Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Bess

“ O ohhh!”

My spontaneous reaction sounded so much like Mom’s that I had to smile. After a long, arduous climb that seriously tested the engine of my little Toyota, I was finally in Cozy Creek. The town center spread before my eyes like a breathtaking postcard, no Photoshopping required.

The majestic mountain range burned fire-red behind the decorative Victorian-era buildings. They looked like iced sugar cookies lining Main Street—too pretty to be real.

I felt a stab of guilt for not sharing the view with Celia or Mom, so I parked on the side of the road, got out of my car and sent them a photo. I briefly considered a video call, but it would have eaten up my data.

Wriggling my phone back to its hands-free stand, I got back on the road and followed the map instructions up a steep and winding road, shaded by evergreens. After a while, I emerged from the forest and spotted the giant building from a hundred yards away, perched on a gentle slope of windswept grass, with majestic rock formations rising behind it. Architecturally, the place looked like a modernized Victorian castle, complete with a pointy tower.

I felt underdressed in my black jeans and T-shirt, my shoulder-length bob hanging straight and limp. It was a style born out of budget concerns rather than preference. Mrs. Banshee, my downstairs neighbor, knew how to cut a straight line, and I applied the box color to hide my mousy brown.

The heavy oak door creaked as I pushed my way into an impressive reception area. Inside the building, the historical exterior gave way to fresh remodeling. Stark white walls showcased a variety of art, from traditional landscapes to modern ink blot tests and geometrical shapes. The receptionist, a young woman with high-maintenance rainbow hair, stood behind a desk adorned with bowls of giant pinecones.

She removed a piece of chewing gum from her mouth and smiled. “Welcome to Rubie Ridge. How can I help you?”

My gaze narrowed in on the name tag dangling on her shirt and I tried to memorize the name: Harleu. Was there a typo? No way was I risking the pronunciation of that one.

“I’m here for the… retreat?” I dug up the welcome letter from my backpack.

Harleu studied the paper. “You’re from Wilde Creative?” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “So, you’re Charlie Wilde?”

“What? No!” Panic flashed through me. Was I not booked in after all?

“I’m Charlie Wilde.” A familiar voice boomed across the reception, giving me a start.

I turned around, trying to hide my immediate unease. Why was he here?

Miss Rainbow Hair reacted like females always did. Sure, Charlie was six-foot-two of blue-eyed, annoying perfection that begged to be stared at. But I found it fascinating how his sheer presence could transform every woman into the sparkliest version of themselves. There were no resting faces around Charlie Wilde, bitchy or otherwise.

I’d seen this so many times I’d developed a habit of watching the gawkers rather than Charlie himself. I found it more interesting, and ultimately safer.

Charlie’s footsteps echoed off the high ceiling as he crossed the floor and appeared by my side. “Hi, Bess.”

“Hi, Charlie. Why are you here?” I tried to keep my voice friendly, just like at the office, but I couldn’t hide the undertone of alarm. This week was supposed to be relaxing. Six days with no reminders of work. Only art classes, round-the-clock catering, and a hot tub under the stars. As much as I’d rolled my eyes at Mom’s commentary, I was already invested. I’d let myself picture the absolute peace and relaxation advertised on the Rubie Ridge website.

“It sounded so good that I decided to hop onboard.” Charlie stretched his arms overhead and yawned. “Rest. Relaxation. New ideas.”

He offered me a smile. A lazy, lingering smile that both heated my chest and woke up nerves in my core, just like at the office. That’s what Charlie did to me. It was my dirty little secret, and the number one reason I preferred not to look directly at him.

“So, you’re Charlie Wilde,” the receptionist concluded rather dumbly, before turning to me. “And you are…”

I reached across the desk, pointing at the top of the letter she was still holding. “Bess Killian. It’s printed right there.”

I braced myself as she turned to her computer, clicking her mouse painfully slowly. “Right. Ms. Killian. I think we have a reservation for you.”

Charlie leaned over the desk. “Of course you have. And you also have a last-minute reservation for me.”

The receptionist fluttered her eyelashes. “Are you… an actor?”

“No. Do you get a lot of actors?”

“During the film festival and sometimes outside of it. They visit, fall in love and later return. Then of course we have Grayson Ames, born and bred in Cozy Creek. He always comes back for the Fall Festival.”

I recognized the name while Charlie blinked. “Who?”

