The Mating Game by Lana Ferguson - 5

“Have you been sleeping?” Ada asks. “You’re too young for eye bags.”

I pause from unpacking to glance over at the mirror above the dresser and press my fingertips to the obvious dark circles that have started to form under my eyes. I frown at the overall shittiness of my appearance—my bangs look stringy, and my complexion seems somehow paler than usual. It’s like I didn’t sleep at all last night. Which, fair.

“I look that bad, huh?”

“You look stunning.” My lips purse at her tone as she adds, “For an extra on The Walking Dead .”

“Hysterical,” I mutter.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Just a rough night,” I say, shoving another pair of jeans into a dresser drawer. “Didn’t get much sleep.”

Hardly any, thanks to my infuriating new employer. Even now I feel myself tensing at the memory of the bizarre exchange I had with Hunter last night—from the coarse initial greeting to the infuriating remarks over my new designation I’d barely had more than a few hours to come to terms with.

If you’re going to be staying here, it would probably be a good idea to take precautions. I wouldn’t want you to have an incident.

I snort. What an asshole. An incident . What, does he think, I’m going to start howling at him and begging for his dick or something? Fucking shifter men. Which I assume he must be, given that the pleasant scent of sunshine and rain lingered long after he shut himself in his bedroom, something I’m now gathering was most likely not cologne.

And not to mention his obvious disdain at my being here in the first place. I spent most of the night fuming over his snide Little Miss Fixit comments—having half a mind to spend the rest of the evening boarding that asshole up in his own bedroom just to show him I’m perfectly comfortable around a hammer.

He’s lucky my brothers are bringing all the tools.

I want to know how he could even tell what I was in the first place. It’s not like there’s some sort of sign stamped on my forehead now, is there? Will every shifter I meet know that I’m some sort of medical anomaly right away? That seems…inconvenient. Hopefully there’s more information in the pamphlets Dr. Carter gave me.

“Did you pack appropriate pajamas?” Ada asks. “Are your toes in danger of frostbite?”

I roll my eyes. “I brought plenty of wool socks. I have seen snow before, you know.”

I catch Ada’s shiver even on my tiny phone screen. “I could never.”

“You’ll have to leave Southern California sometime,” I laugh.

“Right. I could join you in Axe-Murderer Land and lose my toes. No thanks.”

“What happened with Perry’s school yesterday?”

I peek over to catch her teeth worrying at her lip. “He’s acting out in class again.”

“What does that mean?”

“He refused to participate.”

“He’s six,” I scoff.

“I know that,” she says. “I just worry about him socially. He doesn’t seem interested in making friends at all. I thought moving him to private school this year would help get him some more one-on-one attention, but he keeps saying he hates the place.”

“He’ll adjust,” I assure her. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. He’s still so little.”

“I hope you’re right.” She sighs, then waves a hand in front of her face. “Now tell me why you’re not sleeping.”

“It’s not a big deal…”

I’m just apparently something entirely different than I thought I was for my entire life. Oh, and my new employer not only doesn’t want me here but might think I’m going to rampantly hump his leg at some point.

Ada narrows her bright green eyes, leaning in a little so that her auburn hair falls into her face. “Tess.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Just…still feeling a little under the weather.”

An understatement, really. I tossed and turned the entire night—the meds the doctor gave me hardly even touched the cramps, the night sweats, and the strange itching sensation all over my skin. Between that and my irritation with Hunter, I’m positively exhausted.

“I thought you said it was clearing up?”

“I know.” I spin to plop down on the edge of the bed, frowning at my phone, which I propped up on the dresser so I can look at my friend properly. “And it…is. Technically. Sort of.”

“Oh my God,” she groans. “Tell me you aren’t dying.”

“I’m not dying ,” I huff. “I’m just…not entirely well.”

“If you want to make sense anytime soon, that would be great.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? The doctor said it’s not unheard-of and that when I’m fully adjusted, everything will be as normal as—”

“ Tess. ”

“I’m not a beta.”

