10. Clover

"Ican't believe you're building a yurt."

Trish cackles as she sets a plate down in front of me at Riverview. I only came in to grab something to take on the road for lunch, but she insisted on feeding me a ‘proper' breakfast before I go.

I'm driving over to Port Alberni today, which is about an hour away and the closest place to Three Rivers I could get a yurt kit delivered.

"Why is that so funny to everyone?" I demand as I pick up a piece of homemade sourdough spread with homemade marmalade.

I take my first bite and stifle a groan. It's hard to stay annoyed at Trish when everything she cooks tastes like heaven.

"Oh, come on," she says, resting her hands on her hips. Her apron today is bright pink and blinged out with rhinestones. "It's fucking hilarious."

I glare at her for a moment before the laugh I'm trying to suppress bursts out as a snort.

"See!" Trish crows. "Even you think it's funny. I still don't understand how the hell you came up with the idea of building a yurt."

"Because it's going to be awesome!" I say. "The guests are going to love it, and I'm going to make a bunch of money renting it out."

Trish scoffs. "If you actually manage to build it. When is the last time you held a hammer? I can't believe Dad actually signed off on this."

At first, I laughed Bianca's yurt idea off like the ridiculous suggestion it was, but a few days later, I ended up lying awake in bed until almost two in the morning after spotting Neavh pulling out of the bar's parking lot in the hideous golf cart I still have no idea why she's driving.

I went down a rabbit hole of internet browsing to try to lull myself to sleep and ended up Googling ‘yurt kits' only to discover there's a family-run company on mainland BC that specializes in do-it-yourself yurt supplies.

Things escalated from there, and after a lot of encouragement from Bianca, I ended up drafting a business plan to present to my dad like something out of an episode of Shark Tank: a loan of three grand for the kit in exchange for a negotiable percentage of future yurt rental profits as well as my services in marketing and managing said yurt rentals for the rest of the summer.

"Dad knows a good deal when he sees it," I say.

Trish scoffs. "Dad just can't say no to you. That's why he bought you a yurt."

"It's a loan," I argue. "This is my project. He's just an investor. I'm not even letting him help me with the delivery."

Trish holds up her hands. "Okay, okay. I get it. This is your thing."

"That's right." I take a bite of my toast for emphasis and wish it wasn't so damn delicious I'm tempted to ask for seconds.

"I do understand that part," Trish says.

I tilt my head. "What part?"

"Wanting to have your own thing here." She spreads her arms to indicate the room we're standing in. "That's why I took this place over. Sometimes it feels good to be more than just one of the Rivers girls, you know?"

A warm feeling seeps into my chest, and it takes me a moment to recognize it as gratitude.

She sees me.

She doesn't think it's stupid or weird that I feel the need to do this one thing for myself while everything around me seems to be spinning out of control.

"Yeah," I say with a nod. "Sometimes it does."

I take another bite of my toast and then find myself admitting something I haven't told anyone else.

"I hired someone to help me with the delivery."

Trish raises an eyebrow and waits for me to go on.

"I just knew Dad would insist on doing it himself if he found out I needed help, and I didn't want to ask anyone else at the campground either. It's like you said. I want it to be my thing. So yeah, um, I put an ad up in the bar since the yurt company advised it would be at least a two-person job."

Trish narrows her eyes. "So who did you hire?"

"Um…I don't actually know?"

I wince as the words leave my mouth. This whole yurt situation has felt like more of an abstract concept than an actual plan right up until this moment, but now that the delivery day has finally arrived, driving all the way to Port Alberni with someone whose identity I haven't even confirmed is feeling more and more like the start of a horror movie.

"Someone replied to my ad and said they work at the bar and could help me out. I gave them the date of the delivery, and they said it worked for them, but that was almost a week ago. I was going to follow up and get their information, but I've been so busy at the campground, and…it's probably fine, right? If they work at the bar, that means Scooter can vouch for them. Odds are I already know them anyway. That's why I didn't even think to ask."

Trish tuts and shakes her head. "Emily would be grilling you for this lack of organization. Isn't your giant science nerd brain supposed to be super detail-oriented?"

My giant science nerd brain seems to be on summer vacation. My head has felt fuzzy for weeks.

"Maybe I'm in my spontaneous era."

Trish barks a laugh. "You've had your whole life figured out since you were seven years old, Clover Rivers."

I hunt for an argument, but deep down, I know she's right.

I was seven when I watched a movie about a girl who rescues some abandoned Canada goose eggs and teaches them to fly their migratory route with the help of her dad's tiny airplane. I announced I wanted to grow up to be an ‘animal scientist' the next day.

I start fidgeting with the silver goose charm on my wrist while Trish sighs and takes a seat at my table.

"Just send me a picture of whoever it is that's helping you," she says, "and text me when you leave and when you get to Port Alberni."

I nod. "Okay. Sounds good."

She pats me on the shoulder. "Good. Now eat your toast."

I pull into the bar's parking lot twenty minutes later and cut the rumbling engine of my dad's truck.

My breath lodges in my throat when I spot the only other vehicle in the lot this early: a bright yellow golf cart.

A shard of icy dread shoots up my spine, and my hands shake as I pull my phone out.

There's no way.

I'm five minutes early, which means whoever replied to my ad must not be here yet. Neavh is probably just doing prep work at the bar. She might not even be at the bar at all. For all I know, the golf cart is the bar's new company vehicle and Scooter is making all his employees drive it around town in some absurd advertising scheme.

There's no way Neavh is the person who replied to an ad about moving a yurt.

I focus on taking deep breaths and counting slowly in my head while I wait for an answer after letting my helper know I'm here. I get all the way to forty before my phone lights up with a reply: Be right out.

"Out could mean anything," I mutter.