The receptionist turned back to her computer screen, so flustered that she placed her hand on a stack of sticky notes instead of the mouse.“Yes, I can see both reservations. You’re both at the Cerulean. All chalets are named after colors.”

“We’re not… sharing, are we?” I squeaked.

Her eyes flashed with uncertainty, and my throat tightened. Had they really booked me with Charlie? I’d have to drive back home, navigating those steep hills and tight curves in the pitch dark.

I nudged closer, trying to establish a pleading eye contact. “Listen. I’ll take any other color. Puce. Chartreuse. Burlywood. Gamboge.”

“Impressive.” Charlie raised his brow at me, then turned to the receptionist. “I did request separate lodging.”

The receptionist’s face took on a deeper shade of puce. “There must have been a misunderstanding. Cerulean is the only chalet we have left.”

“Is it a two-bedroom one?” Charlie asked, and I swallowed hard.

Maybe that could work, for one night.

Miss Rainbow looked so torn that I almost felt sorry for her. “It’s a… um… open plan. But there’s a loft.” She dangled a key attached to a giant key ring—a piece of plank that had been painted blue. Cerulean, obviously. I’d had fun learning the more obscure colors when I’d helped Teresa prepare for a designer pub quiz. Apparently, she’d wiped the floor with the guys, which incidentally hadn’t helped her break into the bro club.

I looked out the window. The sun had dipped behind a line of tall spruce trees. It was getting darker by the minute.

Charlie took the key, his eyes on me. “Can’t hurt to look?”

Looking could definitely hurt. Like the way he looked at me with that unnerving intensity, eyes sparkling like we shared a secret.

It was his way, I reminded myself. That’s how he got everyone on his side and could sell any idea to any client. I simply hadn’t been the recipient of that look before. It was easier to avoid that sort of thing at the office—keep your eyes on the screen, or the printout. Always stay busy and focused on the job. I fixed my gaze on the bowl of pinecones, trying to calm my nerves.

“Turn left and follow the path along the house, it’s the third cabin with a blue door.” Harleu, if that really was her name, gestured at the door.

I followed Charlie outside and down the winding path, fingers wrapped around the shoulder straps of my backpack. The rest of my clothes were in the trunk of my car, packed in two reusable shopping bags I wasn’t planning on letting anyone else see. Maybe I could sneak back to my car and repack what I needed into my backpack. Toiletries, a change of underwear—enough to get me through the night. Charlie would never have to see my sorry travel gear.

We passed two cabins, one with an orangey red, another with a greenish door. Probably vermilion and sage or something. Our blue door came with a matching blue welcome mat, framed by pot plants that had long ago finished flowering.

Charlie held the door open, and I snuck past him, feeling awkward like a schoolgirl with my backpack. He didn’t seem to have any luggage. Maybe someone would bring them in.

The cabin was decorated in shades of blue and white, giving Greek island vibes. It was obviously a new build, but featured so much weathered and distressed material you could have almost been fooled. A gorgeous wood carving sat on the hall table, as if formed by nature itself. Art around here was high caliber.

The receptionist hadn’t been kidding about the open plan. Everything was visible at a glance—the sitting area featuring designer chairs, kitchenette and the enormous bed. Even the bathroom had one partially frosted glass wall. Whoever had designed this didn’t believe in walls or privacy.

What would it be like to live with this much room height, I wondered. There was easily space for two stacked apartments, but the second level had only been utilized by a small, open loft.

“There’s a couch up here,” I reported as I rushed up the floating staircase. “I’ll take this.”

Charlie followed at my heels, staring at me as I set down my backpack and sunk into the low 2-seater, patting it with conviction. “I mean, just for tonight. I’ll drive home tomorrow. I’d go right away, but it’s getting dark and I’m not that confident driving at night, especially on these windy roads.”

He frowned at me, or maybe at the couch. “That’s not big enough for you.”

“Oh, it is. Absolutely. I always sleep curled up like this.” I lay down on the navy velvet, propping my head on the armrest and folding my legs so tightly that there was enough room for another person at the end.

“Nobody can sleep like that. You’ll mess up your neck and won’t be able to drive anywhere. I’ll get my camping hammock and set it up somewhere downstairs. I’ve been wanting to test it.”

“You brought a camping hammock?”

He grinned. “It’s called Happy Glamper. They had a cool Kickstarter campaign.”

Charlie was a Kickstarter junkie. The cleaners refused to deal with all the delivery boxes in his office, so Rhonda sometimes snuck in late at night and cleared away the recycling. I’d helped her once, ripping and flattening the countless packages, wondering what might have been in them.