Her head cocks, her freckled nose scrunching. “Come again?”

“Or, I mean, I might be right now, but I won’t be soon? I don’t know. It’s all very confusing.”

“Still not making sense.”

“She called it a…late presentation.”

“So, what…you’re…” Her eyes widen. “Are you a shifter?”

“Among other things, apparently,” I grumble.

“Oh my God. Have you shifted? Jesus Christ. What’s that even like for the first time as an adult? I did it when I was thirteen, and I swear, Twilight didn’t get it entirely wrong. I mean—”

“I haven’t,” I tell her, cutting her off. “Not yet. But I guess I will. Soon.”

“Wow.” She shakes her head, looking as stunned as I still feel. “That’s insane, Tess. How are you holding up?”

“I’m…okay. I don’t think it’s entirely sunk in yet. Since my body is apparently still…changing.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good. I just…Fuck. Do you have any questions I can answer? I know I’m not a doctor, but it’s probably going to be easier to ask me about your biannual horny parade than it would be to ask a stranger.”

“Ah.” I shift on the bed, feeling uncomfortable. “About that. She thinks I might be having those…more frequently than others.”

“Why? I mean, I have them four or five times a year, but that usually only happens with…”

She blinks at me, understanding dawning on her features, and I nod back at her, the realization hanging between us.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers.

“Yep.” I end the p with an audible pop. “I guess we can join the Omega of the Month Club.”

“That’s not a thing,” she snorts.

“Whatever. I get to be nonsensical right now.”

Ada gapes at me, looking dazed. “Wow, Tess. That’s…” Her brows shoot up. “Do you think it’s because you’ve spent so much time with me? Like…maybe we synced up? Like periods?”

I shake my head. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that.”

“I just… Holy shit. Seriously, are you okay? Have you told your parents?” She grimaces. “Have you told your brothers ?”

I make a face. “No and no. Just you for now.” I wince, realizing that there is actually one other person in the immediate vicinity who might know. “I’m having a hard enough time letting it marinate while at the jobsite.”

“Oh shit. I didn’t even think of that. Is that going to be weird? What about the woman you’re working for? Is she a shifter?”

“I…haven’t met her yet. She wasn’t here when I got in last night. I met the owner though—who apparently is not Jeannie—and he was…a character.”

“Shifter?”

“I…” I recall the soft scent of warm, sun-heated rain and frown. “I’m not sure.” Okay, I have a very strong inkling, but I don’t say that. “It’s very possible though.”

“Is he one of those old bearded guys who’s always got on some type of fur?”

“He’s not much older than me, actually,” I tell her with a scoff. “But he does have a beard. No fur so far, just a lot of plaid.”

“Oh?” Her voice takes on a much more interested tone. “Is he hot?”

I chew at the inside of my lip, a flash of Hunter’s dark eyes and full mouth cropping up unbidden even as I try to shrug it off. I will not be romanticizing the gruff asshole, not even in my head. “I mean, he’s not unattractive by any means.”

“Oh my God. He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“I guess,” I mumble. “Objectively.”

“How interesting ,” she practically purrs.

I roll my eyes. “Well, given that—like you said—I look like a Walking Dead extra and I made an axe-murderer joke right after meeting him—your fault, by the way—he’s probably going to do his best to avoid me.”

I don’t mention that at this point, I’m hoping he does, given that our first meeting went as disastrously as possible.

“Shut up. A shower and some good sleep and you’ll get back to being the fresh-faced hottie I know and love.”

“Actually, I get the sense he doesn’t like that I’m here. Apparently this entire job was Jeannie’s venture. I don’t even know what their connection is yet. Hunter wasn’t very…forthcoming.”

On all sorts of things , I don’t say, trying not to think about the way he sniffed me.

Fucking sniffed me.

That’s going to take some getting used to.

“Hunter,” Ada snorts. “How appropriate.”

“I thought the same thing.”

“Seriously, though. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t know…I still don’t know what to think of it. I don’t feel different yet, you know?” I consider everything for a moment. “What was it like when you found out?”

