task was completed, he ripped it down.

There were currently thirty-four sticky notes plastered to the wall, rustling lightly from the north wind that blew in through the screen door. North wind meant a chillier day on the lake and stronger breezes. Perfect for sailing. Not that Archer even bothered to hop in his sailboat; there simply wasn’t the time.

Astor retrieved his glasses from his front breast pocket, holding them close to his face as he leaned in to read a note. “‘Send a reminder for the owners’ meeting,’” he read out loud. He scanned the next one. “‘Submit fees to the lake association.’” He stood up straight, his glasses falling to his side as he stared at Archer with wide eyes. “You haven’t done that yet?”

Archer stood and rounded the desk. “Getting to it, Dad. Not the highest on my list of priorities.”

“And what is, exactly?”

Archer crossed his arms, then flinched. The new storm cloud tattoo next to his right elbow was still tender. “Keeping people from dying?”

Astor rolled his eyes. “People aren’t going to die.”

“The five-hundred thousand people who already did would beg to differ.”

His father sighed. “You sure you don’t need me to help? I don’t mind hopping back into things. Your first summer managing wasn’t supposed to involve a pandemic.”

Archer felt his chest tighten. Breathe. He reminded himself that if he could manage shaking fifty craft cocktails an hour at the most coveted bar in Minneapolis six nights a week, he could handle managing seven cabins in the middle of the woods.

Wild Pines was one of many resorts sprinkled across northern Minnesota, each a small collection of fishing cabins that eventually transformed into vacation homes. While most of the cabins were available to renters for weeks at a time, some of the owners opted out, choosing to stay in their cabins all summer long. The manager position at the resort had been in the Vincent family for generations, so for every summer of his existence, Archer spent the days between May and September in Cabin A, the small manager’s cabin at the left corner of the resort, with six other cabins lined up next to it, all connected by a shared lawn and beach that overlooked the lake. He slept on the bottom bunk in the smaller second bedroom, his brother Austin at the top, but he didn’t mind—especially when the window above his bed was a direct view of a certain bedroom window next door.

Even though the Richards opted out of renting their cabin, Archer hadn’t seen anyone in that upstairs bedroom window for eight years. Not that he had seen much of Wild Pines since that fateful summer, except for a week or two if he could get the time off from Hermes Lounge, usually around the Fourth of July.

Then the world locked down. Weeks into the pandemic, his father called and told him he bought Cabin F from Quentin’s parents. The message was clear: It was time for Archer to step up…five years earlier than planned.

Now, Cabin A was his—as well as the position of running this place. It didn’t pay nearly as much as Hermes, but cocktail lounges were certainly not open during the pandemic…and he needed the cash. Managing Wild Pines was beyond exhausting, but the last thing he wanted was his father to think he couldn’t handle the job he watched him easily manage for twenty-six years of Archer’s life.

“Dad, seriously, I got this.” He placed his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “You trusted me to take over this place. Let me do it, please.”

“Promise you’ll ask for help if you need it?”

No. But he smiled and nodded, knowing that arguing with his father any further would be useless. Astor wanted reassurance. And Archer wanted to prove that even if he was his father’s second choice, he was still a good one.

Astor dipped his chin, his face twisted with guilt. “One more thing.”

He dropped his hands. “Who else went to town? Tell them they have to quarantine.”

“No, no, not that.” His father sighed. “We have one more person joining us this summer.”

“No, not allowed.” Archer swung his arms in front of him, like a referee at a Vikings football game. No touchdown. “We’re closed for the summer.”

“I think we need to make an exception, Arch. She has nowhere to go.”

He glared. “Who?”

Astor shifted on his feet, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Someone you know.”

“And that would be…?”

“Someone you used to be friends with,” he amended. “Or maybe you still are, I don’t know. You never talk about her anymore. But her internship was canceled and she has nowhere else to go this summer. Her grandparents are really looking forward to seeing her.”