At the end of the year, Charlie donated random items to the agency Christmas present pool, where everyone got to choose something to take home. I wondered if he noticed the gasps at the sight of his fancy gadgets among the low-value sample products and corporate gifts from clients and suppliers. I never got the first or even the second pick. Charlie’s buddies Trevor and Lee scraped the cream off the top, pulling out Apple Watches and drones. After that, the other designers grabbed the champagne bottles and food samples. By the time the production people were dipping in, the selection had been thinned down to mugs, calendars, and stress balls. Thankfully, Celia loved stress balls—a fact I didn’t want to dwell on.

“I don’t mind,” I insisted, closing my eyes and getting as comfortable as I could. If I pretended to fall asleep, Charlie would have to give up and take the bed.

“Is that all you packed for the week?” he asked, picking up my small backpack. “How did you fit everything in this?”

“Magic,” I mumbled, eyes still closed.

But he had a point. My toiletries were still in the car, and I couldn’t go to bed without brushing my teeth or flossing. My job didn’t come with a dental plan, which had made me a vigilant flosser. Maybe a teensy bit obsessed. But I figured it was fine, like being addicted to salad greens.

I waited, feigning sleep, but Charlie didn’t leave. Instead, he sat at the end of the couch I’d ostentatiously left vacant, man-splaying his legs so wide that my curled up sleeping position began to feel fetal.

“It’s not very comfortable.” He bounced against the couch.

I pushed myself back up to sitting. “What do you mean? It’s a couch. It’s got cushions.”

“This feels like basic polyester foam.”

“And that’s bad because…”

He shrugged. “I prefer feather down.”

Of course you do.

I picked a spot on the floor and stared at it, to keep my eyes from rolling.

He’s the boss’s son. You need this job.

“Also, couches can have flame retardants and those give out toxic fumes, so you’re not meant to sleep on them.”

I turned to face him. “Okay. How do you know so much about couches?”

He beamed at me, pleased with himself. “We pitched for a campaign for EcoSoft last year. Didn’t get it.”

I thought back to all the campaigns and pitches that had gone through the studio. “I don’t remember seeing that.”

“That’s probably why we didn’t get it.” His mouth twisted, those perfectly sculpted lips puckering. “I did the final art and printed it myself late at night, last minute. It wasn’t polished, but I figured it was worth the shot.”

“Oh.” I could imagine the level of ‘not polished’ he’d produced, but I couldn’t imagine him working late, finishing anything by himself. I’d heard stories of this happening, mostly from Rhonda, but I’d always doubted them. In my experience, Charlie left early, often with an entourage.

He gave me a rueful smile. “I do sometimes go the extra mile.”

My cheeks flushed with heat. “No, I didn’t mean… I don’t think that?—”

“Relax. I know I’m not the most organized person in the office. I don’t even try to be. That’s not my goal. And I do value people who can polish the turds I produce. Like you.”

I tried to push away the mental image of me polishing his bowel movement, focusing on his wide grin.

This was the first time we were alone. I couldn’t remember ever sharing a room with him, with no one else around. The magnitude of his undivided attention made every hair follicle on my body take notice.

Charlie was best enjoyed in small, diluted doses. I listened to his wild stories and laughed at his jokes, which were often funny, as part of the group. The invisible one, at the back, standing behind Trevor or someone else who took up a lot of room.

Aware that I could no longer hide my fluster, I got up and rushed down the stairs. By the time I got to the door, I remembered my backpack, still lying on the floor by the couch. Oh, well.

“I’ll go get my things from the car,” I called from the door and skipped outside.

The darkness had fallen, and it wasn’t the kind we had in the city. It was like someone had thrown a blanket over my head and told me to cross the road safely. The only light burning in the pitch black was the floodlight outside the main house, at least a hundred yards away. The parking lot must have been somewhere to its left, I thought, turning on my phone flashlight. It illuminated my feet just enough that I could navigate the stairs without tripping.

When I’d advanced halfway down the path, a blindingly bright spotlight suddenly lit up the ground, giving me a start. I heard Charlie’s voice behind me. “Watch your step.”

“What is that? A streetlamp?”

As he got closer, I saw he was holding a small yet extremely powerful flashlight. “This is a… Pocket Lightsaber.” I heard the cheeky smile in his voice.

“Kickstarter?”

“Yeah. They reimagined the flashlight. What do you think?”