“I mean, I was thirteen, so it was sort of a nonissue. I didn’t have my first heat till I was nineteen, so until then, it was just this thing about myself that I knew was going to be a big deal one day.”

“Were you scared? Knowing you were different?”

“I don’t know. My entire family are shifters, so I knew that was likely in the cards for me, but I’m the first omega in a couple of generations, according to my mom. Have you thought about asking your mom about where this might have come from?”

I wince. “She has enough going on.”

“I’m sure she’d want to support you, babe.”

“I know that. I do. But she’s so tired all the time, being the only one working, and with everything going on with Dad…”

“You’re not a burden, Tess,” Ada stresses. “I know you think that anytime you have problems, you have to keep them to yourself, but people want to help you.”

Deep down I know she’s right, but it’s hard to shake off literal years of trying to make myself as little of a problem as possible to the people I love. They have enough to deal with.

“Maybe,” I mumble. I check the time on my phone. “I’d better go find my new boss, who might hate me.”

“Mm.” Her serious expression gives way to mischief. “Well. I’m sure you could make him come around .”

“You’re disgusting.”

“One of us should be getting some action.”

“You could get plenty if you stopped swiping left all the time.”

She rolls her eyes. “The last guy on that app who looked promising said in his bio that his anthem was a G-Eazy song. Didn’t exactly spark confidence. I think I’m going to delete it altogether. It’s not like I use it for anything more than entertainment purposes.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to give someone a chance.”

“I’ve done just fine without penis so far, thank you very much. Artificial works as well as the real thing.” Her expression falls then. “Besides, you know why I don’t date.”

That gives me pause, and I feel a surge of guilt course through me. I do know why she doesn’t date—and even if she’s never really gone into the full details, given that it happened before we met, I know enough to understand why she continues to swipe left.

“Yeah, I know.” I check the time. “I guess I should get downstairs and see if Jeannie ever made it in. It would be nice to discuss the project with someone who actually wants it to get done.”

“Mr. Hunter is probably looking for a place to lay his log.”

I push up from the bed, reaching for my phone on the dresser. “Okay, back to work for me. You can go back to mocking people’s Tinder bios.”

“It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.”

“Whatever. Tell Catherine I said hi.”

“Tess says hi!” Ada shouts behind her.

I hear a faint Hi, Tess from somewhere out of sight, and I wince. “Has your mom been around for this entire conversation?”

“I think she left around the time I suggested you should make him come.”

“Good talk. Bye-bye, now.”

Ada makes a kissing face right before I hang up the FaceTime call, and I shake my head as I stow my phone in my pocket. I try to situate my bangs into a less nightmarish situation, but given the way I’m still sweating slightly even with the frigid temperature, I reason that this is as good as it’s going to get. It’s not as if I have anyone to impress anyway. I’m going to get a lot sweatier than this when we start getting into the real work.

And I don’t care in the slightest what anyone in this lodge thinks of my appearance.

Not at all.

The lodge looks different in the morning sun—no less dusty or aged, but there’s something about the sunlight gleaming on the soft mounds of powdery white outside that makes the walls seem to shine a little brighter. Honestly, it makes the entire place feel more charming.

The heat isn’t quite as strong as I might like, a fact that became entirely apparent about eighteen minutes after I settled into bed last night in my usual bedtime attire of a T-shirt and panties. I was jumping back out of bed in no time at all to pull on pajama pants and the thickest pair of socks I own. Socks that I am currently still wearing inside the fuzzy snow boots I’ve shoved the ends of my sweatpants into. Socks that I’d wager I won’t be taking off for the entirety of my stay.

I’m not looking where I’m going as well as I should when I step off the last stair, nearly tripping over a black mass of… something that gives a yowl when my foot collides with it. It bounds off in a fluffy blur toward the other room, leaving me blinking at the spot where it just was and wondering what in the hell I nearly stepped on.

One day here, and not only does my host hate me and think I’m some sort of biological ticking time bomb, but I’m already upsetting the local wildlife. Great.

