1.Jane

I step out of the car and immediately swat at a mosquito the size of a small dinosaur. Great. Just great. This is exactly what I need after working sixty-hour weeks and dealing with an insufferable boss: a vacation in the middle of nowhere with bugs that could probably adopt me and turn me into their pet. I look around, taking in the thick, green foliage, the still, murky water of the bayou, and the absolute lack of anything remotely resembling civilization.

"Relaxation, mindfulness…" my boss yapped while her fluffy, little dog did the same. "It's all people talk about these days."

Well…I should definitely be able to relax in these wastelands. The swamp is definitely swamping.

I pop the trunk and start unloading my bags. The rustic cabin is going to be my home for the next two weeks, and as I haul my suitcase up the creaky wooden steps, I think about how my colleagues must be enjoying their city vacations, sipping lattes and indulging in spa treatments. Meanwhile, I"m probably about to become dinner for an alligator.

Inside, the cabin is quaint—quaint as in old and slightly musty. I switch on the lights, and they flicker to life, buzzing faintly. There"s a small kitchen with an even smaller fridge, a worn couch that has seen better days, and a bed that might just collapse if I put my whole weight on it. I take a deep breath and try to embrace the rustic charm. After all, I wanted this, right?

I start unpacking, placing my neatly folded clothes into the dresser drawers. I line up my toiletries in the tiny bathroom, then head to the kitchen to stock the fridge with my carefully selected groceries. So far so good, and I think I can do this. I can survive the wild. I"ve watched Survivor; I should be able to manage.

As I"m placing my almond milk and organic veggies into the fridge, I suddenly get the weird feeling I"m being watched. I pause, holding a carton of eggs, and glance around. The windows show nothing but dense trees and still water. I shake my head and scold myself. I"m just jumpy. It"s my first time away from the city in a good while. The quiet is unsettling.

I finish with the fridge and move to the living room, where I set up my little reading nook with my favorite books and a cozy blanket. It"s then that I hear a rustling outside. My heart skips a beat. It"s probably just an animal. Or a serial killer. But more likely an animal. I tiptoe to the window and peek out, but all I see are trees swaying gently in the breeze.

"Get a grip, scaredy-puss," I mutter to myself. "You can handle a few days alone out here." Still, I can"t shake the feeling of eyes on me.

To distract myself, I decide to explore the cabin"s amenities. I find a deck out back, overlooking the bayou. The view is actually stunningly beautiful, I have to admit. The water glistens in the late afternoon sun, and the air smells fresh, despite the heaviness of the swamp. For a moment, I feel a at ease but it doesn't last long.

I whip around, eyes wide, when I hear a loud splash. There"s nothing there, but my heart is pounding. Probably a gator. I quickly head back inside, bolting the door behind me.

I can"t help but wonder if I"m really alone out here. Maybe it"s just the bayou playing tricks on me. Or maybe, just maybe, there"s something—or someone—out there keeping a watchful eye on me.

***

Okay, Jane, put on your big-girl pants. It"s probably just your imagination. You"ve been watching too many horror flicks.

But the feeling of being watched persists, gnawing at me like a particularly stubborn mosquito bite.

I pace around the cabin, trying to shake off the unease. As I wander into the small study, my eyes land on a pair of old binoculars hanging from a hook on the wall. Perfect. If someone is out there, I'm going to find out who—or what—it is.

I grab the binoculars and step out onto the deck again, feeling a bit like a spy in one of those espionage movies. The evening air is cooler now, and the sounds of the bayou are a quieter, if more eerie, backdrop. I raise the binoculars and scan the treeline, moving slowly, carefully, so I don't miss anything.

And then I see him. On the other side of the swamp, leaning casually against a tree, is a man. A ruggedly handsome man. He"s watching me with a kind of amused curiosity, a half-smile playing on his lips. My heart skips a beat. Oh, great. I wanted to find a peeping Tom, and instead, I found Prince Charming of the Swamp.

For a moment, I freeze, unsure of what to do. Should I wave? Call 911? Wait, there"s no cell service here. I lower the binoculars and peek over the top, feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement. He"s still there, watching me, and now that I"ve spotted him, he raises his hand in a casual wave.

I awkwardly raise my hand and wave back. What else can I do? My mind races with possibilities. Maybe he"s a local who's just curious about the city girl invading his territory. Or maybe he"s a charming but dangerous psycho. But he doesn't look dangerous; he looks... amused.

I lift the binoculars again to get a closer look. He"s got a rugged charm about him—tousled hair, a strong jaw, and eyes that seem to twinkle even from this distance. He"s the kind of guy you"d expect to see in an outdoorsy cologne ad, not lurking across the bayou.

Our silent staring contest continues for another minute before he makes a gesture, pointing to me and then himself, miming a paddle motion. It takes me a second, but I realize he"s inviting me over. My heart does a little flip. This is either a very good idea or a very bad one.

I decide it's a bad one and give him a thumbs down, because I definitely can't just go over to him. Maybe that's how they do it in the swamp, but that's not how we do it in the city. He nods, a little disappointed, and disappears into the trees. I watch the spot where he stood, my mind buzzing with a mix of curiosity, excitement and wariness. I can"t help but shiver. He's a stranger but maybe…this trip is going to turn out to be a lot more interesting than I thought.