I shielded my eyes. “Well, I never imagined I’d lose my eyesight from directly looking at one, so I guess they have.”

“Look how powerful it is. I can see the whole parking lot.”

The door of the nearby cabin creaked open. “Hey! Cut it out! We’re watching a movie here.”

“Sorry,” Charlie called back, dimming the light. It didn’t only dim but turned purple. “Oh, crap. I’m not sure how this works. Hang on.”

He kept pushing buttons and turning dials on the device that, now that I could look directly at it, resembled a cut-off light saber. It was like someone had concluded that the original didn’t look enough like the male organ and decided to remedy the situation. Penises didn’t blink in rainbow colors though, so this one was an upgrade.

“Oh, man. I didn’t even know it could do that,” Charlie said, pushing another button. The rainbow blinking turned into a steady, pink glow. “That’ll do.”

I clamped my mouth shut to hold back any comments on the way he held the pink wand against his crotch.

Don’t be stupid, Bess. Do. Not. Be. Stupid.

We walked down the path and crossed the parking lot. My battered silver Toyota glowed faintly in the corner, dwarfed by Charlie’s red, electric Porsche. I popped the trunk and reviewed my two canvas bags, trying to remember which one held my toiletries. I didn’t use pajamas but slept in whatever slacks and T-shirts I could find. Clothes needed to be multi-functional to earn their place in my wardrobe—or in my sad canvas bag.

I ended up dumping the contents of both bags inside the trunk and quickly folded the necessary items into the bag that wasn’t ripped. The rest went into the other bag, as quickly as possible. Charlie moved closer, carrying a huge leather bag, and lifted the pink light above my shoulder to expose the mess.

“You know, I once threw my stuff in plastic crates when I couldn’t find my suitcase. Doesn’t work if you’re catching a plane, but I was going fishing and it ended up being quite handy.”

“Yeah, I was running late and just grabbed the first thing I could find.” He didn’t need to know it was the only thing. Or that I’d sold my suitcase a long time ago, along with a lot of other stuff, to scrape together the security deposit for the apartment.

“Let me.” He tried to take the bag as I was reaching for it, but I was faster.

“No need.”

Charlie took a step back. “Okay, then.”

He sounded hurt. I didn’t know what to do with that. Did he expect me to turn into a damsel in distress so he could feel important? I’d been too busy channeling competence and efficiency, my office staples, to even consider that approach. Besides, this was Charlie. He was as self-involved as anyone living in the rich-and-handsome bubble, but as far as I knew, his ego wasn’t that fragile.

I secured the bag onto my shoulder and closed the trunk. “Ready!”

“What about the other bag?”

“I’m staying for one night. No point bringing everything.”

He huffed a sad, little laugh. “We’re still on that?”

“Still on what?”

“The whole ‘I’d rather drive home than share a cabin with Charlie.’”

“There’s only one bed!”

“I told you; I have a solution.” He lifted his left hand, and I noticed a boat-shaped bag. He must have grabbed it from his car along with his bag.

“Is that the hammock?”

“Happy Glamper!” Lit from below and glowing pink, his smile looked borderline creepy.

“Where are you even going to attach it? I didn’t see any trees growing inside.”

“I’ll figure out something.”

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the crash. I stood in the bathroom, shower fresh and in my most presentable slacks and tank top, cleaning my teeth, when the entire cabin shook. I rushed out and found Charlie sitting on a pile of fabric that must have been the hammock, staring at pieces of crumbled drywall scattered across the floor.

He looked up and smiled. “Turns out the hook on the wall was… decorative.”

“Oh, my God!” I located the wrought iron hook that had been holding a potted vine in a macramé hanger. The hanging plant lay awkwardly across the floor. I lifted it to safety and started going through the cupboards in search of cleaning equipment.

Charlie stood up, brushing flakes of paint and plaster off his jeans. “I guess we’re not hanging the hammock there. What are you doing?”

“Looking for a vacuum cleaner. Or a dustpan. Anything.” The only thing I found was a small microfiber cloth under the sink.

I returned to the living room, examining the hole in the wall. Too deep. “We can’t paint over that. But if we find some putty, it might work. Maybe there’s a hardware store in that little town… Cozy Creek?”

Charlie blinked at me. “Why would we try to fix that?”

“So they don’t charge us.” I got a small trash bag and started collecting the larger bits off the floor. “I’m sure their room rates don’t cover renovations.”