I follow my nose, tracking the smell of cooked meat and, beneath that, something sweet that I very much hope comes with syrup, stalking it like a hungry predator as it leads me down an adjoining hall attached to the room where the front desk resides. It spills out into a long dining room that houses a wide ( surprise! ) wooden dining room table, each leg made of an untreated log and the benches on either side of a similar material. An older woman who looks to be in her sixties with thick graying hair piled on top of her head works at the other end, setting out plates and trays of bacon, eggs, and—most importantly— pancakes . She looks up when she notices me entering, giving me a kind smile that makes her eyes crinkle. Almost like we’re old friends.

“Oh, hey,” she greets me. “You must be Esther.”

“Tess,” I correct gently. “Everyone calls me Tess.”

“Of course,” she says, still smiling. “It’s good to have you here. Why, you’re the first guest we’ve had since May. No one to look at most of the time but Hunter and Reginald, and they’re not great company even on their best days.”

I wrinkle my nose. I’d been under the impression that I was the only guest. “Reginald?”

“Sorry.” She nods her head down toward the floor, and I notice now that the same massive black something from the stairs is skulking in from the opposite door, which I assume leads to the kitchen. “He only acts like an asshole,” she assures me as the very fluffy, very large cat takes a seat near her feet. “He’s really kind of sweet once you get to know him.”

“His name is Reginald?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “Named him after my late husband. Believe it or not, he sort of favors him a little.”

I look into the slightly squashed face of the massive feline, trying to picture it. “Well. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” I tell her. “Once my teeth stopped chattering.”

“Well, shit. I’ll put some extra blankets in your room after breakfast. These old ducts aren’t what they used to be. I’ll talk to Hunter and see if we have enough in the budget to do something about the furnace.” She nods her head toward a wide window that overlooks the snow. There are so many windows in this place. “Hunter actually mentioned chopping some more wood later for the big fireplace. Haven’t started it up in a few months—but it’s right toasty to sit around when it gets going.” She nods to herself as she gazes out the window, finally giving her head a little shake as if remembering herself. “Sorry, you’d think I’d never met anyone before.” She wipes her hands on her apron, then steps closer, extending one for me to shake. “Jeannie. It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

“You too,” I reply warmly. There’s a whiff of something sweet coming from her, something not too unlike the pancakes she’s just set down—and I have no way of knowing if it’s batter on her clothes or one of those scent things the doctor warned me about. I can’t decide if it’s rude to ask. “I’m really excited to get started.”

“I follow you on the TikTok,” she says. “You do some good work.”

I beam. “I appreciate that. It’s really cool doing what I love with my family.”

“Right. You have those brothers. They around?”

I shake my head. “They’re driving. Bringing all the tools. I wanted to come ahead and get a feel for the place.”

“Ah. Of course. Well, I’m thrilled you guys took the job. Took some convincing with that grumpy nephew of mine, but I know you’re gonna do wonders here.”

“Nephew?” I raise an eyebrow as I shake her hand. “Are you related to Hunter?”

“Aunt,” she clarifies. “By marriage. My Reg was Hunter’s uncle.”

I guess it would be a bad idea to tell her that her nephew is kind of an asshole.

“Oh. Yeah. I met him last night. He seems great.”

Jeannie laughs at that. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it with me, hon. I’m sure he was a big ol’ sourpuss. He isn’t as keen on renovating as I am.”

“I…gathered he has some reservations.”

“Just ignore him. He isn’t big on change when it comes to this old place.”

I’m not sure what else to say about that, seeing as her remark feels like a major understatement, if Hunter’s attitude last night was any indication. I give an appreciative look around the room in lieu of responding. “Well, it’s really a lovely place you’ve got here.”

“Oh, I know it’s not what it used to be, but if you keep an open mind, this place really can be quite…” She smiles a little to herself, looking at the snow outside the window again. “Magical, really.” She snorts out a laugh. “Listen to me, acting a fool.”

