Page 2 of Light My Fire

He grins. “There’s always time for blondes—and brunettes and redheads—when I get back to Chicago.”

“Very accommodating of you,” I say dryly. “But fair warning, weareplaying poker this weekend and Iamgoing to take some of your money.”

“Bring it on,” Jackson says, grinning.

That’s exactly what will happen. Jackson is effortlessly brilliant in all things having to do with… whatever he got rich doing. Things seem to just work out for him. Except for poker. At least with me. I beat him every time.

“Here we go,” Kenny, the pilot, calls over the engine.

The plane lands on an airstrip that feels more like a suggestion than a legitimate airport. A few minutes later, we’re being driven down a bumpy lane to the cabin. It’s nearly completely dark but the front porch is lit with soft yellow lights strung from poles.

We unload our bags and a few boxes of supplies—beer from a microbrewery on the mainland Blake recommended, steaks, and Jackson’s preferred cold brew coffee… heaven forbid our spoiled baby millionaire not have all of his creature comforts for even four days.

Jackson tips Kenny for giving us a ride, and from the way Kenny’s eyes widen, I guess it’s a generous amount.

Then we head up the stone path that leads to the cabin.

The wind is definitely picking up and the bite in the air is easily twenty degrees colder than the temps were in Chicago when we left.

“Uh, did Heidi or Blake have someone get the cabin set up for us?” Wyatt asks as we approach the cabin.

I see immediately why he asks. The cabin is lit up. Lights glow from nearly every window on this side of the house and there is definitely smoke coming from the chimney.

“Probably,” I comment. “That makes sense.” And seems like something Heidi would do. The seventy-something bundle of energy and mischief seems like she would be the ultimate hostess.

“Hallelujah,” Jackson says. “It’ll be nice and warm inside, and we can start the hot chocolate right away.”

He’s a millionaire, and twenty-eight years old, but he’s been excited about hot chocolate and s’mores since he realized we were not going to be having cold beer and burgers from the grill on the deck.

He might be complaining out loud, but he’s actually looking on the bright side.

Which is honestly his personality. He’s a happy guy and easy to be around. Of course it’s easy to look at life optimistically when everything you touch seems to turn to gold.

He’s good for me, if I’m honest. I tend to be a pessimist and it’s good for me to hang out with energetic young guys who look on the bright side.

Wyatt too. He’s laid-back and goes with the flow. I knew as soon as Heidi suggested we change our schedule that Wyatt would be fine with it. That trait makes him an excellent firefighter where you never know what a shift will bring. He thinks quickly on his feet, is seemingly good at every task thrown his way from working on a stuck elevator, to directing hoses, to comforting victims.

I am definitely the grump of the group. I’m old. And I know things don’t always work out the way you want them to. When Heidi called me and told me a storm was coming in, I mentally canceled our trip, and was pissed that I had to spend the next four days off in cold gray Chicago instead of hanging out at the lake with my friends.

But when she said it was simply a matter of leaving early and being snowed in for a couple of days, I adjusted. I’m not anasshole… all the time. I just tend to see things more cynically. Because life often sucks.

We stomp up the steps of the cabin. This side of the house is mostly siding. I imagine the back is glass windows that look out over the lake, with a dock.

I assume we have keys for all of the doors, but I’m not sure which one is which. I pull the keys from my pocket and start to flip through them at the same time Wyatt flips open a covered number pad and types in a series of digits.

We hear a little beep and the distinct sound of a lock opening.

“There’s a code for the door?” I ask.

He looks at me. “Obviously.”

“And you have the code?”

He grins and pushes the door open with his shoulder, dragging his bag and a box of supplies over the threshold. “Obviously.”

We crowd through the door, tossing our bags and setting the boxes down so that we can get rid of our snow covered shoes before stepping further into the cabin.

I shrug out of my coat and toss it, then bend to untie my boots.

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