They could be coming out of their house just down the road. They could be coming out of their car they decided to park along the highway instead of in the lot. They could be coming out of the woods nearby after a jaunty morning hike.

They're not necessarily coming out of the bar.

A door slams.

I jump in my seat.

Like I'm lifting my eyes to the gallows, I drag my gaze over to the front of the bar.

Neavh Beaudoin is coming down the stairs.

My stomach does a back flip. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.

She's wearing the same tiny jean shorts from that day she drove into the parking lot at Riverview. She's got an oversized flannel on over a plain black t-shirt, and she's pulled the front section of her bob into the world's cutest, tiniest ponytail to keep it out of her face.

Not cute, I reprimand myself. Stupid. It looks stupid. It's definitely not cute.

She glances around the parking lot and spots the truck, but I can tell she doesn't spot me until she's taken a few steps closer.

Then she freezes, one heel still lifted in the air like a deer that's caught the scent of danger in a field.

Or maybe I'm the deer.

One of us needs to be the hunter, and I'm seconds away from revving the engine and peeling off down the highway just to avoid saying hello.

Neavh keeps standing there, swaying a little on the gravel, and I wonder if there's any chance we could both back away slowly instead and pretend none of this ever happened.

As I keep watching her through the sap-splattered windshield, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and lowers her eyes to the screen. Her fingers type for a few seconds before my phone lights up with a text alert.

She looks back up at me. The corner of her mouth twitches into a smirk.

I gulp.

I literally gulp.

My cheeks flare with embarrassment as I scramble to open the text message. I comfort myself with the reminder that there's no way any woman who's even remotely removed from straightness could avoid having a reaction to the sight of Neavh Beaudoin smirking.

She looks like a fox at the henhouse door.

She laughed for a solid two minutes when I once told her that, but I stand by my description. When Neavh Beaudoin smirks at you, there's no question she's the hunter and you're the prey.

I swipe to open our text conversation and read her message.

So you're the yurt guy, huh?

I read the words twice before I look up at her, and when our eyes lock, the tension between us strains so tight it snaps.

I laugh.

I burst out laughing alone in the truck as the absurdity of this whole situation finally hits me. I ordered a freaking yurt off the internet just to avoid thinking about the very person who's shown up to help me collect said yurt. This is possibly the most ironic retail therapy fail to occur in all of history.

Neavh is watching me with a nervous smile on her face, like she's not sure if she should join in or brace for me to jump out of the truck swinging an axe in my hands.

Her expression just fuels my laughter even more. I clamp a hand over my mouth, and as soon as the wheezes subside into giggles, I realize I'm filled with even more dread than before.

I'm only laughing so I don't panic.

I have to at least get out and talk to Neavh, and I have to do it knowing she can still stun me with something as simple as a smirk.

She was always beautiful—in that feral, wily kind of way, just like a fox. She could slink up on you and have you by the throat before you even noticed. She could reel people in with her stillness, with the way she'd disappear around corners and lurk at the edges of shadows, but when she gave up the game and let you see her lose control, that's when she was truly breathtaking.

That's when she was wild.

That's when she made me fall in love.

She crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, inviting me to make my move. I take a deep breath before I fling the truck door open. Gravel crunches under my feet as I slide down out of the cab and walk over to lean against the truck's hood. I prop my hip next to the headlight and cross my arms, mimicking Neavh's pose.

I don't think I'd be able to stand up without something to lean on, but I tell myself I look cool.

"Yup," I say, my attempt to keep my voice even making it come out way deeper than normal, "I'm the yurt guy."

Neavh presses her lips together, and I can tell she's fighting to take me seriously. I can't blame her; I sound like someone doing a terrible Batman impersonation.

"I had no idea it was you who put the ad up," she says.

Any lightness in the air fades. Tension crackles between us again.

"And I get it if you just want to drive away now," she adds.

Her tone is flat enough that I know I must be lying to myself when I catch a hint of disappointment in her words.

"I'm not exactly a prime candidate for lugging yurts around anyway," she says. "So yeah, if you want to wait for some buff lumberjack or something, I understand."

She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her flannel and kicks a bit of gravel up with the tip of her boot.

She pulls off boots with shorts way too well.

She pulls off everything way too well.

She's giving me an easy out here. I could lie and say it's not even about us. I could tell her I do need a buff lumberjack who can carry an entire stack of two-by-fours all on his own, but the truth is I've had that ad up for weeks, and she's the only person who replied.

I need to get the delivery today. There's no option to reschedule. If I stand here any longer, I'll be running late, and I won't have time to drive back to Three Rivers and ask my dad or any of the few staffers who've got the day off to help me instead of Neavh.

Plus, I'd be admitting defeat if I had to go back home and announce I couldn't manage this on my own. Somewhere along the line, this yurt became my thing. As ridiculous as it is, it's the one thing I've got going that doesn't feel tied to the knot that's grown to encompass the campground, my family, my academic career, and the entirety of my future itself.

"I'm not a prime candidate for lugging yurts around either," I say, "but honestly, I don't have any other options. I've got to be in Port Alberni in less than an hour, or I lose the entire shipping fee. Maybe we could make this work."

She stares at me with a look I can't read. After a few seconds, her cheeks go red with the effort of holding back whatever it is she wants to say.

"What?" I blurt when I can't take waiting any longer.

"I mean…" she says, her voice strained, "it couldn't yurt to try."

I try not to laugh.

I really do, but I only last a split-second before I give in and start giggling like a little kid.

"Come on," Neavh says. "You have to admit that was a good one."

I shake my head, but my laughter betrays me.

"It was terrible," I wheeze.

"Yeah," she urges. "Terribly good."

I throw my hands up and turn to head for the truck.

"Fine. It was pretty good. Now, are you coming to Port Alberni, or what?"