“No, no,” I tell her. “I get it. If Hunter is agreeable, we should probably all sit down to go over the budget and talk about the different projects I have planned for this place. A lot of the work my brothers and I can do by ourselves, but some of the larger jobs we’ll have to get people to drive in from Denver for.”

“I’ll make sure he gets his panties out of a bunch long enough to do that,” she assures me. “He can be reasonable when he wants to be.” She nods to herself. “Anyway, I imagine you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I admit with slight surprise. The nausea is pretty much under control at the moment, and I’m realizing how long it’s been since I’ve eaten properly.

“Well, sit down, sit down. Better dig in before the food gets cold.”

I waste no time in obliging, lowering myself onto the carved bench at one side of the table, then grabbing one of the empty plates waiting there. I load up on eggs and two pancakes (my hips won’t thank me for it, but honestly, I sort of love my curves), then tear into a crispy strip of bacon with an actual moan as I close my eyes.

“That’s fantastic.”

Jeannie chuckles to herself as she settles into the only actual chair, which sits at the head of the table near where I’m perched. “Glad you like it. I don’t get to cook for many people anymore. Business has been so slow, you see.”

“Oh?” I shove a forkful of eggs into my mouth. “Why is that?”

Jeannie sighs. “Used to be full up all winter long,” she tells me. “Then a few years back, they built that new highway that bypasses the town…took all our travelers right around us and straight on to Denver. Business hasn’t been the same since.”

“That’s too bad.”

“We manage.” She gives a soft shrug as she reaches for a strip of bacon. “Still get the locals up here around Christmastime every year. Reckon it’s only to help us out, but it gets us through the rest of the year. Not to mention the few stragglers we get off the main road hankering for the scenic route.”

I keep my voice casual as I start to cut into my pancakes, which are now drowning in syrup. “And it’s only you and Hunter up here? No other staff?”

“We have a lady who comes in once a week to clean a bit,” she answers. “But other than that, it’s just us.”

I chew thoughtfully as I let my eyes move about the room, noticing similar signs of neglect that could easily be fixed with minimal effort. “You know, I actually don’t think it will take much to spruce the place up.” I’m looking at the thick curtains that have begun to gather dust and thinking about how easily they could be cleaned. “I already have a few ideas, just from a quick look around, that I can run by you. Also, the website could use a bit of an overhaul. It’s sort of hard to navigate.” I shrug idly. “I don’t know. Might help a little?”

Jeannie chews at her food, nodding her head quietly. “You’re probably right. I’d love to help get the place more up to scratch myself, but these old bones don’t get around like they used to. I’d throw out my damn back trying to climb some ladder to get all the cobwebs off these ceilings. Hunter does all the major upkeep we need, but like I said, he isn’t really keen on the idea of changing anything too much. Sort of set in his ways, that one.”

“He does seem a little…” I tilt my head side to side, thinking. “Rigid?”

God, maybe that was a poor choice of words.

Now I’m thinking about those shoulders again. I reason that it isn’t my fault I was confronted with a physique that nearly defies the laws of nature within five minutes of arriving. Honestly, I’m just pondering the idea that he has to order all his shirts in a custom size. The absurdity of that possibility is enough to distract me from the grumpy innkeeper.

Jeannie simply laughs, taking another bite of bacon before she holds the last little bit under the table for the cat. “He wasn’t always. The pup has had a rough go of it these last few years.” She snorts. “Last decade, really.”

“Pup?”

“Old habit,” she tells me. “He shifted so early that first time. Practically a puppy. I haven’t really been able to shake the nickname.”

“So he’s a shifter then,” I press.

“Sure is,” she says. “We both are.”

“Ah, I thought I smelled…”

“Reginald used to say I smelled just like cake batter,” she sighs wistfully. Her nostrils flare then. “You smell pretty lovely yourself.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “Yeah, I…” And what do I say to that? I can’t go and dump all my recent problems on this woman I barely know. Not when I don’t know how to feel about them myself. “Thank you.”

She leans in then, inhaling deeply. “You actually smell so familiar to me. It’s odd.”

