Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Please don’t get me started on the voice.
Deep. Rumbling. The kind of voice that could probably read the ingredients from a lotion bottle and make it sound hot. No human man needs a voice that sounds like mountain man and spice, who looks like he’s going to come rushing out of the forest with an axe over his shoulder.
A real man like Paul Bunyan.
Way hotter than the men I had to hire for the Fall Festival, Harris Bennett included.
His knee is busted, his ego is intact, and he’s chewing at his leftover steak like he’s auditioning for the role in a movie called Neanderthals Take the Lake, Part Deux.
And now—thanks to a discount rental app with zero customer service—I am trapped in a lake cottage with him for God knows how long.
With one bed and no callback from the property manager or the owner. Nope. Just an email reply following my phone call: Thank you for contacting LakeStay. We value your rental experience. A team member will be in touch within 24 hours. Please do not reply to this message, as this inbox is not monitored. If your matter is urgent, we encourage you to visit our Help Center, where you’ll find frequently asked questions. Sit back, relax, and enjoy your stay. LakeStay: Where the view is serene, and your comfort is our top priority.
Which, translated from Customer Service to Human, means: Good luck, sucker. You’re on your own.
This is how murder mysteries start. Or enemies-to-lovers romance novels. Frankly, I don’t trust myself not to fall into either category because I’ve already caught myself wondering if I actually find his grumpiness sexy or if I’m high from the change of scenery.
Probably both.
He’s limped to the living room, white T-shirt straining over his back when he lowers himself into the leather chair.
I try not to watch.
Apparently, though, my hormones have zero survival instincts and think now is the perfect time to notice how his arms are unfairly veiny and that his neck is thick. That his jawline is strong and cut and shadowed with dark stubble I would find droolworthy under normal circumstances.
Maverick exhales, flips open a magazine he absolutely doesn’t care about reading, and proceeds to pretend I don’t exist. Which, of course, only makes me want to exist louder.
The silence stretches.
Not peaceful silence. No. It’s the kind of silence that hums with unresolved energy, making me shift on my heels and rack my brain for something to say, or do.
You should text Lucy. She’ll know how to handle this.
But if you text her, she’ll call freaking out, and that beast over there is going to overhear everything you say.
Go outside, then.
Outside? Hell no, the bugs are coming out!
I casually stroll past him toward the large floor-to-ceiling windows, pretending to stare out at the lake while he flips page after page.
I cross my arms.
Uncross them.
Check my phone for the sixth time in ten minutes, as if LakeStay is suddenly going to wake up and realize they’ve turned my staycation into a hostage situation.
I look at him over my shoulder, only to find him actively ignoring me.
“I know you’re not reading that,” I declare.
He doesn’t look up.
“I’m serious,” I say, louder this time. “You’ve been on that same dumb page for at least two minutes.”
His lips barely twitch. He is a master of self-control.
Unlike me.
“Blink twice if you’re conscious,” I mumble.
Nothing.
“You’re not impressing anyone, you know.”
Still nothing.
I throw my arms up. “Do you even know what that freaking magazine is about?”
“Fly-fishing,” he replies, without missing a beat. “With a feature on how to properly build a firepit without losing your eyebrows.”
Huh? “It does not have an article about losing your eyebrows.”
Maverick shrugs as if he doesn’t care that I don’t believe him.
Which I don’t.
Not that he cares.
UGH!
The only thing worse than being trapped in this cabin with a total stranger is being trapped with a stranger who’s good looking and completely disregarding me. He hasn’t even asked what I do for a living, or where I’m from! I might as well be here alone, which was the original plan.
I am blaming Lucy for this. This was her idea. Her bright suggestion that I unplug and recharge for a few days after my job imploded and my situationship imploded and my sourdough starter died all in the same week! Close and cozy. Silent.
No cell phone, no computer, no planning committee, no brides. Far be it from me to point out that my apartment is literally across the lake—a mere forty-five-minute drive through winding roads and overly picturesque trees. I could’ve stayed home. I could’ve taken a bath, lit a candle, watched a documentary and chilled the fuck out.
But I live in Star Lake, let’s be real; everyone knows everyone, and it’s a town so small that one is never truly alone.
Ever.
Even the barista at Loon Landing Café knows that I recently dumped my boyfriend because we were barely sleeping together and I was sick and tired of being more friend than lover. Not to mention, dating the mayor’s son was a drag—I always had to be on my best behavior, when in reality, I’m kind of a brat.