Page 45 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

Before I’d even finished speaking, his lips were on mine. His mouth claimed me like a man wanting far more but barely holding himself back, one hand supporting my head and the other pressing me against him from behind.

Then there was nothing but him, only him, ever Tanner and always.

When I went to work early the next morning, the patch of aspen trees shading the booth had begun to turn a brilliant yellow in my absence, a striking contrast to the silvery green fir trees lining the road. I’d always believed autumn was nature’s last brilliant, fiery flare of life, and today I felt that more than ever. If I’d chosen not to go with Tanner, our relationship would have been in the autumn stage right now, the clinging-to-life-until-it’s-gone stage. The he’s-leaving-tonight stage.

But I would be going with him. In a few hours, we’d climb into his car and say goodbye to my town for a good while. My steps were light, my thoughts even lighter. The moment I saw Paul, I would give him my notice and not even feel guilty that there wasn’t a replacement lined up yet. Then I’d turn my back on him and that booth forever.

I was free. My inner seventeen-year-old would finally have the adventure she craved . . . and experience it with someone who held her heart, utterly and completely.

Paul’s truck didn’t show during the first hour, which seemed to drag for at least six. The booth was full of empty cups and wadded gum wrappers from my absence, so I tidied everything, glancing at each car that approached—mostly SUVs and trucks and the occasional minivan with a family. Not a red Tesla in sight. Not that Tanner would be coming here. He would pick me up at my house after work. My suitcase was already packed and waiting by the door. A little thrill shot through me at the thought.

By 9:03 a.m., I couldn’t wait any longer. I lifted my radio. “Paul, I need to talk with you. Can you stop by the booth?”

The radio went silent for ten seconds before coming to life again. “Actually, meet me at the lodge in twenty,” Paul’s voice said through the static. “I’m sending a temp down to take over for you.”

The “temp” turned out to be an intern from a community college a few towns away, a tall girl with a huge smile and a good attitude. I showed her how to use the register and gave her my radio, wondering if she would be taking my place. If so, she’d do a fine job. Then I hopped into my truck and drove to the lodge, which was more log-cabin shack than lodge.

To my surprise, a balding man and a trim woman in full business attire sat next to Paul at the meeting table as I entered. They smiled and rose to their feet. They must have been agency management from Missoula.

“Sophie Goodman,” the woman said. “We just arrived, and Paul said you were on your way. It’s so nice to meet you in person. I admit I’m fangirling a little right now. I’m a longtime Tanner Carmichael fan. Please, have a seat.”

I blinked in confusion. Word of our relationship already reached so far? “Nice to meet you too. Is there something I can help you with?”

“As you know, Paul is retiring in just over two weeks, so we’re appointing a replacement for him. Kenneth Vawdry initially indicated an interest, but the Forest Agency has long sought to hire management team members who connect well with our millions of visitors each year. After what we saw this morning, you fit that criteria perfectly.”

What they saw this morning? “I’m sorry? Were you watching me work?”

The man laughed. “Of course not. She’s referring to the video. You’ve become quite a celebrity over the past few hours.”

I stared at them both, then looked questioningly at Paul. His frown only deepened.

Then it hit me. “Tanner’s episode. It launched this morning?”

“Indeed, and it’s on track to break records,” the woman said. “Four hundred thousand views, last I checked. That’s a lot of people coming to know and like Sophie Goodman, Forest Agency Management in Huckleberry Creek, Montana. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I’d been in a few clips, and there was the one of me jumping into the waterfall. But a deep unease settled in my gut, telling me there was more going on than I knew. “I don’t have cell service this far into the canyon. Can you pull up the video, Paul?”

“Of course.” He seemed all too eager to put on a show of helpfulness for these people. They must be high up indeed. He opened his laptop and turned it around so we could see. “Here it is.” The video already filled the screen, which meant he’d seen it too. The man wouldn’t even meet my gaze, and his eyes held something I’d never seen before. Guilt?

He tapped play, and Tanner’s face immediately appeared, smiling and proud. “This week, I’m in a little Montana town called Huckleberry Creek, and it’s everything a small town should be. If you’re tired of the grind of the big city and need a place to relax, you need to check this place out. Here are my seven secret things to experience here, plus a special bonus just for you.”

Video clips of our time together followed—our day at the lake, the hot pots, and the carnival complete with Benny the Brontosaurus. Even the corpse’s barn. As expected, he’d captured me here and there, usually when I thought the filming was finished or smiled at something outside the frame. I hadn’t even noticed at the time.

But that was nothing. The very next second, the screen switched to me sitting on a stool, looking uncomfortable and vulnerable in a white blouse and trousers. My wavy hair was shorter and styled in a way I’d hoped looked feminine yet professional.

An unfamiliar female voice spoke now, off-screen. “But it isn’t a town’s intriguing history or quirks—like plastic, diaper-wearing dinosaurs—that are the heart of its story. It’s the people. And one woman in particular captured Tanner’s heart on this trip: Sophie Goodman.”

The video began.

I had spentso longgetting ready for this video, practicing and memorizing my words. The wildlife technician position was something I hadn’t been ready for, not then and maybe not even now. But this—a glimpse of myself in the safety of my room, daring to dream in a moment of bravery before letting myself retreat into fear again, being flaunted on the internet to hundreds of thousands? My deepest personal and family secrets cracked open for the world to see? It nearly made my stomach turn over.

As that version of me opened her mouth to speak, I saw myself as Tanner would have—a girl exposing the secrets of her soul, precisely the secrets that could bring in ad revenue on a YouTube channel. An opportunity. A story that could be sold.

This was why he wanted me along on this trip. He knew people would connect with this video, this glimpse of courage and vulnerability. They’d want to see more of that. And since Tanner was incapable of being vulnerable on camera himself, I was the perfect partner to further his career. His promise at the luncheon to protect my privacy had been worth nothing at all.

Tanner had been angry at Oliva for trying to use him, then turned around and used me all the same.

I’d been tricked.

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