“Oh, I…Your nephew seemed to have a bit of an issue with it, actually.”

Her brows raise. “Did he now?”

“I don’t think he likes me very much, truth be told.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” she argues.

I must be making a face, because Jeannie reaches over to give my forearm a pat. “He’s a lot like Reginald,” she tells me, nodding her head toward the giant cat, who is happily snacking on his bit of bacon. “He’s really kind of sweet once you get to know him.”

“Are we talking about me?”

I tense at the sound of Hunter’s voice and turn to find him standing in the doorway.

“There you are,” Jeannie says. “We were just saying we all needed to have a sit-down about the plans for this place.”

He cocks a brow. “Oh, do we?”

“Don’t be like that,” she scolds. “Tess is here, and she’s willing to help, so you need to be respectful.”

“I’m plenty respectful,” he mutters as he steps farther into the room.

His scent bombards me as he plops down on the other side of the table, folding his arms over the top and eyeing me warily. This scenting business is still so new, and I haven’t quite figured out how to get a handle on it. On the one hand, they both smell really good, but on the other… Jeannie’s scent doesn’t make me squirm in my seat.

“I was just telling your aunt that we should probably go over the budget and pin down what we absolutely can and can’t do.”

“Oh?” Hunter purses his lips. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, Jeannie said the heat in this place isn’t what it used to be. Do we have room for a new furnace?”

Hunter scoffs. “I highly doubt it. We can barely afford the cosmetic stuff Jeannie mentioned.”

“We really need a new generator,” Jeannie points out.

Hunter makes a face. “And where are we supposed to get the money for that?”

“Okay,” I say, placating. “So we focus on cosmetics for now, and hopefully more business will come in to help offset the cost for some of the bigger projects.”

“What exactly do you plan to do here?” Hunter asks.

I push my plate aside, crossing my arms. “Well, Jeannie and I discussed new flooring, some renovations in the bathrooms—that will mean new showers and vanities. I want to redo the foyer if we can; the front desk needs to be sanded and restained, and for that matter, the stairs need to be redone as well. The wood is scuffed to hell. From what I can see, the fireplace is still great—we just need to refinish the mantel, maybe, but I like the rustic charm of the original stonework there. Based on your budget, I don’t think we have enough to rip out all the wood paneling, but we can most likely refinish it, at the very least. Plus, there is definitely some cosmetic work that needs to be done outside. I’d love to get the roof replaced with sheet metal if we can, but I’ll have to go over the numbers to see if I can contract it out.”

“That sounds like…a lot,” Hunter says flatly.

I nod back at him. “There are other projects that might come up after I see the whole place—I’m going to want that tour later, by the way—but we can discuss those then.”

Hunter’s jaw works subtly, and I can tell he’s bothered by this whole conversation. I remember what Jeannie said about him not liking change, and I can imagine that this definitely is a lot for him. Still, this is what I was hired for, and I can’t let his aversion stop me from doing my job.

Hunter huffs out a breath then, shaking his head and pushing up from the table. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“I mean, I don’t want to do anything without your approval. You’re still the owner.”

His mouth turns down in a frown as he looks between me and Jeannie, and for a moment I imagine a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that’s gone as quickly as it comes. “Whatever Jeannie wants that we can afford,” he says finally. “I’ll deal with it.”

He stalks out of the room then, and I feel as if he’s left more questions than answers.

“Don’t mind him,” Jeannie sighs. “Like I said, he’s really attached to this place. Doesn’t like the idea of changing things.”

“I don’t want to step on any toes,” I say.

She shakes her head. “You’re not. He knows we need this, he’s just having a hard time accepting it. He’ll come around. Promise.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m positive.”

She stands from her chair and wipes her hands on her apron, informing me that she’s going to wash dishes and to holler if I need anything, then leaves me to puzzle over the conversation (however one-sided) I just had. It bothers me to know I’m unwanted here, because it’s a problem I’ve never had to deal with before. Still, with HGTV looking for footage of this place to use as a pseudo interview for a chance at my own show, I can’t afford to back down. Not as long as Hunter isn’t outright chasing me off.