“They’ll just add it to the bill. It’s fine.”

He detached the other end of the hammock, tied up to the loft baluster, and joined me in cleaning the floor. Well, sort of. After moving some drywall bits with his sock, Charlie started picking them up and flinging them across the room, deep in thought. I wanted to whack him in the face with the cloth.

“Please, Charlie. That makes it harder to clean,” I begged.

“The cleaners will come tomorrow. They’ll take care of it.”

“Why make it harder for them?”

He snatched the cloth from my hand, forcing me to stop. “Come on, Bess. It’s not your mess.” A grin spread across his face. “Hey, that rhymes.”

Your mess is always my mess.

The thought was instant, like a reflex. I’d been living it true for two years, cleaning after him at work like he was some sort of oversized toddler.

Why, Bess?

I sighed, letting my shoulders sag. “Fine. Are you done with the hammock, now? Will you let me sleep on the couch?”

“I’ll take the couch. You take the bed. That’s my final offer.”

“Well, that’s just stupid. You’re a foot taller than me.”

“Which makes my sacrifice greater. One night and I’ll reach martyrdom. There’s a lot of value in that. Undying fame.” He gazed at the ceiling, regally, as if posing for an oil painting.

“I thought you had to die to become a martyr.”

“I told you about the toxic fumes, right?” He winked at me, and my insides wobbled.

It was getting harder and harder to remember who I was dealing with. This wasn’t a random guy I could joke with and make fun of. This was Charlie. I had to return to the office and work with this man—cleaning his messy files and doing his bidding. I’d only spent an hour in his company and my carefully curated act was starting to crack. I needed to get away. I needed a door between us and since that wasn’t possible in this open plan nightmare, I needed that loft all to myself. Why even build a loft if you were not going to put a bed up there?

Something occurred to me. “Wait a minute. We asked the receptionist if this cabin had two rooms, and she mentioned the loft.”

“So?”

“She offered that as an alternative, so maybe it means there is a bed up there. A sofa bed.”

“It didn’t look like one,” Charlie said, but followed me upstairs.

I opened cupboards along the wall and discovered pillows, blankets and sheets. “Bingo! It must be a sofa bed. Why else would they keep these here?”

It took us a few minutes to confirm that the couch was indeed hiding a bed, and a further ten minutes to figure out the mechanism. When the seat finally transformed into a full-sized bed, we both cheered.

I threw myself across it diagonally, spreading out. “So much space!” I moved my arms like angel wings and suddenly felt cool air brush against my stomach. My cropped tank top had ridden up to reveal a lot of skin. Oops. I should have covered up, but I didn’t want to back down. If I dropped my victorious grin and showed any embarrassment, I’d let him win.

“I can take this; you take the bed.” Charlie’s voice sounded a little thick, and it sent an unexpected tremor through my core.

I sat up, feeling the adrenaline mixing with exhaustion. “Nope. You had a problem with the couch being too small. Now there’s no more problem.” I stared at him, not blinking, my heart thumping away like it was trying to win a prize. I wasn’t sure why I felt so strongly about this. I was basically fighting for my own discomfort, but I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let go of this bullish feeling. This connection.

Charlie folded his arms, slight surprise and amusement playing on his lips as he tilted his head, staring back. There was something new between us, something almost equal. Exhilarating.

I’d never had the nerve to spar with Charlie. I laughed at his jokes for an appropriate amount of time, asked any question I had to ask, and scurried back to my desk before the burgeoning blush showed up on my face. I’d witnessed other women flirting with him with exaggerated laughs, arm touches and longing looks, but I’d never actually seen any of them talk back to him.

“The bed is still way more comfortable and it’s my duty to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Or, what? You lose your membership to the 18 th century gentlemen’s club?”

“Is that a real thing? I want to join.” His eyes sparkled, and I felt my nipples harden against the tank top, far too noticeable.

I tried to keep a straight face. “Look it up on Kickstarter. Someone may be selling a related gadget.”

“Like a shiny armor?”

“Exactly.”

“If it comes with a touchscreen or converts into something else or… folds inside a travel mug, I’ll probably buy it.”

“That’s a powerful addiction you have there.”

He shook his head, eyes comically wide. “You have no idea.”

I laughed, and a warm buzz brewed in the pit of my stomach. Charlie was staring at me with such focus, I felt like I was being recorded. Every feature on my face and body cataloged, every detail memorized for posterity. This sleepover was slipping into a dangerous territory.