My eyes move to the enormous mass of fur. The cat is currently giving me a bored expression while he licks his lips, and I feel myself frowning as I remember the way Hunter implied I don’t look the part when it comes to this job.

I tell myself that maybe Jeannie is right. Maybe Hunter isn’t much of a people person. I even convince myself that it’s possible we just got off on the wrong foot. I mean, I did sort of imply he might be a murderer—but it was a joke . Plus, I guess if he really doesn’t want to make any renovations to his place, it’s understandable he would be wary of me. I’ve got nothing for all the omega stuff though. I’m actively choosing not to think about it, or else there won’t be any hope of getting along with Hunter. I tell myself I’ll find him later, give him my sunniest smile, and we’ll be right as rain for the remainder of the job. I reach over tentatively to give Reginald a head scratch, but he quickly slinks out of reach, looking almost offended.

Awesome.

There’s a better signal on the deck, and I hold out my phone to check my appearance, making sure my hair isn’t windblown before I hit record.

“Hey, guys! I’m here in Pleasant Hill, Colorado, for a new project.” I turn the camera toward the lodge to get a panoramic view. “And as you can see, I’ve got my work cut out for me. Stay tuned for more updates!”

I’ll need to get some shots from the inside later to post to my account, but for now, that should do.

I move down the stairs in search of Hunter after I finally get my video to upload to TikTok and find him chopping wood like Jeannie mentioned. Remembering that I am a sensible twenty-eight-year-old woman who shouldn’t be rendered temporarily incapable of speech at the sight of an overgrown man all dressed in plaid and chopping wood proves to be another matter entirely.

I don’t mean to wind up at the deck stairs, one hand on the railing and short a few dozen brain cells (the important ones, ones that help unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth in moments like these) as I try to process rolled-up sleeves and thick forearms. It also doesn’t escape my notice that even from where I’m standing at the top of the stairs, Hunter might still be eye level to me. Needless to say, I’m decidedly less than eloquent when I meet the surly innkeeper for the third time since my arrival in Pleasant Hill.

God, this guy could create an entire TikTok account of just him chopping wood and make a killing.

I find him mid-swing, which means I’m forced to watch the way the plaid button-down hugs his shoulders as they strain with the effort of rolling to wield an axe—leaving me an addled mess with parted lips and wide eyes. Honestly, at this point, I hope I still look like a functioning human woman. His chest heaves against the fabric of his shirt as he looks up at me with a furrowed brow, then reaches with his free hand to wipe away the sweat that clings there.

That’s when I remember that I’m still staring at him.

“Hey.” My voice comes out all wrong. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He swings the axe enough so that the blade is wedged into the wide log that he’s using to prop up the smaller ones—and that’s not supposed to be hot, is it? “Did you need something?”

“Oh, no, not really,” I say a little too quickly. “I just wanted to—” I’m momentarily distracted when he tugs at the edge of his shirt to bring it up to his forehead to wipe the sweat there, revealing hard lines and ridges and a trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans. I refuse to think about how far it goes. “I wanted to apologize if I was rude yesterday,” I manage. “It was a long flight and a weird day. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything about your place. It’s really great.”

One dark brow arches with something that almost seems like amusement, but it’s so hard to read Hunter Barrett. “Nah, you meant it,” he says with a shrug. “But you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Still,” I say through gritted teeth, ignoring his blasé demeanor. Also, how is he wearing only that flannel out here? Is he some sort of yeti? “I really wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Another shrug. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Help out with my dingy lodge?”

“Look, I gather that you weren’t completely on board with hiring me, but I’d love it if we could sort of work together on this. I want to be sure that any changes I make are ones that you’ll be happy with.”

“Got your work cut out for you then,” he snorts.

Don’t scowl. Don’t scowl.

“I can handle it,” I say with my sunniest smile. “I’m sure we can do some great things here. I don’t know if you’re on TikTok, but I’ve handled way bigger renos than this.”

He looks at me like I’m speaking French. “Not on…TikTok. Sorry.”

I almost laugh. That definitely tracks. I’m trying not to let my eyes settle on the tiny bit of dark hair that escapes the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. So it’s top to bottom then, eh? “I’m sure you’re the type that has a private Facebook with just family and friends, huh? Stranger danger and all that?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t have one.”

“You don’t have Facebook?”

“Nope.”

My brow knits. “You don’t strike me as the X type.”

“Don’t know what that is,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t really use the internet, aside from the website for reservations.”

Now I’m probably looking at him like he’s started speaking French. “Everyone uses the internet.”

“Except me, I guess,” he says dryly.

I find myself staring at him again, but now it’s in a way as if he’s sprouted another head. He’s talking like a seventy-year-old man, but by my best guess, Hunter can’t be more than thirty. If that. Who in the hell doesn’t use the internet in this day and age?

In my disbelief, I can hear my voice coming out an octave higher than it should be.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Just have better things to do with my time.”

I have about a dozen other questions I could ask about my new acquaintance’s particular oddity, but even knowing as little as I do about Hunter, I still recognize that he’ll probably have little to offer on the subject other than some dodgy monosyllabic answer.

“Okay, Grandpa,” I snort, shoving my hands into my pockets. “What do you do with your free time? Whittle?”

His mouth does something I’ve yet to see it do, turning up at the corners until I’m blasted with straight white teeth that make my stomach flutter a little. I decide then and there that should I ever find myself miraculously given a seat in Congress, my first order of business would be rendering Hunter Barrett’s smile illegal .

“Something like that,” he laughs quietly.

He reaches down to gather up a few logs he’s finished splitting, beginning the process of piling them in his long arms, presumably so he can carry them inside.

I shuffle my feet, trying to calm the swooping that lingers inside my belly in the aftermath of a full-blown Hunter smile. “Do you need help with that?”

I’m rewarded with another low chuckle. “I’ve got it. Better save your strength for all the fixin’.”

I ignore his obvious joke at my expense. “Sure. How far away is town, by the way? I was hoping you guys had a pharmacy.”

“A pharmacy?”

I avert my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. Definitely don’t want to get into that discussion with Hunter. Especially not after his weird comments about my designation, which I barely know anything about myself. The doctor only gave me a small supply of the meds, writing a prescription for more that I could fill. I’m sort of regretting not taking care of it in the city now.

“Just need to pick up a few things,” I mumble.

“Your car won’t make it down the mountain.”

My eyes snap up to meet his. “What?”

“Had a big snow last week. Your tires aren’t wrapped. Not even sure how you made it to the lodge without winding up in a ditch.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving in snow,” I snipe.

His mouth quirks. “Well, you can capably find yourself on the side of the road in a snowbank if you try to make it down the mountain in that little car.”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“If you need a ride”—he straightens with his arms full of wood, his dark eyes settling on my face—“I’d be happy to give you one. If I’m not busy.”

I feel my cheeks heat a little, and I remind myself that this is a perfectly innocent statement, regardless of what my stomach is doing in response. It takes me a moment to answer, because my initial urge is to argue, but there’s a slight hint of warm rain creeping into my nostrils now that he’s a little closer, and it’s making me sort of dizzy. I blink, trying to remember words as a twisting sensation ensues in my stomach.

“That’d be great,” I half squeak as he starts to move past me.

He’s at the top of the stairs and towering over me in a matter of seconds, the corners of his mouth tilting up as he gives me a glance from the side, one dark curl escaping his might-be-staple beanie and falling into his eyes. “You know, in between all my whittling.”

His eyes move over my face as my lips press together in a tight line, and he finally moves to carry the wood inside. It takes me at least three seconds to remember how to form words as I spin on my heel to call after him, pushing down the still-writhing feeling in my stomach that’s quickly progressing to something more and more uncomfortable with every second.

“Oh, hey, what’s the Wi-Fi password, by the way?”

His answering laugh doesn’t bode well.